Montezuma Part 8

Look for one moment on what was to be!

How would they cling to this rude mountain clime, And bar the door of their futurity!

The Aztecs were a proud and prowent race; In the dispersal at the far Northeast, Now many years, they held the leading place; Yet, in their husbandry, they were the least.

Their hands were skilled to turbulence and strife; The bow, the lance, and the rude hunter's knife-- Such were their ready implements; but peace Found them all unacquainted; her surcease Requires a range of weaponry diverse.

The hands that hew down others, lips that curse, Both must be newly christened; and the arts That unify the race with nature's ways Must hard their hands and reimburse their hearts, And time their lips with sunnier kinds of lays.

As if to fill the interim, there grew From their own ranks, the fittest kind of guide, A pastoral leader; who by instinct knew The flowery paths that lead on either side The verdant fields of husbandry and thrift; The worthy Moctheuzoma[B] had this gift, And led them to the conquest of the soil-- That easy conquering that seeks its spoil Only where G.o.d intended it for man, The fruits of his own labor. Thus began An era of self-discipline, that led The Aztecs on to greatness; and that shed A tender halo over after years, When memory will mingle with our tears.

He turned their eyes upon the talcite ledge, And said: "Behold, this is Tonatuah's pledge Of providence against the Summer's heat And the cold frosts of Winter; quarry it, And fas.h.i.+on it for framework to your homes.

For centuries it has withstood the storm, "To wait upon your coming; let your feet Be busy with its treasures." Then he turned To where the clay, for years, had been inurned, And said: "Make use of this; 'tis Thaloc's[C] gift.

The mighty thunderer hath torn it down, And ground it into ashes, for your use; Mold it in shapely fragments, and the sun, The warm-faced Tonatuah, will pour out His warmest rays to bake it back to stone.

And more, this pliant clay has apt.i.tudes For vessels of all kinds, and yours are rude; So in a hundred ways you may improve."

Then, pointing to the forest, thus he spoke: "There Tonatu' and Thaloc both did shake Their well-filled branches to the earth for us, That we might gather fruit, for any taste.

These n.o.ble trees have swelled the turf for years, And now will bend the neck for our support.

We must be provident; for they do point Their myriad fingers to the hands that gave, Mute monitors, to beckon us of Heaven.

"The fish and fowl, and all the vast menage That track our mountain slopes, are all our own.

But look out on the earth, whose gra.s.sy turf Lifts up its thousand homages to Heaven; "Whence must we gather fruit of our own toil.

The maize will grow if planted; the legume Will ripen; and our hands will surely fill, If we but ask the earth and G.o.ds to help And second our endeavors. We must work.

The river, from the mountain, rushes on; The mountain shakes its thousand plumes at her; The stars do not keep quiet in the skies; All nature is alert and on the watch; And man must bear his burden at the mill."

Thus, did he lead them to their better selves, And ravel out the intricates of life In wisdom's stern and simple litany; Gave trenchent lessons to the man and wife, And scattered homes upon new harvest fields.

And he, who sets a household altar up, And sanctifies it with the name of home, Fresh sprinkled from the sacred nuptial cup, Is Heaven's Amba.s.sador in human form.

The hearthstone is the herald of advance; The hanging of each homely crane, like one Of G.o.d's unnumbered irridescent plants, Sheds rainbow hues on all it s.h.i.+nes upon, And blessings bend each limb upon its tree.

Thrice happy is the nation thus begun, For it has found the track of destiny.

The mines he opened, and laid bare the beds Of precious minerals that underlie The bases of our mountain chains.

"For all our wants, we have a full supply,"

Thus spake the seer. "We shall not beat in vain Against the bars that keep our souls from flight.

Our birth is built around by providence; Our wants are wickets to unmeasured wealth.

If we but find the turnstile to the field, We have but half the hill of life to climb; The other half fades out as we advance; When we have toiled out half-way distance up, Lo! we have found the summit, and descend.

"Thus do we work together with the G.o.ds; If we but do our best, it is enough; When we put out our arms, they reach to us, Though they do span the universe, to meet And draw us up, the s.h.i.+ning heights of life.

So in our daily plodding; if we sow, The G.o.ds will furnish harvest; if we build, The G.o.ds have made the quarry and the clay; Whatever purposes we have in life, If they be only for our betterment, The crude material is at our hands; We only fas.h.i.+on it to suit our wants; Nor is the measure stinted to our needs, But all our vessels fill to overflow "Look over the green fields! Great is our want, But greater the supply; on every hand The wild flowers lift their heads, and what are these But kisses thrown from Heaven to win us back?

Our appet.i.tes are but our weaker parts, And easy satisfied; not so our souls; They have external longings to supply; And all that beautifies and brightens earth Are forecasts of a kingdom yet to come.

As on earth's surface may be found the flowers, So, underneath the s.h.i.+ning metals are The surplus of a generous providence.

Our fathers, on the borders of the lakes, Did fas.h.i.+on implements of husbandry From inexhaustive mines; but here we have In lesser quant.i.ties, much brighter ores, Fit mostly for adornment and exchange.

"Man is not satisfied with 'hand to mouth.'

The beasts roam through the forests and are filled, And therewith are content; not so with man.

Two worlds break on his vision; and the one Must interlock the other in his life, Or he goes blindly out into the night.

And it is well earth gives no perfect rest, Or the hereafter would fall out of sight.

Man is the one ambitious animal Who seeks for empire, as the brute seeks food; The tame necessities are not enough, But all the precious under flowers of earth Must fill the measure of his discontent.

All men are not alike, and some must hold The fullest measure of life's luxuries; These pay their surplus for the others' toil; With them the s.h.i.+ning metals will be held As medium for barter and for trade.

And as Earth decks her bosom with the flowers, So will the human race adorn themselves And blossom out with variance of gems."

Though, still enc.u.mbered with their ancient myths, He pointed out the harmony of Heaven; Gave why and wherefore to the dread eclipse.

Not his to tell them how the earth is driven Upon its swinging orbit over s.p.a.ce; And yet he measured out the perfect year; He looked stern Nature bravely in the face, And seemed to question her without a fear.

Transcendent genius; thus to grapple Truth Across the path still covered from his sight, Yet is she merciful; her name is Ruth; She never perches on so grand a height, But she will answer to her children's call, And spread her wings to fly to their embrace-- This link was never broken by our fall, And writes Evangel on our troubled race.

With his own hand he led them to the field, With his own hand he taught them how to build; He showed them what true husbandry would yield, How all their empty measures could be filled By wakeful industry. "Well pointed toil Is touchstone to earth's treasure-box," said he.

"Our fathers may enrich us with their spoil, And we may thus evade the beaten path; Yet, lying dormant on our fathers' beds, Our waste brings want upon our children's heads.

Far better that each hand be labor-marked, That all may know the purchase of their lives; He loses half the journey who goes out To the incert.i.tudes of other worlds, Who has not tasted what his hands have won On this, his trial sphere."

Thus in well-chosen words, and earnest deeds, He planted fruit that crowded out the weeds.

Ruled by divinest right of master-mind, By wisdom and humility combined, By heart, as well as head and hand, he wrought; For there be many who can ne'er be taught By any else than throbbing 'gainst their own, Of some great royal heart; this is their throne; And he who sways in scepterhood of love, Gets his vicegerent from the throne above.

Through many years did Moctheuzoma reign; And Aztlan prospered, and the race grew strong; And when his body pa.s.sed to earth again, His spirit, with its wisdom, lingered long.

Thus, with a twilight halo pa.s.s the great Across the threshold with a noiseless tread; We linger but a moment at the gate To pay our homage to the honored dead; Then turn to find them still inurned with us.

Their silence is more eloquent than words, Their pa.s.sing out is but life's overplus, Their tongues are tempered into two-edged swords.

They speak across the chasm of their graves, In weightier words, in thoughts far more intense; In life they mingled with its thousand waves-- It is G.o.d's way; death ripens eloquence.

Time trolls along with its unceasing march, And Aztlan has outgrown her former bounds; She holds the center of the ancient arch, On the historic ladder's highest rounds.

She sways the queenly scepter of the past Above the waymarks of a hundred realms; Yet leaves but hints of the grand overcast, Through which she burns her way, and overwhelms Our thoughts with all the possibles of time.

We can but poorly comprehend, yet write her most sublime.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Mexitli, Toltec for Mexico, also the G.o.d of war.

[B] Moctheuzoma, the original Aztec name for Montezuma, commonly spoken of as the Elder Montezuma, a pastoral leader still remembered in their legends.

[C] Thaloc, the Aztec G.o.d of the lightning.

PART THIRD.

ANAHUAC.[D]

THE AZTEC'S JOURNEY AND SETTLEMENT SOUTH.

Another turn of fortune's fickle wheel.

They journey to the South, and cast their lot Upon Mexitli's lovely plain; the heel Of other nations has forestalled the spot, And they must win their way through turbulence To reach the border of the placid lake, Where conquest waits their hardly purchased chance; And all of Anahuac shall feel the shake Of their unconquered tread. Not many years Ere nation follows nation to their thrall; And many are the hot, convulsive tears, Through which we read of any people's fall.

Our homes and hearthstones are so near the same, Or column-capped, or made of homely clay-- Marble and gold can make no higher claim Than thatch or brushwood, so they bear the name Of household, hallowed for centuries or held but for a day.

As if to track a thousand similes Of thorn and rose, of laughter and of tears, War strikes its hand upon all sacristies; (Religion must be bent to its decrees) Holding our destinies--our hopes and fears Are all within its baleful balance thrown.

It beats upon the organ of our lives, and history repeats the wild, discordant moan.

So nations, whose lost anchorage must pay The penalty of their forgetfulness, Seek out phantasmal deities to prey Upon their vitals in their sore distress.

Mars, or Mexitli[E]: though the one be crowned With all the glory that bedecks old Rome, The idols of the other, fiercely ground To powdered pulp by Spain's invading host.

How much of agony they both have cost Ask of the millions lost to life and home!

Ambition makes a Caesar: it is well It gives some recompense for all its crime; For it has made the earth an endless h.e.l.l, Crowding its woes upon the lap of time-- And yet, religion spurs it to the test, And priests have been the primates of its throne, Chanting their auguries to fire its breast, Braying all history with their undertone.

Nor is the "manger," with its cradled Christ, Free from the misinterpreting of Priest.

The cross where G.o.d and man have kept their tryst, Been changed to leaven for inglorious feast-- G.o.d! must future draw its cadence from the past, And plow its furrow through the same red mould?

Must nations be in the same furnace cast, And man, the master, bought, and scourged, and sold?

Then is creation but a lie accursed, And better that the doom upon it burst.

No. Though experience may slowly turn, And man may learn as slowly, yet we learn.

The risen Christ did break the grasp of death, And empire, dead in trespa.s.ses, will yet receive its breath.