friend and bosom companion.
The anger of love was upon her,
And all of her beauty shone brightest,
As she flashed on her recreant lover
The flaming scourge of her protest:

"I came as a slave to your camp-ground;
You lifted me out of my bondage,
For you knew I was free in my birthright.
You wooed me, and won me as lover,
And only as wife could have worn it;
I have drawn on your love as a garment.
You first sought me out as a sponsor,
But the language of Spain is a magnet
That drew me all out of Malinche
And made me a part of her Chieftain;
And now you would sunder the tendrils
And force back the vine from the branches
Where they learn't all of life in reclining,
And never can unlearn the lesson.

"O, Hernando, you know not Malinche!
If you think she can cherish another
In the heart she too willingly gave you;
Were you priest of the Aztec temple,
And should raise in your hand the itztli,
To open the breast of your victim;
My heart would leap out at your calling,
E're the word of your summons was spoken.
Ask me to anticipate Heaven,
And my life would be swift in its forfeit.
But to learn the love of another,
And to wean me from your caresses,
Is beyond the wisdom of granting.
The logic of love hath a limit,
Only God can re-tension our heart-strings.

"Oh, Hernando! my prince and my primate,
My husband on earth and in Heaven!
Let me cling to your feet as a hand-maid,
And wash with my tears, as another
Did moisten the feet of our Savior,
But drive me not hence from your presence.
I can never love Xamarillo--
He can fetter the hand of Malinche,
But her heart will go over the ocean
And will smite at your breast when you proffer
Your hand to some delicate Dona.

"Not alone is the voice of my pleading,
But an angel in Heaven confronts you;
The white wings of sweet Catalina,
Shall flutter the breath of your wooing:
You sent her too early to Heaven
To quiet the shade of her anguish.
Two wives--one on earth, one