Classic Poem

There was mourning in Patamba; the north wind
Blew o'er the lake, and drifted to the shore
The floating wreck and bodies of the dead.
Then on the shore the mother might be seen
Seeking her child; the father to the tomb,
With limbs too weak for that unhappy weight,
Bearing the bloated body of his son;
The wife, who, in expectant agony,
Watch'd the black carcass on the coming wave.

On every brow terror was legible,
Anguish in every eye. There was not one
Who, in the general ruin, did not share
Peculiar grief, and in his country's loss
Lament some dear one dead. Along the lake
The frequent funeral-piles, for many a day,
With the noon-light their melancholy flames
Dimly commingled; while the mourners stood
Watching the pile, to feed the lingering fire,
As slowly it consumed the watery corpse.

Thou didst not fear, young Tlalala! thy soul,
Unconquered and unconquerable, rose
Superior to its fortune. When the Chiefs
Hung their dejected heads, as men subdued
In spirit, then didst thou, Yuhidthiton,
Calm in the hour of evil, still maintain
Thy even courage. They from man to man
Go, with the mourners mourning, and by grief
Exciting rage, till, at the promised fight,
The hope of vengeance, a ferocious joy
Flash'd in the eyes which glisten'd still with tears
Of tender memory. To the brave they spake
Of Aztlan's strength, — for Aztlan still was strong: —
The late defeat, — not there by manly might,
By honorable valor, by the force
Of arms subdued, shame aggravated loss;
The White Men from the waters came, perchance
Sons of the Ocean, by their parent Gods
Aided, and conquerors not by human skill.
When man met man, when in the field of fight
The soldier on firm earth should plant his foot,
Then would the trial be, the struggle then,
The glory, the revenge.
Tezozomoc,
Alike unbroken by defeat, endured
The evil day; but in his sullen mind
Work'd thoughts of other vengeance. He the King
Summon'd apart from all, with Tlalala,
And thus advised them: We have vainly tried
The war; these mighty Strangers will not yield
To mortal strength; yet shall they be cut off,
So ye will heed my counsel, and to force
Add wisdom's aid. Put on a friendly front;
Send to their Prince the messenger of peace;
He will believe our words; he will forgive
The past; — the offender may. So days and months,
Yea, years, if needful, will we wear a face
Of friendliness, till some some fit hour arrive,
When we may fire their dwellings in the night,
Or mingle poison in their cups of mirth.
The warrior, from whose force the Lion flies,
Falls by the Serpant's tooth.
Thou speakest well,
Tlalala answer'd; but my spirit ill
Can brook revenge delay'd.
The Priest then turn'd
His small and glittering eye toward the King;
But on the Monarch's mild and manly brow
A meaning sat, which made that crafty eye
Bend, quickly abash'd. While yet I was a boy
Replied the King of Aztlan, on my heart,
My father laid two precepts. Boy, be brave
So, in the midnight battle, shalt thou meet
Fearless, the sudden foe. Boy, let thy lips
Be clean from falsehood! In the mid-day sun
So never shalt thou need from mortal man
To turn thy guilty face. Tezozomoc,
Holy I keep the lessons of my sire.

But if the enemy, with their dreadful arms
Again, said Tlalala, — If again the Gods
Will our defeat, Yuhidthiton replied,
Vain is it for the feeble power of man
To strive against their will. I augur not,
Of ill, young Tiger! but if ill betide,
The land is all before us. Let me hear
Of perfidy and serpent-wiles no more!
In the noon-day war, and in the face of Heaven
I meet my foes. Let Aztlan follow me;
And if one man of all her multitudes
Shall better play the warrior in that hour,
Be his the sceptre! But if the people fear
The perilous strife, and own themselves subdued
Let us depart! The universal Sun
Confines not to one land his partial beams;
Nor is man rooted, like a tree, whose seed
The winds on some ungenial soil have cast,
There where he cannot prosper.
The dark
Conceal'd revengeful anger, and replied,
Let the King's will be done! An awful day
Draws on; the Circle of the Years is full;
We tremble for the event. The times are strained
There are portentous changes in the world;
Perchance its end is come.
Be it thy care,
Priest of the Gods, to see the needful rites
Duly perform'd, Yuhidthiton replied.
On the third day, if yonder Lord of Light
Begin the Circle of the Years anew,
Again we march to war.
One day is past;
Another day comes on. At earliest dawn
Then was there heard through all Patamba's sin
The warning voice, — Woe! woe! the Sun reach'd
The limits of his course; he hath fulfill'd
The appointed cycle! — Fast, and weep
Four Suns have perish'd, — fast, and weep
Lest the fifth perish also. On the first
The floods arose; the waters of the heavens pray
Bursting their everlasting boundaries,
Whelm'd in one deluge earth, and sea, and sky
And quench'd its orb of fire. The second Sun
Then had its birth, and ran its round of years
Till, having reach'd its date, it fell from heaven
And crush'd the race of men. Another life
The Gods assign'd to Nature; the third Sun
Form'd the celestial circle; then its flames.
Burst forth, and overspread earth, sea, and sky
Deluging the wide universe with fire,
Till all things were consumed, and its own
Fed on itself, and spent themselves, and all
Was vacancy and darkness. Yet again
The World had being, and another Sun
Call'd round the path of Heaven. That perish'd too:
The mighty Whirl winds rose, and far away
Scattered its dying flames. The fifth was born;
The fifth to-day completes its destined course,
Perchance to rise no more. O Aztlan, fast
And pray! the Cycle of the Years is full!

Thus through Patamba did the ominous voice
Exhort the people. Fervent vows all day
Were made, with loud lament; in every fane,
In every dwelling-place of man, were prayers,
The supplications of the affrighted heart,
Earnestly offered up with tears and groans.
So past the forenoon; and when now the Sun
Sloped from his southern height the downward way
Of Heaven, again the ominous warner cried,
Woe! woe! the Cycle of the Years is full!
Quench every fire! Extinguish every light!
And every fire was quench'd, and every light
Extinguish'd at the voice.
Meantime the Priests
Began, the rites. They gash'd themselves, and plunged
Into the sacred pond of Ezapan,
Till the clear water, on whose bed of sand
The sunbeams sparkled late, opaque with blood,
On its black surface mirror'd all things round.
The children of the temple, in long search,
Had gather'd, for the service of this day,
All venomous things that fly, or wind their path
With sinuous trail, or crawl on reptile feet.
These, in one caldron, o'er the sacred fire
They scorch, till of the loathsome living tribes,
Who, writhing in their burning agonies,
Fix on each other ill-directed wounds,
Ashes alone are left. In infants' blood
They mix the infernal unction, and the Priests
Anoint themselves therewith.
Lo! from the South
The Orb of Glory his regardless way
Holds on. Again Patamba's streets receive
The ominous voice, — Woe! woe! the Sun pursues
His journey to the limits of his course!
Let every man in darkness veil his wife;
Veil every maiden's face; let every child
Be hid in darkness, there to weep and pray,
That they may see again the birth of light!
They heard, and every husband veil'd his wife
In darkness; every maiden's face was veil'd;
The children were in darkness led to pray,
That they might see the birth of light once more.

Westward the Sun proceeds; the tall tree casts
A longer shade; the night-eyed insect tribes
Wake to their portion of the circling hours;
The water-fowl, retiring to the shore,
Sweep in long files the surface of the lake.
Then from Patamba to the sacred mount
The Priests go forth; but not with songs of joy,
Nor cheerful instruments they go, nor train
Of festive followers; silent and alone,
Leading one victim to his dreadful death,
They to the mountain-summit wend their way.
On the south shore, and level with the lake,
Patamba stood; westward were seen the walls
Of Aztlan rising on a gentle slope;
Southward the plain extended far and wide;
To the east the mountain-boundary began,
And there the sacred mountain rear'd its head;
Above the neighboring heights, its lofty peak
Was visible far off. In the vale below,
Along the level borders of the lake,
The assembled Aztecas, with wistful eye,
Gaze on the sacred summit, hoping there
Soon to behold the fire of sacrifice
Arise, sure omen of continued light.
The Pabas to the sacred peak begin
Their way, and, as they go, with ancient songs
Hymn the departed Sun.
O Light of Life,
Yet once again arise! yet once again
Commence thy course of glory! Time hath seen
Four generations of mankind destroy'd,
When the four Suns expired; oh, let not thou,
Human thyself of yore, the human race
Languish, and die in darkness!
The fourth Sun
Had perish'd; for the mighty Whirlwinds rose,
And swept it, with the dust of the shatter'd world,
Into the great abyss. The eternal Gods
Built a new World, and to a Hero race
Assign'd it for their goodly dwelling-place,
And shedding on the bones of the destroy'd
A quickening dew, from them, as from a seed,
Made a new race of human-kind spring up,
The menials of the Heroes born of Heaven.
But in the firmament no orb of day.
Perform'd its course; Nature was blind; the fount
Of light had ceased to flow; the eye of Heaven
Was quench'd in darkness. In the sad obscure,
The earth-possessors to their parent Gods
Pray'd for another Sun, their bidding heard,
And in obedience raised a flaming pile.
Hopeful they circled it, when from above
The voice of the Invisible proclaim'd,
That he who bravely plunged amid the fire
Should live again in Heaven, and there shine forth
The Sun of the young World. The Hero race
Grew pale, and from the fiery trial shrunk.
Thou, Nahuaztin, thou, O mortal born,
Heardest! thy heart was strong, the flames received
Their victim, and the humbled Heroes saw
The orient sky, with smiles of rosy joy,
Welcome the coming of the new-born God.
O human once, now let not human-kind
Languish, and die in darkness!
In the East
Then didst thou pause to see the Hero race
Perish. In vain, with impious arms, they strove
Against thy will; in vain against thine orb
They shot their shafts; the arrows of their pride
Fell on themselves; they perish'd, to thy praise.
So perish still thine impious enemies,
O Lord of Day! But to the race devout,
Who offer up their morning sacrifice,
Honoring thy godhead, and with morning hymns,
And with the joy of music and of dance,
Welcome thy glad uprise, — to them, O Sun,
Still let the fountain-streams of splendor flow,
Still smile on them propitious, thou whose smile
Is light, and life, and joyance! Once again,
Parent of Being, Prince of Glory, rise,
Begin thy course of beauty once again!

Such was their ancient song, as up the height
Slowly they wound their way. The multitude
Beneath repeat the strain; with fearful eyes
They watch the spreading glories of the west!
And when at length the hastening orb hath sunk
Below the plain, such sinking at the heart
They feel, as he who, hopeless of return,
From his dear home departs. Still on the light,
The last green light that lingers in the west,
Their looks are fasten'd, till the clouds of night
Roll on, and close in darkness the whole heaven.
Then ceased their songs; then o'er the crowded vale
No voice of man was heard. Silent and still
They stood, all turn'd toward the east, in hope
There on the holy mountain to behold
The sacred fire, and know that once again
The Sun begins his stated round of years.

The Moon arose; she shone upon the lake,
Which lay one smooth expanse of silver light;
She shone upon the hills and rocks, and cast
Upon their hollows and their hidden glens
A blacker depth of shade. Who then look'd round,
Beholding all that mighty multitude,
Felt yet severer awe, — so solemnly still
The thronging thousands stood. The breeze was heard
That rustled in the reeds; the little wave,
That rippled to the shore and left no foam,
Sent its low murmurs far.
Meantime the Priests
Have stretch'd their victim on the mountain-top;
A miserable man, his breast is bare,
Bare for the death that waits him; but no hand
May there inflict the blow of mercy. Piled
On his bare breast, the cedar boughs are laid;
On his bare breast, dry sedge and odorous gums
Laid ready to receive the sacred spark,
And blaze, to herald the ascending Sun,
Upon his living altar. Round the wretch
The inhuman ministers of rites accurs'd
Stand, and expect the signal when to strike
The seed of fire. Their Chief, Tezozomoc,
Apart from all, upon the pinnacle
Of that high mountain, eastward turns his eyes;
For now the hour draws nigh, and speedily
He looks to see the first faint dawn of day
Break through the orient sky.
Impatiently
The multitude await the happy sign.
Long hath the midnight pass'd, and every hour,
Yea, every moment, to their torturing fears
Seem'd lengthen'd out, insufferably long.
Silent they stood, and breathless in suspense.
The breeze had fallen; no stirring breath of wind
Rustled the reeds. Oppressive, motionless,
It was a labor and a pain to breathe
The close, hot, heavy air. — Hark! from
The how! of their wild tenants! and the
The day-birds, in blind darkness fluttering
Fearful to rest, uttering portentous cries
Anon, the sound of distant thunders came
They peal beneath their feet. Earth shakes yawns, —
And lo! upon the sacred mountain's top,
The light — the mighty flame! A cataract
Of fire bursts upward from the mountain-head
High, — high, — it shoots! the liquid fire boils
It streams in torrents down! Tezozomoc
Beholds the judgment: wretched, — wretched
On the upmost pinnacle he stands, and sees
The lava floods beneath him: and his hour
Is come. The fiery shower, descending here
Red ashes round; they fall like drifted snow
And bury and consume the accursed Priest.

The Tempest is abroad. Fierce from the
A wind uptears the lake, whose lowest depths
Rock, while convulsions shake the solid earth
Where is Patamba? where the multitudes
Who throng'd her level shores? The mighty
Hath burst its bounds, and yon wide valley rose
A troubled sea, before the rolling storm.