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|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
IV
And then it was as if I talked
Of gods and beauty, like a god;
'Mid Montezuma's priests who walked
Obedient to my nod.
Of gods and beauty, like a god;
'Mid Montezuma's priests who walked
Obedient to my nod.
From Mexic levels breezes blew
O'er green magueys; cacaö fields;
I stood among caciques, a crew
With plumes and golden shields.
O'er green magueys; cacaö fields;
I stood among caciques, a crew
With plumes and golden shields.
In raiment made of humming-birds
Brown slave-girls danced. All Anahuac
Stood, grim with strange obsidian swords,
Around the idol's rock.
Brown slave-girls danced. All Anahuac
Stood, grim with strange obsidian swords,
Around the idol's rock.
And up the temple's winding stair
Of pyramid we wound and went:
The bloomed vanilla drenched the air
With all its tropic scent.
Of pyramid we wound and went:
395
With all its tropic scent.
Volcanoes walled us in: and I
Walked, crowned with flaming cactus-flowers,
Beneath the golden, Aztec sky,
Lord of the living hours.
Walked, crowned with flaming cactus-flowers,
Beneath the golden, Aztec sky,
Lord of the living hours.
When, lo! five priests, who led me to
A jasper stone of sacrifice!—
Then deep within my soul I knew
That prideful moment's price.
A jasper stone of sacrifice!—
Then deep within my soul I knew
That prideful moment's price.
A sixth priest, robed in cochineal,
Received me at the altar's stone:
I saw the flint-blade, sharp as steel,
That in his high hand shone.
Received me at the altar's stone:
I saw the flint-blade, sharp as steel,
That in his high hand shone.
O God! to dream that they would bind—
With pomp and pageant of their love—
Me to the rock, and never blind
Mine eyes to that above!
With pomp and pageant of their love—
Me to the rock, and never blind
Mine eyes to that above!
I felt the flint hack through my breast,
And in my agony did raise
Wild eyes, a little while to rest
Upon their idol's face.
And in my agony did raise
Wild eyes, a little while to rest
Upon their idol's face.
396
Just God! the priest tore out my heart,
And held it, beating, to the sun—
Chanting—and from one burning part
Great drops dripped, one by one.
And held it, beating, to the sun—
Chanting—and from one burning part
Great drops dripped, one by one.
Torn out, I felt my heart still beat,
I felt it beat with pain divine;
For, bleeding at the idol's feet,
My heart was pressed to thine.
I felt it beat with pain divine;
For, bleeding at the idol's feet,
My heart was pressed to thine.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |