PROEM TO YAMOYDEN.

Go forth, sad fragments of a broken strain,
The last that either bard shall e'er essay !
The hand can ne'er attempt the chords again,
That first awoke them, in a happier day:
Where sweeps the ocean breeze its desert way,
His requiem murmurs o'er the moaning wave;
And he who feebly now prolongs the lay,
Shall ne'er the minstrel's hallow'd honours crave;
His harp lies buried deep, in that untimely grave!
Friend of my youth, with thee began the love
Of sacred song; the wont, in golden dreams,
Mid classic realms of splendours past to, rove,
O'er haunted steep, and by immortal streams;
Where the blue wave, with sparkling bosom, gleams
Round shores, the mind's eternal heritage,
Forever lit by memory's twilight beams;
Where the proud dead, that live in storied page,
Beckon, with awful port, to glory's earlier age.

There would we linger oft, entranced, to hear,
O'er battle fields, the epic thunders roll;
Or list, where tragic wail upon the ear,
Through Argive palaces shrill echoing, stole;
There would we mark, uncurb'd by all control,
In central heaven, the Theban eagle's flight;
Or hold communion with the musing soul
Of sage or bard, who sought, mid pagan night,
In loved Athenian groves, for truth's eternal light.
Homeward we turn'd, to that fair land, but late
Redeem'd from the strong spell that bound it fast,
Where mystery, brooding o'er the waters, sate
And kept the key, till three millenniums pass'd;
When, as creation's noblest work was last;
Latest, to man it was vouchsafed, to see
Nature's great wonder, long by clouds o'ercast,
And veiled in sacred awe, that it might be
An empire and a home, most worthy for the free.

And here, forerunners strange and meet were found,

Of that bless'd freedom, only dream'd before ;-
Dark were the morning mists, that linger'd round
Their birth and story, as the hue they bore.
"Earth was their mother;"- -or they knew no

more,

Or would not that their secret should be told; For they were grave and silent; and such lore, To stranger ears, they loved not to unfold, The long-transmitted tales their sires were taught of old.

Kind nature's commoners, from her they drew
Their needful wants, and learn'd not how to hoard;
And him whom strength and wisdom crown'd
they knew,

But with no servile reverence, as their lord.
And on their mountain summits they adored
One great, good Spirit, in his high abode,
And thence their incense and orisons pour'd
To his pervading presence, that abroad
They felt through all his works, their Father,
King, and Gon.

And in the mountain mist, the torrent's spray, The quivering forest, or the glassy flood, Soft-falling showers, or hues of orient day, They imaged spirits beautiful and good; But when the tempest roar'd, with voices rude, Or fierce red lightning fired the forest pine, Or withering heats untimely sear'd the wood, The angry forms they saw of powers malign; These they besought to spare, those bless'd for aid divine.

As the fresh sense of life, through every vein, With the pure air they drank, inspiring came, Comely they grew, patient of toil and pain, And as the fleet deer's, agile was their frame; Of meaner vices scarce they knew the name; These simple truths went down from sire to son,— To reverence age,-the sluggish hunter's shame And craven warrior's infamy to shun,- [done. And still avenge each wrong, to friends or kindred From forest shades they peer'd, with awful dread, When, uttering flame and thunder from its side, The ocean-monster, with broad wings outspread, Came ploughing gallantly the virgin tide. Few years have pass'd, and all their forests' pride From shores and hills has vanish'd, with the race, Their tenants erst, from memory who have died, Like airy shapes, which eld was wont to trace, In each green thicket's depths, and lone, sequester'd place.

And many a gloomy tale, tradition yet Saves from oblivion, of their struggles vain, Their prowess and their wrongs, for rhymer meet, To people scenes where still their names remain; And so began our young, delighted strain, That would evoke the plumed chieftains brave, And bid their martial hosts arise again, Where Narraganset's tides roll by their grave, And Haup's romantic steeps are piled above the

wave.

Friend of my youth! with thee began my song, And o'er thy bier its latest accents die; Misled in phantom-peopled realms too long,— Though not to me the muse adverse deny, Sometimes, perhaps, her visions to descry, Such thriftless pastime should with youth be o'er; And he who loved with thee his notes to try, But for thy sake, such idlesse would deplore, And swears to meditate the thankless muse no more.

But, no! the freshness of the past shall still
Sacred to memory's holiest musings be;
When through the ideal fields of song, at will,
He roved and gather'd chaplets wild with thee;
When, reckless of the world, alone and free,
Like two proud barks, we kept our careless way.
That sail by moonlight o'er the tranquil sea;
Their white apparel and their streamers gay
Bright gleaming o'er the main, beneath the ghostly
ray;-

And downward, far, reflected in the clear
Blue depths, the eye their fairy tackling sees;
So buoyant, they do seem to float in air,
And silently obey the noiseless breeze⚫

Till, all too soon, as the rude winds may please, They part for distant ports: the gales benign Swift wafting, bore, by Heaven's all-wise decrees, To its own harbour sure, where each divine And joyous vision, seen before in dreams, is thine. Muses of Helicon! melodious race

Of Jove and golden-hair'd MNEMOSYNE; Whose art from memory blots each sadder trace, And drives each scowling form of grief away! Who, round the violet fount, your measures gay Once trod, and round the altar of great Jove; Whence, wrapt in silvery clouds, your nightly way Ye held, and ravishing strains of music wove, That soothed the Thunderer's soul, and fill'd his courts above.

Bright choir! with lips untempted, and with zone Sparkling, and unapproach'd by touch profane; Ye, to whose gladsome bosoms ne'er was known The blight of sorrow, or the throb of pain; Rightly invoked,-if right the elected swain, On your own mountain's side ye taught of yore, Whose honour'd hand took not your gift in vain, Worthy the budding laurel-bough it bore,—— Farewell! a long farewell! I worship you no more.

DREAM OF THE PRINCESS PAPANTZIN.

MEXITLIS' power was at its topmost pride;
The name was terrible from sea to sea;
From mountains, where the tameless Ottomite
Maintain'd his savage freedom, to the shores
Of wild Higueras. Through the nations pass'd,
As stalks the angel of the pestilence, [young,
The great king's messengers. They marked the
The brave and beautiful, and bore them on
For their foul sacrifices. Terror went
Before the tyrant's heralds. Grief and wrath
Remain'd behind their steps; but they were dumb.

He was as Gon. Yet in his capital
Sat MOTEUCZOMA, second of that name,
Trembling with fear of dangers long foretold
In ancient prophecies, and now announced
By signs in heaven and portents upon earth;
By the reluctant voices of pale priests;
By the grave looks of solemn counsellors;
But chief, by sickening heaviness of heart
That told of evil, dimly understood,

But evil which must come. With face obscured,
And robed in night, the giant phantom rose,
Of his great empire's ruin, and his own.
Happier, though guiltier, he, before whose glance
Of reckless triumph, moved the spectral hand
That traced the unearthly characters of fate.

"T was then, one eve, when o'er the imperial lake
And all its cities, glittering in their pomp,
The lord of glory threw his parting smiles,
In TLATELOLCo's palace, in her bower,
PAPANTZIN lay reclined; sister of him

At whose name monarchs trembled. Yielding there To musings various, o'er her senses crept

Or sleep, or kindred death. It seem'd she stood I an illimitable plain, that stretch'd

Its desert continuity around,

Upon the o'erwearied sight; in contrast strange
With that rich vale, where only she had dwelt,
Whose everlasting mountains, girdling it,
As in a chalice held a kingdom's wealth;
Their summits freezing, where the eagle tired,
But found no resting-place. PAPANTZIN look'd
On endless barrenness, and walk'd perplex'd
Through the dull haze, along the boundless heath,
Like some lone ghost in Mictlan's cheerless gloom
Debarred from light and glory. Wandering thus,
She came where a great sullen river pour'd
Its turbid waters with a rushing sound
Of painful moans; as if the inky waves
Were hastening still on their complaining course
To escape the horrid solitudes. Beyond
What seem'd a highway ran, with branching paths
Innumerous. This to gain, she sought to plunge
Straight in the troubled stream. For well she knew
To shun with agile limbs the current's force,
Nor fear'd the noise of waters. She had play'd
From infancy in her fair native lake,
Amid the gay plumed creatures floating round,
Wheeling or diving, with their changeful hues
As fearless and as innocent as they.

A vision stay'd her purpose. By her side
Stood a bright youth; and startling, as she gazed
On his effulgence, every sense was bound
In pleasing awe and in fond reverence.
For not TEZCATLIPOCA, as he shone
Upon her priest-led fancy, when from heaven
By filmy thread sustain'd he came to earth,
In his resplendent mail reflecting all
Its images, with dazzling portraiture,
Was, in his radiance and immortal youth,
A peer to this new god.-His stature was
Like that of men; but match'd with his, the port
Of kings all dreaded was the crouching mien
Of suppliants at their feet. Serene the light
That floated round him, as the lineaments
It cased with its mild glory. Gravely sweet
The impression of his features, which to scan
Their lofty loveliness forbade: His eyes
She felt, but saw not: only, on his brow-
From over which, encircled by what seem'd
A ring of liquid diamond, in pure light
Revolving ever, backward flow'd his locks
In buoyant, waving clusters-on his brow
She mark'd a cross described; and lowly bent,
She knew not wherefore, to the sacred sign.
From either shoulder mantled o'er his front
Wings dropping feathery silver; and his robe,
Snow-white, in the still air was motionless,
As that of chisell'd god, or the pale shroud
Of some fear-conjured ghost. Her hand he took
And led her passive o'er the naked banks
Of that black stream, still murmuring angrily.
But, as he spoke, she heard its moans no more;
His voice seem'd sweeter than the hymnings raised
By brave and gentle souls in Paradise,
To celebrate the outgoing of the sun,
On his majestic progress over heaven.
"Stay, princess," thus he spoke, "thou mayst not
O'erpass these waters. Though thou know'st it not,
Nor him, Gon loves thee.". So he led her on,

[yet

Unfainting, amid hideous sights and sounds:
For now, o'er scatter'd skulls and grisly bones
They walk'd; while underneath, before, behind,
Rise dolorous wails and groans protracted long,
Sobs of deep anguish, screams of agony,
And melancholy sighs, and the fierce yell
Of hopeless and intolerable pain.

Shuddering, as, in the gloomy whirlwind's pause,
Through the malign, distemper'd atmosphere,
The second circle's purple blackness, pass'd
The pitying Florentine, who saw the shades
Of poor FRANCESCA and her paramour,—
The princess o'er the ghastly relics stepp'd,
Listening the frightful clamour; till a gleam,
Whose sickly and phosphoric lustre seem'd
Kindled from these decaying bones, lit up
The sable river. Then a pageant came
Over its obscure tides, of stately barks,
Gigantic, with their prows of quaint device,
Tall masts, and ghostly canvass, huge and high,
Hung in the unnatural light and lifeless air.
Grim, bearded men, with stern and angry looks,
Strange robes, and uncouth armour, stood behind
Their galleries and bulwarks. One ship bore
A broad sheet-pendant, where, inwrought with gold,
She mark'd the symbol that adorned the brow
Of her mysterious guide. Down the dark stream
Swept on the spectral fleet, in the false light
Flickering and fading. Louder then uprose
The roar of voices from the accursed strand,
Until in tones, solemn and sweet, again
Her angel-leader spoke.
66 Princess, Gon wills
That thou shouldst live, to testify on earth
What changes are to come: and in the world
Where change comes never, live, when earth and all
Its changes shall have pass'd like earth away.
The cries that pierced thy soul and chill'd thy veins
Are those of thy tormented ancestors.

[ments,

Nor shall their torment cease; for Gon is just.
Foredoom'd, since first from Aztlan led to rove,
Following, in quest of change, their kindred tribes-
Where'er they rested, with foul sacrifice
They stain'd the shuddering earth. Their monu-
By blood cemented, after ages pass'd,
With idle wonder of fantastic guess
The traveller shall behold. For, broken, then,
Like their own ugly idols, buried, burn'd,
Their fragments spurn'd for every servile use,
Trampled and scatter'd to the reckless winds,
The records of their origin shall be.
Still in their cruelty and untamed pride,
They lived and died condemn'd; whether they
Outcasts, upon a soil that was not theirs, [dwelt
All sterile as it was, and won by stealth
Food from the slimy margent of the lake,
And digg'd the earth for roots and unclean worms;
Or served in bondage to another race,
Who loved them not. Driven forth, they wander'd
In miserable want, until they came
Where from the thriftless rock the nopal grew,
On which the hungry eagle perch'd and scream'd,
And founded Tenochtitlan; rearing first,
With impious care, a cabin for their god
HUITZILOPOCHTLI, and with murderous rites
Devoting to his guardianship themselves

[then

And all their issue. Quick the nopal climb'd,
Its harsh and bristly growth towering o'er all
The vale of Anahuac. Far for his prey,
And farther still the ravenous eagle Hew;
And still with dripping beak, but thirst unslaked,
With savage cries wheel'd home. Nine kings have
reign'd,

Their records blotted and besmear'd with blood
So thick that none may read them. Down the stairs
And o'er the courts and winding corridors
Of their abominable piles, uprear'd

In the face of heaven, and naked to the sun,
More blood has flow'd than would have fill'd the lakes
O'er which, enthroned midst carnage, they have sat,
Heaping their treasures for the stranger's spoil.
Prodigious cruelty and waste of life,
Unnatural riot and blaspheming pride,—

All that Gon hates,-and all that tumbles down
Great kingdoms and luxurious commonwealths,
After long centuries waxing all corrupt,—
In their brief annals aggregated, forced,
And monstrous, are compress'd. And now the cup
Of wrath is full; and now the hour has come.
Nor yet unwarn'd shall judgment overtake
The tribes of Aztlan, and in chief their lords,
MEXITLIS' blind adorers. As to one
Who feels his inward malady remain,
Howe'er health's seeming mocks his destiny,
In gay or serious mood the thought of death
Still comes obtrusive; so old prophecy,
From age to age preserved, has told thy race
How strangers, from beyond the rising sun,
Should come with thunder arm'd, to overturn
Their idols, to possess their lands, and hold
Them and their children in long servitude.

"Thou shalt bear record that the hour is nigh
The white and bearded men whose grim array
Swept o'er thy sight, are those who are to come,
And with strong arms, and wisdom stronger far,
Strange beasts, obedient to their masters' touch,
And engines hurling death, with Fate to aid,
Shall wrest the sceptre from the Azteques' line,
And lay their temples flat. Horrible war,
Rapine, and murder, and destruction wild
Shall hurry like the whirlwind o'er the land.
Yet with the avengers come the word of peace;
With the destroyers comes the bread of life;
And, as the wind-god, in thine idle creed,
Opens a passage with his boisterous breath
Through which the genial waters over earth
Shed their reviving showers; so, when the storm
Of war has pass'd, rich dews of heavenly grace
Shall fall on flinty hearts. And thou, the flower,—.
Which, when huge cedars and most ancient pines,
Coeval with the mountains, are uptorn,
The hurricane shall leave unharm'd,-thou, then,
Shalt be the first to lift thy drooping head
Renew'd, and cleansed from every former stain.
"The fables of thy people teach, that when
The deluge drown'd mankind, and one sole pair
In fragile bark preserved, escaped and climb'd
The steeps of Colhuacan, daughters and sons
Were born to them, who knew not how to frame
Their simplest thoughts in speech; till from the
A dove pour'd forth, in regulated sounds, [grove

But thou shalt then hear of that holiest Dove,
Which is the Spirit of the eternal Gon.
When all was void and dark, he moved above
Infinity; and from beneath his wings
Earth and the waters and the islands rose;
The air was quicken'd, and the world had life.
Then all the lamps of heaven began to shine,
And man was made to gaze upon their fires.

Among thy fathers' visionary tales,

Thou'st heard, how once near ancient Tula dwelt
A woman, holy and devout, who kept
The temple pure, and to its platform saw

A globe of emerald plumes descend from heaven.
Placing it in her bosom to adorn
Her idol's sanctuary, (so the tale
Runs,) she conceived, and bore MEXITLI. He,
When other children had assail'd her life,
Sprang into being, all equipp'd for war;
His green plumes dancing in their circlet bright,
Like sheaf of sun-lit spray cresting the bed
Of angry torrents. Round, as Tonatiuh
Flames in mid-heaven, his golden buckler shone;
Like nimble lightning flash'd his dreadful lance;
And unrelenting vengeance in his eyes
Blazed with its swarthy lustre. He, they tell,
Led on their ancestors; and him the god
Of wrath and terror, with the quivering hearts
And mangled limbs of myriads, and the stench
Of blood-wash'd shrines and altars they appease.
But then shall be reveal'd to thee the name
And vision of a virgin undefiled,
Embalm'd in holy beauty, in whose eyes,
Downcast and chaste, such sacred influence lived,
That none might gaze in their pure spheres and feel
One earth-born longing. Over her the Dove
Hung, and the Almighty power came down. She
In lowliness, and as a helpless babe,
Heir to man's sorrows and calamities,
His great Deliverer, Conqueror of Death;
And thou shalt learn, how when in years he grew
Perfect, and fairer than the sons of men,
And in that purifying rite partook
Which thou shalt share, as from his sacred locks
The glittering waters dropp'd, high over head
The azure vault was open'd, and that Dove
Swiftly, serenely floating downwards, stretch'd
His silvery pinions o'er the anointed Lonn,
Sprinkling celestial dews. And thou shalt hear
How, when the sacrifice for man had gone
In glory home, as his chief messengers
Were met in council, on a mighty wind
The Dove was borne among them; on each brow
A forked tongue of fire unquenchable lit;
And, as the lambent points shot up and waved,
Strange speech came to them; thence to every land,
In every tongue, they, with untiring steps.
Bore the glad tidings of a world redeem'd."

[bore

Much more, which now it suits not to rehearse, The princess heard. The historic prophet told Past, present, future,-things that since have been, And things that are to come. And, as he ceased, O'er the block river, and the desert plain, As o'er the close of counterfeited scenes,

Impervious; and his figure faded swift

In the dense gloom. But then, in starlike light,
That awful symbol which adorn'd his brow
In size dilating show'd: and up, still up,
In its clear splendour still the same, though still
Lessening, it mounted; and PAPANTZIN woke.
She woke in darkness and in solitude.
Slow pass'd her lethargy away, and long
To her half-dreaming eye that brilliant sign
Distinct appear'd. Then damp and close she felt
The air around, and knew the poignant smell
Of spicy herbs collected and confined.
As those awakening from a troubled trance
Are wont, she would have learn'd by touch if ye
The spirit to the body was allied.
Strange hindrances prevented. O'er her face
A mask thick-plated lay: and round her swathed
Was many a costly and encumbering robe,
Such as she wore on some high festival,
O'erspread with precious gems, rayless and cold,
That now press'd hard and sharp against her touch
The cumbrous collar round her slender neck,
Of gold, thick studded with each valued stone
Earth and the sca-depths yield for human pride--
The bracelets and the many twisted rings
That girt her taper limbs, coil upon coil-
What were they in this dungeon's solitude?
The plumy coronal that would have sprung
Light from her fillet in the purer air,
Waving in mockery of the rainbow tints,
Now drooping low, and steep'd in clogging dews,
Oppressive hung. Groping in dubious search,
She found the household goods, the spindle, broom,
GICALLI quaintly sculptured, and the jar
That held the useless beverage for the dead.
By these, and by the jewel to her lip
Attach'd, the emerald symbol of the soul,
In its green life immortal, soon she knew
Her dwelling was a sepulchre. She loosed
The mask, and from her feathery bier uprose,
Casting away the robe, which like long alb
Wrapp'd her; and with it many an aloe leaf,
Inscribed with Azteck characters and signs,
To guide the spirit where the serpent hiss'd,
Hills tower'd, and deserts spread, and keen winds
blew,

And many a "Flower of Death;" though their frail leaves

Were yet unwither'd. For the living warmth
Which in her dwelt, their freshness had preserved;
Else, if corruption had begun its work,
The emblems of quick change would have survived
Her beauty's semblance. What is beauty worth,
If the cropp'd flower retains its tender bloom
When foul decay has stolen the latest lines
Of loveliness in death? Yet even now
PAPANTZIN knew that her exuberant locks-
Which, unconfined, had round her flow'd to earth,
Like a stream rushing down some rocky steep,
Threading ten thousand channels-had been shorn
Of half their waving length,-and liked it not.

But through a crevice soon she mark'd a gleam Of rays uncertain; and, with staggering steps, But strong in reckless dreaminess, while still

Presided o'er the chaos of her thoughts The revelation that upon her soul

Dwelt with its power, she gain'd the cavern's throat,
And push'd the quarried stone aside, and stood
In the free air, and in her own domain.

But now, obscurely o'er her vision swam
The beauteous landscape, with its thousand tints
And changeful views; long alleys of bright trees
Bending beneath their fruits; espaliers gay
With tropic flowers and shrubs that fill'd the breeze
With odorous incense, basins vast, where birds
With shining plumage sported, smooth canals
Leading the glassy wave, or towering grove
Of forest veterans. On a rising bank,
Her seat accustom'd, near a well hewn out
From ancient rocks, into which waters gush'd
From living springs, where she was wont to bathe,
She threw herself to muse. Dim on her sight
The imperial city and its causeways rose,
With the broad lake and all its floating isles
And glancing shallops, and the gilded pomp
Of princely barges, canopied with plumes
Spread fanlike, or with tufted pageantry
Waving magnificent. Unmark'd around
The frequent huitzilin, with murmuring hum
Of ever-restless wing, and shrill, sweet note,
Shot twinkling, with the ruby star that glow'd
Over his tiny bosom, and all hues

That loveliest seem in heaven, with ceaseless change,
Flashing from his fine films. And all in vain
Untiring, from the rustling branches near,
Pour'd the centzontli all his hundred strains
Of imitative melody. Not now

She heeded them. Yet pleasant was the shade
Of palins and cedars; and through twining boughs
And fluttering leaves, the subtle god of air,
The serpent arm'd with plumes, most welcome crept,
And fann'd her cheek with kindest ministry.

A dull and dismal sound came booming on;
A solemn, wild, and melancholy noise,
Shaking the tranquil air; and afterward
A clash and jangling, barbarously prolonged,
Torturing the unwilling ear, rang dissonant.
Again the unnatural thunder roll'd along,
Again the crash and clamour follow'd it.
Shuddering she heard, who knew that every peal
From the dread gong announced a victim's heart
Torn from his breast, and each triumphant clang,
A mangled corse, down the great temple's stairs
Hurl'd headlong; and she knew, as lately taught,
How vengeance was ordain'd for cruelty;
How pride would end; and uncouth soldiers tread
Through bloody furrows o'er her pleasant groves
And gardens; and would make themselves a road
Over the dead, choking the silver lake,
And cast the batter'd idols down the steps
That climb'd their execrable towers, and raze
Sheer from the ground AnUITZOL's mighty pile.
There had been wail for her in Mexico,
And with due rites and royal obsequies,
Not without blood at devilish altars shed,
She had been number'd with her ancestry.
Here when beheld, revisiting the light,
Great marvel rose, and greater terror grew,
Until the kings came trembling, to receive

no more, This or the world to come. SAM PATCH is dead! The vulgar pathway to the unknown shore Of dark futurity, he would not tread. No friends stood sorrowing round his dying bed Nor with decorous wo, sedately stepp'd

Behind his corpse, and tears by retail shed;— The mighty river, as it onward swept,

In one great, wholesale sob, his body drown'd and kept.

Toll for SAM PATCH! he scorn'd the common way That leads to fame. up heights of rough ascent, And having heard POPE and LONGINUS say,

That some great men had risen to falls, he wen. And jump'd, where wild Passaic's waves had ren! The antique rocks;-the air free passage gave,And graciously the liquid element

Upbore him, like some sea-god on its wave;
And all the people said that SAM was very brave.

Fame, the clear spirit that doth to heaven upraise,
Led SAM to dive into what BYRON calls
The hell of waters. For the sake of praise,

He woo'd the bathos down great waterfalls;
The dizzy precipice, which the eye appals
Of travellers for pleasure, SAMUEL found

Pleasant, as are to women lighted halls, Cramm'd full of fools and fiddles; to the sound Of the eternal roar, he timed his desperate bound. SAM was a fool. But the large world of such Has thousands-better taught, alike absurd, And less sublime. Of fame he soon got much. Where distant cataracts spout, of him men heard.

SAMUEL PATCH was a boatman on the Erie Canal, in New York. He made himself notorious by leaping from the masts of ships, from the Falls of Niagara, and from the Falls in the Genesee River, at Rochester. His last feat was in the summer of 1831, when, in the presence of many thousands, he jumped from above the highest rock over which the water falls in the Genesee, and was lost. He had become intoxicated, before going upon the scaffold, and lost his balance in descending. The above verses were written a few days after this event.