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

								

These now restrained the crowd that thronged the ground:
In that vast square no tearless eye was found.


Móo’s sister Nicté, priestess of the Light,
Sustained the hapless Queen thro’ funeral rite.
Coh’s heart, concealed within a close shut urn,
Was near the corpse, to char while that should burn.
That flames might higher leap and quick consume,
Fine scented oils, the hot air to perfume,
By priestly hand were lavishly out-poured
Upon the shroud of him whom all deplored.


Around the pyre, with measured step and slow,
His comrades, arms reversed, must three times go
Unto the left, anear the funeral bed,
That evil spirits might not reach the dead.
Thrice round they went, their object to attain,
All chanting as they marched, a solemn strain.


At signal given by trumpets’ ringing sound,
Hushed was the wailing of the crowd around.
Móo grasped the torch that would, from body dead,
Release the soul yet linked to funeral bed.
Alone she set ablaze the corners four—
A sacred right none could dispute, nay more!—
Her duty ’twas as true and loving wife,
To light the wood, speeding the soul to life
Or dreamless sleep, the Will Supreme to bide.
The multitude, when Móo the torch applied,
Upon their knees, their brows to earth, were bowed
Until the priests, “Arise! All’s well!” cried loud.


The priests and mourners now, each one in place,
Around the pyre, with sad and measured pace,
Unto the right, three times the way must tread;
To honor thus the memory of their dead.
And when the hero’s form was wrapped in fire,
Two mated doves, pure white, loosed near the pyre,
Up soared—of liberated soul the sign,
From prison freed, no fetter to confine;
Yet more, fair symbols of creative force,
Of life and death and all that is, the Source.


The grace divine was fervently implored
While hissed the leaping flame and loudly roared.
Transparent burned the wood with ruddy glare;
Melodious voices rose o’er trumpet blare:



        Thro’ earth-life our footsteps lead,

          Guide us into peace eternal,

        Till from all desire we’re freed,

          And perceive Thy Light Supernal.


Down sank the pile; priests chanting nearer drew
And on expiring flames sweet incense threw.



        Speed thee now to realm of bliss,

          Cast aside the thought of strife,

        Tho’ each eye thy face will miss

          And we mourn thee all our life!


Intoned the priests and slow their bodies swayed,
The dying embers fanned, and singing stayed
While these by murm’ring winds were borne away—
List where they might, they would life’s law obey.
Afar they floated on the zephyr’s wing:
No triumph now would Coh to Mayas bring.
Disconsolate, the Queen in anguish cried:
“Would that I had with my beloved died!