University of Virginia Library

XXXII

My chief swift up the marble stept—
He ever led, through that wild land—
When down the stones, with double hand
To his machete, a Sun priest leapt,
Hot bent to barter life for life,
A Texan drave his Bowie knife
Full through his thick and broad breast bone,
And broke the point against the stone,
The dark stone of the temple wall.
I saw him loose all hold and fall
Full length with head hung down the stone;
I saw run down a ruddy flood
Of smoking, pulsing human blood.
Then from the dusk there crept a crone
And kissed the gory hands and face,
And smote herself. Then one by one
Some dusk priests crept and did the same,
Then bore the dead man from the place.
Down darkened aisles the brown priests came,
So picture-like, with sandaled feet
And long, gray, dismal, grass-wove gowns,
So like the pictures of old time,
And stood all still and dark of frowns,
At blood upon the stone and street.
Stern men laid ready hand to sword
And boldly spake some bitter word;
But they were stubborn still and stood
Fierce frowning as a winter wood,
And mutt'ring something of the crime
Of blood upon their temple stone,
As if the first that it had known!