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.