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النشر الإلكتروني

Thou wilt behold the past and with delight

Find present pleasure in past wretchedness. As one who journeying on his toilsome way

With heaviness and sore fatigue opprest, Remembers this upon the future day

And recollecting toil, more values rest.

CHIMALPOCA.

A Monodrama-founded on an event in the Mexican History.

Scene-The Temple of Mexitli.

Subjects ! friends! children! I may call you children
For I have ever borne a father's love
Towards you ; it is thirteen years since first
You saw me in the robes of royalty,
Since here the multitudes of Mexico
Haild me their King. I thank you

friends that now In equal numbers and with equal love You come to grace my death.

For thirteen years What I have been, ye know : that with all care, That with all justice and all gentleness Seeking your weal I govern'd. Is there one Whom I have injured ? one whose just redress I have denied, or baffled by delay? Let him come forth, that so no evil tongue

Speak shame of me hereafter. O my people,
Not by my deeds have I drawn down upon me
The wrath of Heaven.

The wrath is heavy on me!
Heavy! a burthen more than I can bear !
I have endured contempt, insult and wrongs
From that Acolhuan tyrant ! should I seek
Revenge ? alas my people, we are few,
Feeble our growing state ! it hath not yet.
Rooted itself to bear the hurricane;
It is the lion-cub that tempts not yet
The tygers full-aged fury. Mexicans,
He sent to bid me wear a woman's robe ;-
When was the day that ever I look'd back
In battle ? Mexicans, the wife I loved,
To faith and friendship trusted, in despite
Of me, of heaven, he seized, and spurned her back
Polluted !-coward villain ! and he lurks
Behind his armies and his multitudes
And mocks my idle wrath !-it is not fit
It is not possible that I should live!
Live! and deserve to be the finger-mark
Of slive-contempt! his blood I cannot reach,
But in my own all stains shall be effaced,

It shall blot out the marks of infamy,
And when the warriors of the days to come
Shall speak of Chimalpoca, they shall say
He died the brave man's death !

Not of the God
Unworthy, do I seek his altar thus,
A voluntary victim. And perchance
The sacrifice of life may profit you
My people, tho' all living efforts fail'd
By fortune, not by fault.

Cease
your

lament ! And if your ill-doom'd King deserved your love, Say of him to your children,

“ he was one Who bravely bore misfortune ; who when life “ Became dishonour, shook his body off, And join'd the Spirits of the heroes dead." Yes! not in *Miclanteuctli's dark abode With cowards shall your King receive his doom ; Not in the icy caverns of the North Suffer thro' endless ages ! he shall join The Spirits of the brave, with them at morn Shall issue from the eastern gate of Heaven,

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And follow thro' his fields of light the Sun;
With them shall raise the song and weave the dance,
Sport in the stream of splendour, company
Down to the western palace of his rest

The Prince of Glory, and with equal eye
Endure his centered radiance. Not of you
Forgetful, O my people, even then,
But often in the amber cloud of noon
Diffused, will I o'erspread your summer fields,
And on the freshened maize and brightening meads
Shower plenty.

Spirits of my valiant Sires,
I come! Mexitli, never at thy shrine
Flow'd braver blood! never a nobler heart
Steam'd up its life to thee! Priests of the God,
Perform your office!

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