7. The war-cloud rises upward, it rises into the blue sky where dwells the Giver of Life; in it blossom forth the flowers of prowess and valor, beneath it, in the battle field, the children ripen to maturity.
8. Rejoice with me, dear friends, and do ye rejoice, ye children, going forth to the open field of battle; let us rejoice and revel amid these shields, flowers of the murderous fray.
The song which I have just read, like most which I bring before you, has no name of author. The poet has passed to an eternal oblivion, though his work remains. More fortunate is the composer of the next one I shall read you. It is a poem by an Aztec prince and bard who bore the sonorous appellation, Tetlapan Quetzanitzin. I can tell you little about him. At the time Cortes entered the City of Mexico, Tetlapan Quetzanitzin was ruler of one of its suburbs, Tlacopan or Tacuba. At the interview when the daring Spaniard seized upon the person of Montezuma and made him a captive, this Tetlapan was one of the attendants of the Aztec monarch, and it is recorded of him that he made his escape and disappeared. I have found no mention of his subsequent adventures.
This war-song is one of two of his poems which have survived the wreck of the ancient literature. It is highly metaphorical. You might at first think it a drinking song; but the drunkenness it refers to is the intoxication of battle, the Berserkerwuth of the Norse Vikings; the flowers which he sings are the war-shields with their gay ornaments; and the fertile plains which he lauds are those which are watered with the blood of heroes. Finally, I should tell you that the white wine he speaks of was a sacred beverage among the Mexicans, set forth at certain solemn festivals. Like the rest of their wine, it was manufactured from the maguey.
A WAR-SONG OF TETLAPAN QUETZANITZIN (1519).
1. Why did it grieve you, O friends, why did it pain you, that you were drunk with the wine? Arise from your stupor, O friends, come hither and sing; let us seek for homes in some flowery land; forget your drunkenness.
2. The precept is old that one should quaff the strong white wine in the moment of difficulty, as when one enters the battle-plain, when he goes forth to the place of shattered stones, where the precious stones are splintered, the emeralds, the turquoises, the youths, the children. Therefore, friends and brothers, quaff now the flowing white wine.
3. Let us drink together amid the flowers, let us build our houses among the flowers, where the fragrant blossoms cast abroad their odors as a fountain its waters, where the breath of the dew-laden flowers makes sweet the air; there it is that nobility and strength will make glorious our houses, there the flowers of war bloom over a fertile land.
4. O friends, do you not hear me? Let us go, let us go, let us pour forth the white wine, the strong wine of battle; let us drink the wine which is as sweet as the dew of roses, let it intoxicate our souls, let our souls be steeped in its delights, let them be enriched as in some opulent place, some fertile land. Why does it trouble you? Come with me, and listen to my song.
Alongside of these specimens from Mexico, I put a war-song of the Peruvians. It is from the drama of Ollanta, a production dating from shortly before the conquest, and one of the most interesting monuments of American native literature. The hero, Ollanta, a warrior of renown but of humble parentage, had, on the strength of his successes against the enemy, applied for the hand of the Inca’s daughter, and had been rejected with scorn. All his loyalty and allegiance turns to hatred, and he sings his war-song against his native country and its ruler in these words: