Then, Nezahualcoyotl,—now,
In what thou *hast*, delight;
And wreathe around thy royal brow
Life’s garden blossoms bright;
List to my lyre and my lay,
Which aim to please thee and obey.
The pleasures which our lives present—
Earth’s sceptres, and its wealth—are lent,
Are shadows fleeting by;
Appearance colors all our bliss;
A truth so great, that now to this
One question, make reply.
What has become of Cihuapan,
Quantzintecomtzin brave,
And Conahuatzin, mighty man;
Where are they? In the grave!
Their names remain, but they are fled,
Forever numbered with the dead.
Would that those now in friendship bound,
We whom Love’s thread encircles round,
Death’s cruel edge might see!
Since good on earth is insecure,
And all things must a change endure
In dark futurity!
No. III.—See vol. i. p.