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.