The Bride of Huitzil by Hervey Allen

The king held revels in the town Next evening, and there came Chieftains and minstrels of renown To taste the roasted game And drink strong mescal to the bride, But there no priests were bid; Scowling, the high priest hied him down From Huitzil's pyramid To the long palace in the town, Where many litters fared, And wrangling bearers set guests down, And sputtering torches flared With fluxing light along the walls, And music's measured din Sounded above the idlers' calls, While rich guests hurried in.

The sentries talked before the doors, But in a time of gloom The priest sneaked in -- down corridors -- Past many an empty room -- For all were at the king's repast; Slaves near each darkened door Slept by their earthen lamps. At last He found upon the floor The mother of the child he'd slain, Pallid from many tears Shed in her agony from pain That scarcely dulls with years. She knew him standing there. Nothing was said. Her face she covered with her hair And lay as dead.