 | The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems |  |
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XII.
“Now is our time for triumph—On!Brave followers of the Cross, and be
The Heaven, ye seek for, more than won,
When thus we crush idolatry!
One triumph now, and future times,
With conquest perch'd upon our brow,
Will half forget our many crimes,
In glancing o'er our victory now!”
'Tis Cortes speaks—and on he leads,
The gallant to heroic deeds;
Superior skill, and more than all,
Recover'd from his sudden fall,
He rushes thro' the retiring flood,
And wades, with charger, deep in blood.
But who is he that stands at bay,
Alone, and stems the advancing fray?
An Indian by his garb—around
His brow, a golden fillet bound—
Within, with many a gem, is set
A rich and sparkling coronet—
Deserted by his trembling bands,
The royal Guatimozin stands,
And stems the current—but what might,
Alone, and taught not well in fight,
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Sustain the wide, unequal war!
| The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems | |