Page:Stanzas on an Ancient Superstition (1864).djvu/5



O’er Aztec tombs, with noiseless wings outspread,
 * Hovered the gloomy night.Oh, who can tell

The woe it brought, when sunk, as with the dead,
 * All pale with fear, a nation hopeless fell!
 * Scarce is the mastery mine, with magic spell

One spirit to recall—one who had stood,
 * That woeful night, a lonely sentinel,

Watching the signs of fate, in mournful mood; But nerved with purpose bold and couange unsubdued.

Serene he stood the sacred height upon,
 * Where dripped the blood of recent victims, slain

To avert the fatal hour.No more the sun
 * Should rise (their prophets sang), but night again,
 * In starless triumph, her primeval reign.

Thrice had the earth, convulsed with partial doom,
 * Her stricken sons and daughters prostrate seen;

Thrice had beheld returning day relume Her fields—and happy Life its wonted course resume.