And when the early dawning Had marked the sky with red, We saw the Moloch incense Rise slowly overhead From smoking ruins and the heaps Of charred and mangled dead. I knew the slain were Pagans, While we in Christ were free, And yet it seemed that moment A spirit said to me: "Henceforth be doomed while life remains This sight of fear to see." And ever since that dawning Which chased the night away, I wake to see the corses That thus before me lay: And this is why in cloistered cell I wait my latter day. THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. Early in 1540 a great expedition under Francisco de Coronado started northward from Mexico in search of the Seven Cities of Cibola, of whose glories and riches many stories had been told. The cities were really the pueblos of the Zuñis, and the ballad tells the story of the march. QUIVÍRA [1540-1541] Francisco Coronado rode forth with all his train, Eight hundred savage bowmen, three hundred spears of Spain, To seek the rumored glory that pathless deserts hold-- The city of Quivíra whose walls are rich with gold. Oh, gay they rode with plume on crest and gilded spur at heel, With gonfalon of Aragon and banner of Castile! While High Emprise and Joyous Youth, twin marshals of the throng, Awoke Sonora's mountain peaks with trumpet-note and song. Beside that brilliant army, beloved of serf and lord, There walked as brave a soldier as ever smote with sword, Though nought of knightly harness his russet gown revealed-- The cross he bore as weapon, the missal was his shield. But rugged oaths were changed to prayers, and angry hearts grew tame, And fainting spirits waxed in faith where Fray Padilla came; And brawny spearmen bowed their heads to kiss the helpful hand Of him who spake the simple truth that brave men understand. What pen may paint their daring--those doughty cavaliers! The cities of the Zuñi were humbled by their spears. Wild Arizona's barrens grew pallid in the glow Of blades that won Granada and conquered Mexico. They fared by lofty Acoma; their rally-call was blown Where Colorado rushes down through God-hewn walls of stone; Still, North and East, where deserts spread, and treeless prairies rolled, A Fairy City lured them on with pinnacles of gold. Through all their weary marches toward that flitting goal They turned to Fray Padilla for aid of heart and soul. He bound the wounds that lance-thrust and flinty arrow made; He cheered the sick and failing; above the dead he prayed. Two thousand miles of war and woe behind their banners lay: And sadly fever, drought and toil had lessened their array, When came a message fraught with hope to all the steadfast band: "Good tidings from the northward, friends! Quivíra lies at hand!"