What they call’d the entertainment
Know I not. ’Twas very likely
“Spanish Truth!” of which the author’s
Name was Don Fernando Cortez.
Cortez gave the signal—straightway
They attack’d the peaceful monarch,
And they bound him and retain’d him
In the castle as a hostage.
But poor Montezuma died there,
And the dam was broken down
Which the bold adventurers
From the people’s wrath protected.
Terribly began the tempest;
Like a wild and furious ocean
Raved and bluster’d ever nearer
The excited human billows.
Valiantly in truth the Spaniards
Drove the tempest back. But daily
Was the castle fresh blockaded,
And the conflict was exhausting.
When the King was dead, the convoys
Of provisions ceased entirely;
In proportion as the rations
Shorter grew, each face grew longer.
With long faces on each other
Gazed the sons of Spain with sadness,
And they sigh’d, when they bethought them
Of their cosy Christian dwellings
In their cherish’d fatherland,
Where the pious bells were ringing,
And upon the hearth there bubbled
Peaceful olla podridas,
Thickly studded with garbanzos,
Under which, with waggish fragrance
Chuckling famously, were hidden
Those dear garlic sausages.
Then the leader held a council,
And upon retreat decided;
On the following morn at daybreak
Was the force to leave the city.