Easy ’twas for clever Cortez
Cunningly to gain an entrance,
But retreat to terra firma
Offer’d fatal obstacles.
Mexico, the island city,
In a mighty lake is founded,
In the middle, wave-surrounded:
E’en a haughty water fortress,
With the continent connected
But by ships and rafts and bridges,
Which repose on piles gigantic,
Little islands forming forts.
’Twas before the sun had risen
That their march began the Spaniards
Not a single drum was beaten,
Not a trumpeter was blowing.
’Twas their object not to waken
From their quiet sleep their hosts—
(For a hundred thousand Indians
Were encamp’d in Mexico).
Yet without his host the Spaniard
Reckon’d, when his plans he settled;
For the Mexicans had risen
Earlier still to-day than he had.
On the rafts and on the bridges,
On the forts they all were waiting,
That they to their guests might offer
Then and there the parting cup.
On the rafts and forts and bridges
Ha! a frantic banquet follow’d;
In red torrents stream’d the blood,
And the bold carousers struggled,—
Struggled, body press’d to body,
And we see on many naked
Indian breasts the arabesque
Of the Spanish arms imprinted.
’Twas a throttling and a choking
And a butchery that slowly,
Sadly slowly, roll’d still onward
Over rafts and forts and bridges.