THE LAST INCA.2
In lone Caxamalca Pizarro awaits
The moment the Inca shall enter its gates,
His horsemen, his footmen, concealed in the halls,
Wide-portaled, that circle the plaza's gray walls;
For the people have fled to the camp of the king—
Till they find what the Spaniards fell presence will bring
The snowy tents marshalled his guests to dismay,
On the valley's green border a bird's flight away.
The dark plot is woven; the mass has been said;
Jehovah of battles invoked for their head;
And captain and soldier with valiant accord
Chanted, "Exsurge, Domine,—Rise, O Lord!"
The moment the Inca shall enter its gates,
His horsemen, his footmen, concealed in the halls,
Wide-portaled, that circle the plaza's gray walls;
For the people have fled to the camp of the king—
Till they find what the Spaniards fell presence will bring
The snowy tents marshalled his guests to dismay,
On the valley's green border a bird's flight away.
The dark plot is woven; the mass has been said;
Jehovah of battles invoked for their head;
And captain and soldier with valiant accord
Chanted, "Exsurge, Domine,—Rise, O Lord!"
"He comes!" cried the sentinel set in the tower;
"His legions, advancing, like thunder-clouds lower;
Hark! hear the wild songs the red heathen are singing
As they clear from his path every straw that is clinging!
And nearer, and nearer ... I see the bright swarm
"His legions, advancing, like thunder-clouds lower;
Hark! hear the wild songs the red heathen are singing
As they clear from his path every straw that is clinging!
And nearer, and nearer ... I see the bright swarm
