 | Songs of the sea, with other poems |  |
121
THE CONQUEROR.
A trampled battle plain!
The work of death was done;
On the unburied slain,
Through mist, red looked the sun;
The trumpet's blare, the shout,
The quick artillery's roar,
The carnage and the rout
Shook the wide field no more.
The work of death was done;
On the unburied slain,
Through mist, red looked the sun;
The trumpet's blare, the shout,
The quick artillery's roar,
The carnage and the rout
Shook the wide field no more.
Surrounded by the dead,
Wherever strayed his eyes,
His gory steed his bed,
The soldier strove to rise.
Vain was the effort—vain!
The death-wound in his side,
The ebbing blood, the pain,
Life's rallying power defied.
Wherever strayed his eyes,
His gory steed his bed,
The soldier strove to rise.
122
The death-wound in his side,
The ebbing blood, the pain,
Life's rallying power defied.
“And must I, then,” he said,
“With all my dreams of fame,
Of hosts to conquest led,
Perish without a name?
O, for my mother's voice!
My home, my native sky!
And her, my true heart's choice,
For whom in death I sigh!”
“With all my dreams of fame,
Of hosts to conquest led,
Perish without a name?
O, for my mother's voice!
My home, my native sky!
And her, my true heart's choice,
For whom in death I sigh!”
He paused: a maid, whose hair
Streamed loosely on the breeze,
Sank wounded by him there;
It is herself he sees!
Death, thou canst not appall!
Ambition, quit the field!
Love is the conqueror—all
To woman's love must yield!
Streamed loosely on the breeze,
Sank wounded by him there;
It is herself he sees!
A letter dated Monterey, October 7th, 1846, describes a Mexican woman as having been mortally wounded while going to succor a dying soldier on the field of battle. “I think it was an accidental shot that struck her,” says the writer. “Passing the spot, next day, I saw her body still lying there, with the bread by her side, and the broken gourd with a few drops of water still in it—emblems of her errand.”
Death, thou canst not appall!
Ambition, quit the field!
Love is the conqueror—all
To woman's love must yield!
| Songs of the sea, with other poems | |