Thus, having sworn--the old and witnessing tree Bent down, and in his branches registered Each dark and passionate word; And on the rocks, trenched in their shapeless sides, The terrible oath abides; And the dark waters, muttering to their waves, Bore to their secret mansions and dim caves The low of death they heard. Thus were the dead appeased--the listening dead-- For, as the warrior paused, a cold breath came, Wrapping with ice his frame, A cold hand pressing on his heart and head; Entranced and motionless, Upon the earth he lies, While a dread picture of the land's distress Rose up before his eyes. First came old Hilluah's shadow, with the ring About his brow, the sceptre in his hand, Ensigns of glorious and supreme command, Proofs of the conqueror, honored in the king. "Ilenovar! Ilenovar!" he cried: Vainly the chief replied;-- He strove to rise for homage, but in vain-- The deathlike spell was on him like a chain, And his clogged tongue, that still he strove to teach, Denied all answering speech! The monarch bade him mark The clotted blood that, dark, Distained his royal bosom, and that found Its way, still issuing, from a mortal wound, Ghastly and gaping wide, upon his throat! The shadow passed--another took his place, Of the same royal race; The noble Yumuri, the only son Of the old monarch, heir to his high throne, Cut off by cunning in his youthful pride; There was the murderer's gash, and the red tide Still pouring from his side; And round his neck the mark of bloody hands, That strangled the brave sufferer while he strove Against their clashing brands. Not with unmoistened eyes did the chief note His noble cousin, precious to his love, Brother of one more precious to his thought, With whom and her, three happy hearts in one, He grew together in their joys and fears-- And not till sundered knew the taste of tears; Salt, bitter tears, but shed by one alone, Him the survivor, the avenger--he Who vainly shades his eyes that still must see! Long troops came after of his slaughtered race, Each in his habit, even as he died: The big sweat trickled down the warrior's face, Yet could he move no limb, in that deep trance, Nor turn away his glance!