With the radiant beams of the morning;
It loosened the chains from the ankles
That were swift on errands of mercy;
It tore off the scales from the eyelids
That were blinded with superstition;
Gave freedom to innocent victims,
From the fearful death of the itztli;
And winged back the soul to its manor,
From the desert and dust of the ages.

"But where is the Christ you were pleading--
The merciful God of your banner?
The nails of the cross are your sword points,
And his pleadings the parent of carnage.
His merciful words are but margods,
To hurl on your host to the slaughter.
As I pleaded for Moctheuzoma
That you spare him the shame of his prison,
So I plead for the brave Guatamozin,
Though he fought so hard for the Aztecs,
I would balance my life on his honor.
The traitor is not of such metal,
At your front--in your face--he may strike you;
But he takes not the night for his helmlet,
Nor is treachery ever his weapon.
Then spare him, my noble Hernando!"
But her prayers were in vain for the victim,
The heart of Cortez was relentless;
And another brave soul winged its passage,
To try if the gates of the city
Still turn for the broken in spirit.

In time they drew near to Painnalla,
And the tale of her childhood confronts her,
Though she hardly can call up one feature
To gaze on the face of another,
And each say to each, "We are brothers";
Yet the story has lived with her living,
And been fanned by the fervor of gossip;
And Malinche's warm heart has been shaken,
O'er the bitterest brink of a trial.

Her Chieftain, grown great with his conquest,
Thrusts the knife of his pride to her heartstrings,
In search of some noble alliance;
And she must be weaned from his wooing.
As only _one_ God lighteth Heaven,
She has held the _one_ place in his household,
Than which has the earth none more sacred.
Yet the shade of the poor Catalina
Has shown her how weak is the Chieftain,
And the bolt is thus broken in falling;
Still her whole hea