THE LAST INCA.
15
And, trampled and mangled, no weapons to wield,
Seek yet from the fiends their loved monarch to shield!
As a bark on the billows his litter is swayed
By the rush and the blast of the mad cavalcade;—
Ho! the bearers have fallen! The Inca is down!
Estete has snatched his imperial crown!
And, dragged and despoiled by the ravaging host,
His bright vesture sullied, his jewels the boast
Of his captors, they seize him and bear him away,
Strong-guarded, as fades the last glory of day!...
Then a shadow stole over the face of the Sun
In the shrines; and a wail from the sweet winds that run
Through the dusk, thrilled the air; but no star could deliver;—
The light of the Incas had vanished forever! . . .
And his people, bereft of their Child of the Sky,
Break wild through the wall in their terror, and fly
To the vales, to the mountains, cut down as they go
By the sword and the shot and the hoof of the foe! . . .
Seek yet from the fiends their loved monarch to shield!
As a bark on the billows his litter is swayed
By the rush and the blast of the mad cavalcade;—
Ho! the bearers have fallen! The Inca is down!
Estete has snatched his imperial crown!
And, dragged and despoiled by the ravaging host,
His bright vesture sullied, his jewels the boast
Of his captors, they seize him and bear him away,
Strong-guarded, as fades the last glory of day!...
Then a shadow stole over the face of the Sun
In the shrines; and a wail from the sweet winds that run
Through the dusk, thrilled the air; but no star could deliver;—
The light of the Incas had vanished forever! . . .
And his people, bereft of their Child of the Sky,
Break wild through the wall in their terror, and fly
To the vales, to the mountains, cut down as they go
By the sword and the shot and the hoof of the foe! . . .
