 | The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems |  |
XIV.
The triumph is complete—the foe,Routed, no longer seek the fight;
And thro' the gates of Mexico,
They rush, as settles down the night!
Victors and vanquish'd—and the din,
Shrieks of the dying, victor's cries,
With more than mortal turmoil, win
Ten thousand echoes from the skies.
Mad with the toil, the throng, the glare,
The glory, and the pomp of war—
22
The Spanish soldiers onward press
Among their foes, still numberless!
And ere the day is fully gone,
Mexico is lost and won!
| The vision of Cortes, Cain, and other poems | |