This uncivilised, unlearned, Superstitious, blinded heathen Still believed in faith and honour, And the sacredness of guest-right. He accepted a proposal To be present at a banquet That the Spaniards in their castle Wish’d to give, to do him honour. And with all his court attendants Came the inoffensive monarch Kindly to the Spanish quarters, Where by trumpets he was greeted. What they call’d the entertainment Know I not. ’Twas very likely “Spanish Truth!” of which the author’s Name was Don Fernando Cortez. Cortez gave the signal--straightway They attack’d the peaceful monarch, And they bound him and retain’d him In the castle as a hostage. But poor Montezuma died there, And the dam was broken down Which the bold adventurers From the people’s wrath protected. Terribly began the tempest; Like a wild and furious ocean Raved and bluster’d ever nearer The excited human billows. Valiantly in truth the Spaniards Drove the tempest back. But daily Was the castle fresh blockaded, And the conflict was exhausting. When the King was dead, the convoys Of provisions ceased entirely; In proportion as the rations Shorter grew, each face grew longer. With long faces on each other Gazed the sons of Spain with sadness, And they sigh’d, when they bethought them Of their cosy Christian dwellings In their cherish’d fatherland, Where the pious bells were ringing, And upon the hearth there bubbled Peaceful olla podridas, Thickly studded with garbanzos, Under which, with waggish fragrance Chuckling famously, were hidden Those dear garlic sausages. Then the leader held a council, And upon retreat decided; On the following morn at daybreak Was the force to leave the city. Easy ’twas for clever Cortez Cunningly to gain an entrance, But retreat to terra firma Offer’d fatal obstacles. Mexico, the island city, In a mighty lake is founded, In the middle, wave-surrounded: E’en a haughty water fortress, With the continent connected But by ships and rafts and bridges, Which repose on piles gigantic, Little islands forming forts. ’Twas before the sun had risen That their march began the Spaniards Not a single drum was beaten, Not a trumpeter was blowing. ’Twas their object not to waken From their quiet sleep their hosts-- (For a hundred thousand Indians Were encamp’d in Mexico). Yet without his host the Spaniard Reckon’d, when his plans he settled; For the Mexicans had risen Earlier still to-day than he had. On the rafts and on the bridges, On the forts they all were waiting, That they to their guests might offer Then and there the parting cup.