No 1.                                                                                        6.

The Battle.

Now then to meet the war! Erilyabs call Rous’d all her people to revenge their wrongs; Among the mountain tribes Lincoya spread The flame. I sent & bade the mariners, Leaving such guard alone as need required To join us arm’d for battle, let me give them The praise they well deserve; right gallant men Were they, & tho upon the playful deep The tyranny of terror conquered them, Save only then, I ever found them serve me With true affection, patient of their toil, Fearless in every danger. I the while Took counsel with Cadwallon & his sire, And told them of the numbers we must meet, And what advantage from the mountain straits I thought, us in the Saxon wars, to win, Thou sawest their weapons, then, Cadwallon said, Are they like these rude works of ignorance Bone-headed shafts, & spears of wood & shields Strong only for such strife? We had to cope With wiser enemies & abler arm’d What for the sword wielded was a stave Set thick with stones across: you would have judged That uncouth shape was cumberous, but a hand Expert & practised to its use, could drive The heavy edge with deadly impulse down, Their mail, if mail it may be called, was woven Of vegetable down, seeming like flax Bleached to the whiteness of the new-fallen snow, To every bend & motion flexible, Light as a warriors summer garb in peace, Yet in that lightest softest habergeon Harmless the sharp stone-arrow-head would hang. Others of higher office were array’d In feathery breast plates, of more gorgeous hue Then the gay plumage of the mountain cock, Than the pheasants glittering pride but what were these Or what this gold hauberk, when opposed To arms like ours in battle? What the mail Of wood fire-hardened, or the wooden helm Against our northern spears, or battle axe Or good sword wielded in a British hand?

Then, quoth Cadwallon, ‘at the wooden helm Of these weak arms the weakest, let the sword Hew & the spear be thrust, the mountaineers So long inured to crouch beneath their yoke We will not trust in battle. from the heights They with their arrows may annoy the foe, And when our closer strife has won the fray, Then let them loose for havoc.’ ‘O my son!’ Exclaim’d the blind old man, thou counsellest ill. Blood will have blood, revenge begat revenge Evil must come of evil! we shall win Certes a cheap & easy victory In the first field, their arrows from our arms Will fall, & on the hauberk & the helm The stone edge blunt & break; whole thro their limbs Naked, or vainly fenced, the grinding steel Shall sheer its mortal way. But what are we Against a nation? other hosts will rise In endless warfare, with perpetual fights Dwindling our all-too-few, or multitudes Will wear & weary us till we sink subdued By the very toil of conquest. Ye are brave, But he who puts his trust in mortal strength, Leans on a broken reed! first prove your power Be in the battle terrible, but spare The fallen & follow not the flying foe, Then may ye win a nobler victory, So dealing with the captives as to fill Their hearts with wonder, gratitude & awe, That love shall mingle with their fear, & fear Stablish the love else wavering. Let them see That as more pure & gentle is your faith, Your-selves are gentler, purer, ye shall be As Gods among them, if ye thus obey Gods precepts.’ Soon the mountain-tribes in arms Rose at Lincoyas call a numerous host, More than in numbers, in the memory Of long oppression & revengeful hope A formidable foe. I stationed them Where at the entrance of the rocky straits Secure themselves their arrows might command The coming army. on the level ground We took our stand, between the mountain base And the green margin of the waters. Soon Their long array came on. Oh what a pomp And pride & pageantry of war was there! Not half so gorgeous for their may day mirth All wreath’d & ribbanded our youth & maids As these stern Aztecas in war-attire! The golden glitterance, & the feather mail More gay than glittering gold, & round the helm A coronal of high upstanding plumes, Green as the spring grass in a sunny shower, Or scarlet-bright, as in the wintry wood The clustered holly, or of purple tint. Whereto shall that be likened … to what gem Indiademd, what flower, what insects wing? With war songs & wild music they came on We the while kneeling raised with one accord The hymn of supplication. Front to front And now the embattled armies stood, a band Of priests all sable-garmented advanced, They piled a heap of sedge before our host And warn’d us ... ‘sons of Ocean, from the land Of Aztlan, while ye may, depart in peace! Before this fire shall be extinguished, hence! Or even as yon dry sedge amid the flame, So, ye shall be consumed .. the arid heap They kindled, & the rapid flame ran up And blazed & died away, then from his bow With steady hand their chosen archer loosed The arrow of the Omen, to its mark The shaft of divination fled; it smote Cadwallons plated breast, the brittle point Rebounded; he contemptuous of their faith Stoopt for the shaft, & while with zealous speed To the rescue they rushd onward, snapping it Asunder cast the fragments back in scorn.

Fierce was their onset, never in the field Encountered I with braver enemies, Nor marvel ye – nor think it to their shame If soon they staggered, & gave way, & fled, So many from so few; they saw their darts Recoil, their lances shiver, & their swords Fall ineffectual, blunted with the blow Think ye no shame of Aztlan that they fled When the bowyers of Deheubarth plied so well Their shafts with fatal aim, thro the thin gold Or feather mail while Gwyneths deep-driven spears Pierced to the bone & vitals, when they saw The falchion, flashing late so lightning like, Quenched in their own life blood, our mountaineers Showered from the heights meantime an arrowy storm Themselves secure, & we who bore the brunt Of battle, iron men, impassible, Stood in our strength unbroken, marvel not If then the brave felt fear, already impressd That day with ominous thoughts to fear akin, For it so chanced, high heaven ordaining so, The King who should have led his people forth, At the army-head, as they began their march Was with sore sickness stricken, & the stroke, Came like the act & arm of very God, So suddenly, & in that point of time. A gallant man was he who in his stead That day commanded Aztlan; his long hair Tufted with many a cotton lock, proclaimed Of princely prowess many a feat atchieved In many a field of fame. oft had he led The Aztecas with happy fortune forth, Yet could not now Yuhidthiton inspire His host with hope, he, not the less, that day True to his old renown, & in the hour Of rout & ruin with collected mind, Sounded his signals shrill, & in the voice Of loud reproach, & anger, & brave shame Calld on the people; .. but when nought availd Seizing the standard from the timid hand That held it in dismay, alone he turnd For honourable death resolved, & praise That would not die. at that the braver chiefs Rallied, anew their signals rung around, And Aztlan seeing how we spared her flight Took heart, & rolld the tide of battle back But when Cadwallon from the chieftains grasp Had cut the standard-staff away, & stunnd And stretched him at his mercy on the field, Then fled the enemy in utter rout, Broken & quelled at heart. Of chief alone Bestrode the body of Yuhidthiton; Bare headed did young Malinal bestride His brothers body, wiping from his brow With the shield-hand the blinding blood away And dealing frantically with broken sword Obstinate wrath, the last resisting foe, Him in his own despite we seized & saved

Then in the moment of our victory We purified our hands from blood, & knealt And pourd to Heaven the grateful prayer of praise And raised the choral psalm – Triumphant thus To the hills we went our way, the mountaineers With joy & dissonant song & antic dance, The captives sullenly deeming that they went To meet the certain death of sacrifice Yet stern & undismayed. we bade them know Ours was a law of mercy & of love. We healed their wounds, & set the prisoners free ‘Bear yea,’ quoth I my bidding to your King, Say to him, did the Stranger speak to thee The words of truth, & hath he proved his power Thus saith the Lord of Ocean, in the name Of God, the almighty universal God, Thy judge & mine, whose battles I have fought Whose bidding I obey, whose will I speak, Shed thou no more in impious sacrifice The life of man, restore unto the grave The dead Tepolomi, set this people free, And peace shall be between us.’ On the morning Came messengers from Aztlan in reply. Coanocotzin with some malady Hath by the Gods been stricken, will the Lord Of Ocean visit his sick bed? he told Of wrath, & as he spake the vengeance Let him bring healing now & stablish peace.¹

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