MONTEZUMA
Ona lofty mountain summitIn a tawny, desert land,Lo, a mighty human profile,But not hewn by human hand;In the living rock foreverLooming dark, majestic, grand.O’er its outline, heaven fronting,When the dawn’s first radiance streamsWith its rosy touch, and tender,Then this face of granite seemsAs a sleeper’s unawakenedFrom the thrall of peaceful dreams.But when down the western heavensSinks the setting sun, blood-red,Then the mountain mists that mantleCover close that quiet head,As men draw a pall of purpleRound about their kingly dead.And the stars, like lighted tapers,Flicker forth in golden rowsFrom the heaven’s holy altar,Whilst the night-wind as it blowsSeems to chant a solemn requiemFor the passing soul’s repose.Head of royal Montezuma,So the ancient legends tell;Montezuma, granite shroudedBy some great enchanter’s spell,Lying lordly by the bordersOf the land he loved so well.But in silence unrevealingStill 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.
Ona lofty mountain summitIn a tawny, desert land,Lo, a mighty human profile,But not hewn by human hand;In the living rock foreverLooming dark, majestic, grand.O’er its outline, heaven fronting,When the dawn’s first radiance streamsWith its rosy touch, and tender,Then this face of granite seemsAs a sleeper’s unawakenedFrom the thrall of peaceful dreams.But when down the western heavensSinks the setting sun, blood-red,Then the mountain mists that mantleCover close that quiet head,As men draw a pall of purpleRound about their kingly dead.And the stars, like lighted tapers,Flicker forth in golden rowsFrom the heaven’s holy altar,Whilst the night-wind as it blowsSeems to chant a solemn requiemFor the passing soul’s repose.Head of royal Montezuma,So the ancient legends tell;Montezuma, granite shroudedBy some great enchanter’s spell,Lying lordly by the bordersOf the land he loved so well.But in silence unrevealingStill 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.
Ona lofty mountain summitIn a tawny, desert land,Lo, a mighty human profile,But not hewn by human hand;In the living rock foreverLooming dark, majestic, grand.
Ona 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 streamsWith its rosy touch, and tender,Then this face of granite seemsAs a sleeper’s unawakenedFrom the thrall of peaceful dreams.
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 heavensSinks the setting sun, blood-red,Then the mountain mists that mantleCover close that quiet head,As men draw a pall of purpleRound about their kingly dead.
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 rowsFrom the heaven’s holy altar,Whilst the night-wind as it blowsSeems to chant a solemn requiemFor the passing soul’s repose.
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 shroudedBy some great enchanter’s spell,Lying lordly by the bordersOf the land he loved so well.
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 unrevealingStill 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.
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.