 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
CAPTAIN MAY.
Loud plaudits for our bold Dragoon,
The gallant Captain May!
The light of glory's dazzling noon
Will gild his name for aye.
Though fast and hot the hurtling shot
Fell round his little band,
He paled not, he quailed not,
But drew his glittering brand.
The gallant Captain May!
The light of glory's dazzling noon
Will gild his name for aye.
Though fast and hot the hurtling shot
Fell round his little band,
He paled not, he quailed not,
But drew his glittering brand.
More lurid grew the battle-cloud,
But not a horseman spurred;
Their leader, on his charger proud,
Sate waiting for the word;
Though far around the trampled ground
Was with the fallen strown,
He paled not, he quailed not,
As if his form was stone.
But not a horseman spurred;
Their leader, on his charger proud,
Sate waiting for the word;
Though far around the trampled ground
Was with the fallen strown,
He paled not, he quailed not,
As if his form was stone.
The General galloped to his side,
And issued order stern—
“Now forward with your squadron ride,
And deathless honor earn;
That battery must taken be
Ere Mexico is tamed”—
He paled not, he quailed not,
But—“Follow me”—exclaimed.
And issued order stern—
“Now forward with your squadron ride,
And deathless honor earn;
136
Ere Mexico is tamed”—
He paled not, he quailed not,
But—“Follow me”—exclaimed.
There was a rush of men and steeds,
Fierce struggling for renown,
And hostile ranks, like shiver'd reeds,
In that wild charge went down:
Brave Vega yields, though many fields
Had heard his warlike shout,
And pale now, and quail now
His thousands put to rout.
Fierce struggling for renown,
And hostile ranks, like shiver'd reeds,
In that wild charge went down:
Brave Vega yields, though many fields
Had heard his warlike shout,
And pale now, and quail now
His thousands put to rout.
Twine garlands for our Cavalier,
The gallant Captain May!
A knight without reproach, or fear—
A Bayard in the fray!
When flags that wave above the brave
Are scorched by battle's breath,
He pales not, he quails not,
But fronts the face of death.
The gallant Captain May!
A knight without reproach, or fear—
A Bayard in the fray!
When flags that wave above the brave
Are scorched by battle's breath,
He pales not, he quails not,
But fronts the face of death.
On every breeze should grandly swell
A Nation's funeral hymn
For those, the staunch and true, who fell
In that encounter grim:—
To grace the plain where they were slain
Proud piles should tower on high:
They paled not, they quailed not,
But died as heroes die.
A Nation's funeral hymn
For those, the staunch and true, who fell
In that encounter grim:—
To grace the plain where they were slain
Proud piles should tower on high:
They paled not, they quailed not,
But died as heroes die.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |