 | Joaquin Miller's Poems |  |
LVIII
At last one night they came. I knew,Ere yet the boat had touched the land,
That all was lost; they were so few
I near could count them on one hand;
But he, the leader, led no more.
The proud chief still disdained to fly,
But like one wrecked, clung to the shore,
And struggled on, and struggling fell
50
And only left that cell to die.
| Joaquin Miller's Poems | |