CARPIO MANUEL ELOGIO [1791-1860]
The Virgin of Guadalupe
The good Jehovah, dread, magnificent, Once chose a people whom he called his own, And out of Egypt in a wondrous way He brought them in a dark and troublous night, And Moses touched the Red Sea with a rod, And the waves parted, offering them a path, His people passed, but in the abyss remained Egyptian horse and rider who pursued. Marched on the flock of Jacob, and the Lord Spread over them his all protecting wings, As the lone eagle shields her unfledged young, He gave them lands, and victories, and spoilsglad nation!
Which the Master of the heavens Loved as the very apple of his eye. But now this people, seeing themselves blessed By him whose slightest glance they not deserved Erected perishable images In homage unto strange and pagan gods. The Lord in indignation said: "They wished To make their Maker jealous with vain gods, Bowing in dust the sacrilegious knee Before the dumb creation of their hands, Well, I will sting their hearts with jealousy,
Showing myself to all unhappy lands Without employing vail or mystery." He said it, and his solemn word fulfilled, Convoking from the farthest ends of the earth Nations barbarian and civilized - The Gaul, the Scandinavian, Roman, Greek, And the neglected race of Mexico, Whom the Almighty Sovereign loved so well The holy truth he would reveal to themso that the hard hearts of his people should Be softened. Yet his mercy was not full: Down from the diamond heavens he bade descend The Virgin, who with mother's sorrowing care Nursed him in Bethlehem when he was a child.
Near to the tremulous Tezcoco lake Rises a bare and solitary hill, Where never cypress tall nor cedar grows, Nor whispering oak; nor cooling fountain laves The waste of herbless rocks and sterile sanda barren country' tis, dry, dusty, sad, Where the vile worm scarce drags its length along.
Here is the place where Holy Mary comes Down from her home above the azure heavens To show herself to Juan, who, comfortless, Petitioned for relief from troubles sore. Sometimes it chances that a fragrant plant In the dense forest blooms unseen, unknown, Though bright its virginal buds and rare its flowers;
So doth the modest daughter of the Lord Obscure the moon, the planets, and the stars Which all adorn her forehead and her feet, When lends she the poor Indian her grace, In bounty wonderful to all his kind. She tenders him the waters and the dew, Prosperity of fruits and animals, A heart of sensible humility, And help unfailing in his future need. The Angel of America resumes Her radiant flight. With grateful ear he heard, Twice did he wondering kneel, and twice again He kissed the white feet of the holy maid.
But did not end God's providence benign: The Almighty wished to leave to Mexicans His Mother's likeness by his own great hand, In token of the love he had for us. He took the pencil, saying "We will make In heaven's own image, as we moulded man. But what was Adam to my beauteous one?" So saying, drew he with serenest face The gentle likeness of the Mother-maid. He saw the image, and pronounced it good.
Since then, with the encircling love of heaven, A son she sees in every Mexican. Mildly the wandering incense she receives, Attending to his vow with human face; For her the teeming vapors yield their rain To the green valley and the mountain side, Where the bend and wave the abundant harvest fields, And the green herbs that feed the lazy kine. She makes the purifying breezes pass, And on the restless and unsounded seas She stills the rigor of the hurricane.
The frighten people see the approach of death When the broad earth upon its axis shakes, But the wild elements are put to sleep, With but a smile from her mild countenance. And she has moved the adamantine heart Of avarice, who saw decrepit age Creep like an insect on the dusty earth, To open his close-shut hand, and bless the poor. She maketh humbly kneel and kiss the ground No less the wise than simple. She the great, Dazzled by their own glory, doth advise That soon their gaudy pageant shall be o'er, And heaven's oblivion shall dissolve their fame.
How often has the timid, trembling maid Upon the verge of ruin sought thy help, Shutting her eyes to pleasure and to gold At thought of thee, O Maiden pure and meek! Centuries and ages will have vanished by, Within their currents bearing kings and men; Great monuments shall fall; the pyramids Of lonely Egypt moulder in decay; But time shall never place its fatal hand Upon the image of the Holy Maid, Nor on the pious love of Mexico.
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