MEXICO .

Imperial Aztec, lord of valleys, where
?Proud Tenochtitlan's palaces and bowers,
?Girt by chinampas of delicious flowers,
Rose in white symmetry in the sunlight fair,
You failed to guess the crafty Spaniard's snare,
?You lacked a faith in Quetzacoatl's powers,
?And so your people perished in the showers
Of leaden hail because you would forbear!
Whene'er your name, poor martyr, meets mine eye,
?I see, in revels of carnage and of pain,
?Slate maquahuitls thud and oak bows strain,
And hear of Cortes the victorious cry,
While o'er the grim burnt teocallis fly
?The torn, emblazoned bannerets of Spain!