STANZAS.
I.
O’er Aztec tombs, with noiseless wings outspread,
Hovered the gloomy night. Oh, who can tell
The woe it brought, when sunk, as with the dead,
All pale with fear, a nation hopeless fell!
Scarce is the mastery mine, with magic spell
One spirit to recall—one who had stood,
That woeful night, a lonely sentinel,
Watching the signs of fate, in mournful mood;
But nerved with purpose bold and couange unsubdued.
II.
Serene he stood the sacred height upon,
Where dripped the blood of recent victims, slain
To avert the fatal hour. No more the sun
Should rise (their prophets sang), but night again,
In starless triumph, her primeval reign.
Thrice had the earth, convulsed with partial doom,
Her stricken sons and daughters prostrate seen;
Thrice had beheld returning day relume
Her fields—and happy Life its wonted course resume.
