MONTEZUMA
On a lofty mountain summit
In a tawny, desert land,
Lo, a mighty human profile,
But not hewn by human hand;
In the living rock forever
Looming dark, majestic, grand.
O’er its outline, heaven fronting,
When the dawn’s first radiance streams
With its rosy touch, and tender,
Then this face of granite seems
As a sleeper’s unawakened
From the thrall of peaceful dreams.
But when down the western heavens
Sinks the setting sun, blood-red,
Then the mountain mists that mantle
Cover close that quiet head,
As men draw a pall of purple
Round about their kingly dead.
And the stars, like lighted tapers,
Flicker forth in golden rows
From the heaven’s holy altar,
Whilst the night-wind as it blows
Seems to chant a solemn requiem
For the passing soul’s repose.
Head of royal Montezuma,
So the ancient legends tell;
Montezuma, granite shrouded
By some great enchanter’s spell,
Lying lordly by the borders
Of the land he loved so well.
But in silence unrevealing
Still that calm face fronts the sky;
Heeding neither tears nor laughter,
Nor if sun or storm go by;
Keeping still its primal counsel,
In repose, serene and high.