Now came the days when Mayas knew no peace
’Neath Aac’s harsh rule, and war that did not cease.
With sacred rite they strove to know the will
Of Can the Good; response came not, yet still
They plead; by holy fire would feign invoke
Some aid; and mystic power at last awoke
To seer’s gaze the mighty Can of old,
Whose visage stern and sad his sorrow told.
No hope or promise in that face was read;
The country still would be by tyrant bled.