To rest with him forever.
Sat he once
Thus watching, and where least expected, in
The far North, by stormy Winter rul’d, up
From the snows he saw a Nation rise. Shook
Their bolts, glistened their shields, flashed the
Light of their fierce eyes. A king, in wolf-skin
Girt, pointed Southward, and up the hills, through
The air, to the Sun, flew the name—Azatlan.
Then march’d they; by day and night they march’d,—march’d