 | The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems |  |
IX.
One moment's pause he gains from fight,A moment's glance he casts around him,
Where, hidden from his followers' sight,
The Mexicans surround him.
There is a triumph in his eye,
His lip exulting, curls in pride—
And dares he dream of victory,
Without one warrior at his side?
Perchance, with high regard to fame,
And glorious memory—deathless name.
He feels, that he, who bravely dies,
Surrounded by his enemies,
In death, wins many victories!
But lo! what splendor dims the sight—
Whence is that sky's unusual glory,
As when a volcan flames at night,
From some cloud-lifting promontory!
He speaks—as in that curling fire
His soul hath won its fierce desire.
17
Proclaims, even death were triumph now.
| The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems | |