 | Poems by Rose Terry |  |
183
BALLADS.
188
FREMONT'S RIDE.
Night on creek and rancho, bound in sleep we lay,
Dreaming of señoritas and maidens far away,
The heavy tropic moonlight its plates of silver spread
Over Sonoma's valleys, and the gully's rocky bed.
Dreaming of señoritas and maidens far away,
The heavy tropic moonlight its plates of silver spread
Over Sonoma's valleys, and the gully's rocky bed.
Through the dreams, like thunder, came, rolling loud and long
At the gate of ranch and corral, the beat of knuckles strong:
“Boys! rouse up! they're on us. Quick! the gateway bends.
Who's out there?” “Americans! Open the gate to friends.”
At the gate of ranch and corral, the beat of knuckles strong:
“Boys! rouse up! they're on us. Quick! the gateway bends.
Who's out there?” “Americans! Open the gate to friends.”
Through the portal pouring, eager, hot, and grim,
A hundred bearded horsemen stream in the midnight dim.
First and least and greatest, set on a mustang stout,
The leader of the hundred, the chief of hunt and scout.
A hundred bearded horsemen stream in the midnight dim.
First and least and greatest, set on a mustang stout,
The leader of the hundred, the chief of hunt and scout.
189
Keen as sword or bullet came his rapid speech:
“Give me your horses, Señor the Puebla I must reach!
The States shall pay you eagles. Quick! for I must be gone,
I'm bound to see Los Angelos before six days are done!”
“Give me your horses, Señor the Puebla I must reach!
The States shall pay you eagles. Quick! for I must be gone,
I'm bound to see Los Angelos before six days are done!”
“But, Señor!”—“Quick, the horses! Los Angelos is far,
Six hundred miles of mud and flood,—the States have gone to war.
I must be in at the death-fight! Oh, I shall make good speed!”
Away went the pale vaqueros—away went every steed.
Six hundred miles of mud and flood,—the States have gone to war.
I must be in at the death-fight! Oh, I shall make good speed!”
Away went the pale vaqueros—away went every steed.
Gallop, gallop, gallop! over stock and stone,
Through the rocky gully, through creeks of the wild cañon,
Over plain and valley, past the lonely ranch,
Grazing clumps of chapparal, swimming the flooded branch,
Through the rocky gully, through creeks of the wild cañon,
Over plain and valley, past the lonely ranch,
Grazing clumps of chapparal, swimming the flooded branch,
Dead dropped mare and mustang. “Off with saddle and bit,—
Mount another, and forward! the fight is raging yet!”
Through San Pablo tearing—tearing through Monterey—
Over bluffs and prairies gallop the mad array.
Mount another, and forward! the fight is raging yet!”
190
Over bluffs and prairies gallop the mad array.
The sixth day in the morning they reach a river wide;
The bravest pause before it—Fremont is in the tide!
Over, over, over! follow him to the death!
The swollen waves roll deeper, and two are swept beneath.
The bravest pause before it—Fremont is in the tide!
Over, over, over! follow him to the death!
The swollen waves roll deeper, and two are swept beneath.
Horse and rider struggle—“Forward! the brink is won!
Ride, ride for the Puebla! ride lest the fight be done!”
“Hurrah! Fremont and Freedom! Los Angelos we sight;
Now for the Mexican devils! now for a bloody fight!”
Ride, ride for the Puebla! ride lest the fight be done!”
“Hurrah! Fremont and Freedom! Los Angelos we sight;
Now for the Mexican devils! now for a bloody fight!”
So the sharp tornado whirls from a swooping cloud,—
So comes the sudden lightning down from its lurid shroud:
One rattling shout of thunder, then to the thickest fight—
The dying plunge and quiver, the living take to flight.
So comes the sudden lightning down from its lurid shroud:
One rattling shout of thunder, then to the thickest fight—
The dying plunge and quiver, the living take to flight.
191
They shout from the Presidio, they shout across the plain,
And the great heart of his country sends back the shout again.
Hurrah, for the Prairie Hunter! Hurrah for the People's Pride!
Hurrah! Fremont and Freedom! Hurrah for the hundred's ride!
And the great heart of his country sends back the shout again.
Hurrah, for the Prairie Hunter! Hurrah for the People's Pride!
Hurrah! Fremont and Freedom! Hurrah for the hundred's ride!
202
WHITE AND RED.
Roses and daisies, lovingly they grow,
Redder than a sunset, milkier than snow;
Side by side they glitter in the grasses lithe,
Side by side they wither, swept before the scythe.
Redder than a sunset, milkier than snow;
Side by side they glitter in the grasses lithe,
Side by side they wither, swept before the scythe.
Down in the valley sits Lina at her wheel,
While along the mountains twilight-shadows steal,
Singing through the daylight softly as a bird,
All that summer whispers in her song you heard.
While along the mountains twilight-shadows steal,
Singing through the daylight softly as a bird,
All that summer whispers in her song you heard.
Night came on like morning, cold and still and gray,
Over Alpine summits a threat of tempest lay,
Lina stopped her singing, and trimmed her taper bright,
Her lover on the mountains watched for the beacon-light.
Over Alpine summits a threat of tempest lay,
Lina stopped her singing, and trimmed her taper bright,
Her lover on the mountains watched for the beacon-light.
All night long she waited, listening to the rain,
That muttered in the fir-trees and rustled on the pane.
Shrieking like a spirit, the morning west-wind blew,
And flickered in the casement the watch-light burning true.
That muttered in the fir-trees and rustled on the pane.
203
And flickered in the casement the watch-light burning true.
Lina to the threshold turned her trembling feet.
Saints in heaven, preserve her, such a sight to meet!
The dead-white face before her,—the roaring stream below.
The water-sprite, at dead of night, had wrought her mortal woe.
Saints in heaven, preserve her, such a sight to meet!
The dead-white face before her,—the roaring stream below.
The water-sprite, at dead of night, had wrought her mortal woe.
Two biers to the chapel bear the friars gray,
Over two pale corpses the funeral mass they say.
Lina and her lover are gathered to their rest,—
So we one day shall pass away, and live among the blest.
Over two pale corpses the funeral mass they say.
Lina and her lover are gathered to their rest,—
So we one day shall pass away, and live among the blest.
Roses and daisies!—through the world they shine,
Blood-red blooms of sorrow, dreams of peace divine,
Only up in glory the quiet angels wear
Wreaths of spotless calmness, lilies pure and fair.
Blood-red blooms of sorrow, dreams of peace divine,
Only up in glory the quiet angels wear
Wreaths of spotless calmness, lilies pure and fair.
| Poems by Rose Terry | |