 | Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems |  |
XXIX.
And away they march, with their Tyrant clad
In the rich array of his snow-white steed,
As his voice breaks forth from the music sad,
“To war! to war! for the foe shall bleed!”
And the lance was levelled—the bows were bent—
And the Tyrant dashed on his fiery steed—
With the spear and the gorget, away they went
For the Alamo with the lightning's speed!
In the rich array of his snow-white steed,
As his voice breaks forth from the music sad,
“To war! to war! for the foe shall bleed!”
And the lance was levelled—the bows were bent—
And the Tyrant dashed on his fiery steed—
With the spear and the gorget, away they went
For the Alamo with the lightning's speed!
And they march along
To the glorious song
Of the triumph yet to be;
And the flashing sword,
At the Tyrant's word,
Shines bright for the victory.
To the glorious song
Of the triumph yet to be;
137
At the Tyrant's word,
Shines bright for the victory.
And the trampling feet
To the music sweet,
Are heard in the field afar,
As the trumpet noise
Of the Tyrant's voice
Breaks forth from the hills, “To war!”
To the music sweet,
Are heard in the field afar,
As the trumpet noise
Of the Tyrant's voice
Breaks forth from the hills, “To war!”
And the march is slow
As the mighty flow
Of a river deep and bright,
As the charger's bound
Makes the woodlands sound
Like an earthquake born at night!
As the mighty flow
Of a river deep and bright,
As the charger's bound
Makes the woodlands sound
Like an earthquake born at night!
And the march is slow
To the music low,
As the fiery charger flings
Off the volleying bound
Of the earthquake sound
From the hoofstroke where he springs.
To the music low,
As the fiery charger flings
Off the volleying bound
Of the earthquake sound
From the hoofstroke where he springs.
And the woodland birds,
And the countless herds,
Are escaping away before;
As the trooping host
In the dust are lost,
As they march to the widening shore.
And the countless herds,
Are escaping away before;
As the trooping host
In the dust are lost,
As they march to the widening shore.
And the Tyrant mailed
By the lancers trailed,
Is curving the sun-clad hill,
As he leads them on
From the victory won,
Where the casque shines brighter still.
By the lancers trailed,
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As he leads them on
From the victory won,
Where the casque shines brighter still.
And the lancers dashed,
As the armour flashed,
On the green of the plain below;
And the army sighed
When the Tyrant cried,
“A charge, brave men! for the foe!”
As the armour flashed,
On the green of the plain below;
And the army sighed
When the Tyrant cried,
“A charge, brave men! for the foe!”
“A charge! for destruction is all for the few!
A charge for your Liberty! Freedom! or death!”
A charge for your Liberty! Freedom! or death!”
They grapple!—they struggle!—they bleed! but the crew
That remains are now losing their breath!
The sabre, all dinted, lies swimming in gore,
And the dying are crawling the vanquishing o'er!
And the thorny walls they were built in vain,
For he conquers them with his tyrant power!
And the blood is shed, and the brave are slain,
As he slew them not in another hour.
For the prophecy Texas hath spoken to thee,
Is written in heaven—that she shall be free!
That remains are now losing their breath!
The sabre, all dinted, lies swimming in gore,
And the dying are crawling the vanquishing o'er!
And the thorny walls they were built in vain,
For he conquers them with his tyrant power!
And the blood is shed, and the brave are slain,
As he slew them not in another hour.
For the prophecy Texas hath spoken to thee,
Is written in heaven—that she shall be free!
| Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems | |