Queen Moo's Talisman: The Fall of the Maya Empire

								

More than he did no one in mortal frame
Could do, aspiring to the Holy Flame,
To keep soul free from earth. His nourishment—
Whereon the sun its vital ray had sent—
Pure water, simple fruit, white flesh of bird,
Was more than he required, he oft averred.
In mystic posture he besought Mehen,
The Word, that he might wisdom pure attain.


He could at will ascend from solid ground
And float above, while crowds up looked spellbound.
Soon after Sovereign Can, without a throe,
Cay passed away, bewailed by high and low.
Around his flaming pyre, bowed in the dust,
All wept for him in whom they’d put their trust.


Can’s first-born son then filled the Pontiff’s place;
Thenceforth he would by every means efface
The jealous hatred rankling in Aac’s mind;
But he alas! with passion grew more blind;
For now that Móo was Queen, and consort Coh,
Her love he ne’er could win, nor him o’erthrow.
To Móo came other joys with baby lips;
Pure bliss from soft caressing finger tips.
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III.

  Beyond her palace wall Móo heard the chant
Of worshiper imploring Heaven to grant
Its bounteous rain, fresh life to Mother Earth,
The parched land to revive and save from dearth:



      When the Master doth rise

    To appear in the east

    The four corners of heaven are released,

    And my broken accents fall

    Into the hands of Him who giveth all.



      When clouds from east ascend

    To the Orderer’s throne—

    Ah Tzolan, who thirteen cloud-banks rules alone—

    Where the lords cloud-tearers wait,

    Biding the will of Ah Tzolan the Great,



      Then the Keeper who sees

    The gods’ nectar ferment,

    With these guardians of crops is content;

    They his holy offerings place

    Before the Father, pleading for His grace.



      I too my offering make,

    Of beauteous virgin bird,

    And myself lacerate, breathing holy word.

    Thee I love! then heed my cry!

    My offering place in hands of the Most High.


Could Móo in far off days forget that prayer?
Ah no! for as it died upon the air
A messenger appeared; his words sought vent—
Ill tidings had to him their fleetness lent.


Poor human heart! that blenches, quivers, shrinks,
Appalled at fatal stroke that swift unlinks
Two lives attuned to one harmonious breath.
O loving heart! thy cruel foe is Death.
With this compared all other anguish pales;
To soothe this pang no human aid avails.


Affrighted eyes met hers—“Speak! speak!” she cried.
Heart knew and leaped—“Thou art alone!” it sighed.


In broken words the dire event was told—
The herald was forbidden to withhold
The worst. Then fiercely battled in Móo’s breast
Wild rage and grief, while he obeyed her hest.