Now would I sing, since time and place
Are mine,—and oh! with thee
May this my song obtain the grace
My purpose claims for me.
I wake these notes on song intent,
But call it rather a lament.
Do thou, beloved, now delight
In these my flowers, pure and bright,
Rejoicing with thy friend;
Now let us banish pain and fear,
For, if our joys are measured here,
Life’s sadness hath its end.
And I will strike, to aid my voice,
The deep, sonorous chord;
Thou, dancing, in these flowers rejoice
And feast Earth’s mighty Lord;
Seize we the glories of to-day,
For mortal life fleets fast away.—
In Ocblehacan, all thine own,
Thy hand hath placed the noble throne.
Which thou hast richly dressed;
From whence I argue that thy sway
Shall be augmented day by day,
In rising greatness blessed.
Wise Oyoyotzin! prudent king!
Unrivalled Prince, and great!
Enjoy the fragrant flowers that spring
Around thy kingly state;
A day will come which shall destroy
Thy present bliss,—thy present joy,—
When fate the sceptre of command
Shall wrench from out thy royal hand,—
Thy moon diminished rise;
And, as thy pride and strength are quenched,
From thy adherents shall be wrenched
All that they love or prize.
When sorrow shall my truth attest,
And this thy throne decline,—
The birds of thy ancestral nest,
The princes of thy line,—
The mighty of thy race,—shall see
The bitter ills of poverty;—
And then shall memory recall
Thy envied greatness, and on all
Thy brilliant triumphs dwell;
And as they think on by-gone years,
Compared with present shame, their tears
Shall to an ocean swell.
And those who, though a royal band,
Serve thee for crown, or plume,
Remote from Culhuacan’s land
Shall find the exile’s doom.
Deprived of thee,—their rank forgot,
Misfortune shall o’erwhelm their lot.
Then fame shall grudgingly withhold
Her meed to greatness, which of old
Blazons and crowns displayed;
The people will retain alone
Remembrance of that triple throne
Which this our land obeyed.
Brave Moctezuma’s Indian land
Was Mexico the great,
And Nezahualcoyotl’s hand
Blessed Culhuacan’s state,
Whilst Totoquil his portion drew
In Acatlapan, strong and true;
But no oblivion can I fear,
Of good by thee accomplished here,
Whilst high upon thy throne;
That station, which, to match thy worth,
Was given by the Lord of Earth,
Maker of good alone.
Then, Nezahualcoyotl,—now,
In what thou hast, delight;
And wreathe around thy royal brow
Life’s garden blossoms bright;
List to my lyre and my lay,
Which aim to please thee and obey.
The pleasures which our lives present—
Earth’s sceptres, and its wealth—are lent,
Are shadows fleeting by;
Appearance colors all our bliss;
A truth so great, that now to this
One question, make reply.
What has become of Cihuapan,
Quantzintecomtzin brave,
And Conahuatzin, mighty man;
Where are they? In the grave!
Their names remain, but they are fled,
Forever numbered with the dead.
Would that those now in friendship bound,
We whom Love’s thread encircles round,
Death’s cruel edge might see!
Since good on earth is insecure,
And all things must a change endure
In dark futurity!
No. III.—See vol. i. p. 196
DESCRIPTION OF THE RESIDENCE OF NEZAHUALCOYOTL AT TEZCOTZINCO, EXTRACTED FROM IXTLILXOCHITL’S “HISTORIA CHICHIMECA,” MS., CAP. XLII