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

								

To see the culprit found—’tis all we ask.”


Aac’s features changed, with ardor he exclaimed—
“Not so! no blameless man shall be defamed
For what my passion wrought—all mine the guilt!
No clemency beg I—do as thou wilt.”


There spake Aac’s better self; just thought inbred
Outbreathed. With pity touched, Móo’s loathing fled.
Nor could a child of Can know aught of fear;
Aac boldly stood, the Pontiff’s word to hear.


“Thou shalt live on; hast made thyself accurst!
Not thus will we—let fools for vengeance thirst.
From Chicħen, go! thy face we would not see.
An edict from our hand shall safeguard thee;
For, mark this well, the people soon must know
Prince Aac alone hath dared to deal the blow.


I see that war upon us thou wilt bring,
And finally, thyself proclaim as king.
Afflicted Móo will feel thy cruel ire;
Thus wilt thou weave for thee a fate most dire.
Myself, thy elder brother, thou’lt degrade;
Cans’ dynasty shall fall, by thee betrayed.”


Thus forth from royal city Aac was sent,
Empowered on native soil where’er he went,
To live in princely state, with means endowed,
While unto law and Sovereign’s will he bowed.
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  IV.

  Sun-Scorched, for tears athirst was Chicħen’s square;
The funeral bed ’mid wailing crowds rose there.
Here many noble structures had a place,
With carvings red and gold upon their face.
The lofty stronghold in their midst, appeared
Like pyramid of human beings reared;
From base to summit on each side were seen
Brave men who for their chief felt sorrow keen.
On temple’s mound crowds flocked to view the square,
And hum of million voices filled the air.
Each road that led within the city wall
Was packed with mourning populace; and all
Betrayed the grief they felt. The flowers fair
In well-kept beds, the burden seemed to share
Of nation’s woe; all drooped their dainty heads,
Entreating those sweet tears that heaven sheds.


With Priestess Nicté, Móo was near the pyre,
To light the cedar logs with sacred fire.
Piled high were these, with odorous plants between;
And many lovely garlands too were seen.
The priests in flowing robes were stationed round:
By solemn rite the rank of each was bound.
First those in yellow clad, the sun-god’s sheen;
Then soothing wisdom-ray, fair nature’s green;
The next in line of blue robes made display,
Grief sanctified—the mourners sad array,
Beyond stood many others all in white;
And last, full armed as ready for the fight,
The orators of war, in gowns of red.—
Their ardent words to victory oft had led.
Long lance they bore, as on the battle field
Where glowed their eloquence—nor would one yield,
Except to Yum Cimil, but onward pressed
And dauntless to the last urged on the rest.