University of Virginia Library

VIII.

He fights—the thickest of the fray—
His steel hath broke their serried lances,
And proudly now he stands at bay,
And not a foe advances.
“For country, freedom, monarch now,
On! Mexicans, nor cower
At one dark tyrant's vengeful blow,
Within your very power.
The temples of your Gods behold,
Rifled by bigot slaves, for gold;
Your monarchs, children of the sun,
Who gilds whate'er he looks upon—
Lo! now, from rolling clouds of dun,
He rushes forth upon the skies,
To bid you to the sacrifice.
Our fathers' dead—their ample thrones,
Their graves, their palaces, their bones,
Whate'er of sacred, good or grand,
Touch'd by these slaves with impious hand—
Strike for your dead—if not to gain
Your freedom, strike—and not in vain.”
Their monarch speaks, and his, their cause,
Nor in the conflict do they pause,
But closing round the Spanish chief,
His hope of rescue grows more brief,
Yet still he strikes with giant blow,
The death of each adventurous foe;
Wild as the lion, circled round
By hunter's spear, he still is found,
Tho' sinking 'neath repeated blows,
The sternest, savagest of foes.