 | The epic of Columbus' bell and other poems |  |
44
THE CUBAN AMAZON.
Alone upon the battlefield,
The martial maiden stood.
Where scores of Cuba's valiant sons
Lay weltering in blood.
She wore a simple homespun robe,
Around her shapely form,
That breathed defiance to a host,
And braved the battle storm.
This poem was written in 1897 during the Cuban revolution, at which time quite a number of young colored Cuban women took part in the many battles fought for independence. They fought with a bravery and determination equal to the men, and not a little of the credit for the successful termination of the war is due to the valor of their arms.
The martial maiden stood.
Where scores of Cuba's valiant sons
Lay weltering in blood.
She wore a simple homespun robe,
Around her shapely form,
That breathed defiance to a host,
And braved the battle storm.
Her crisped locks o'erfleeced her head,
In beautiful folds and long;
The broadsword buckled to her side,
Now negligently hung.
The blood-prints of her naked feet
Were stamped upon the ground;
And where with fearless tread she moved,
The war came closing round.
In beautiful folds and long;
The broadsword buckled to her side,
Now negligently hung.
The blood-prints of her naked feet
Were stamped upon the ground;
And where with fearless tread she moved,
The war came closing round.
“And must I fly the field,” she cried,
“The field I love to tread?
Or must I, now, in cruel chains,
A captive maid be led?
Dishonored like the vilest slave,
A sacrifice to lust,
And locked within yon prison walls,
Midst pestilence and dust?
“The field I love to tread?
Or must I, now, in cruel chains,
A captive maid be led?
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A sacrifice to lust,
And locked within yon prison walls,
Midst pestilence and dust?
“Perchance to Afric's distant clime,
Be borne across the wave,
And deep in Ceuta's dungeon thrust,
To die a penal slave?
Or haply I may sink engulfed,
In Ocean's churning brine—
A shipwreck on some luckless coast,
A watery grave be mine!
Be borne across the wave,
And deep in Ceuta's dungeon thrust,
To die a penal slave?
Or haply I may sink engulfed,
In Ocean's churning brine—
A shipwreck on some luckless coast,
A watery grave be mine!
“Nay! neither chains, nor coward flight,
Shall glad the foe to-day;
But here, unmoved, upon the field
Of battle shall I stay,
And drench my steel in hostile blood;
And Cuba soon shall see,
The tyrant driven from her shores,
And these proud mountains free!”
Shall glad the foe to-day;
But here, unmoved, upon the field
Of battle shall I stay,
And drench my steel in hostile blood;
And Cuba soon shall see,
The tyrant driven from her shores,
And these proud mountains free!”
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The maiden spoke, and, speaking thus,
Forth drew her trusty blade,
That shimmered o'er the bloody field,
And lighten'd on the shade;
When, now, besieged, with fury fired,
She flashed her dark brown eye,
And instant in the boldest face
She let the weapon fly.
Forth drew her trusty blade,
That shimmered o'er the bloody field,
And lighten'd on the shade;
When, now, besieged, with fury fired,
She flashed her dark brown eye,
And instant in the boldest face
She let the weapon fly.
Then, reeling as the Spaniard fell,
His aidless arms he spread;
His choking voice in vain he tries—
In vain!—that voice had sped.
Bold as he was, and puffed with pride,
He humbly bites the dust,
And surely pays, with dearest life,
The forfeit of his lust.
His aidless arms he spread;
His choking voice in vain he tries—
In vain!—that voice had sped.
Bold as he was, and puffed with pride,
He humbly bites the dust,
And surely pays, with dearest life,
The forfeit of his lust.
| The epic of Columbus' bell and other poems | |