"For we are a skulking lot," says he, "Of land-thieves hereabout, And the bold señores, two to one, Have come to smoke us out." Santa Anna and Castrillon, Almonte brave and gay, Portilla red from Goliad, And Cos with his smart array. Dulces and cigaritos, And the light guitar, ting-tum! Sant' Anna courts siesta And Sam Houston taps his drum. The buck stands still in the timber- And the mustang's snort in the river sedge A soft, low tap, and a muffled tap, Saddles and knives and rifles! Lord! but the men were glad When Deaf Smith muttered "Alamo!" And Karnes hissed "Goliad!" The drummer tucked his sticks in his belt, Oh, for one free, wild, Texan yell, But never a shout nor a shot we spent, Then we knew the rapture of Ben Milam, With Bowie's lunge, and Crockett's shot, And the heart of the fighter, bounding free When Millard charged for Alamo, Lamar for Goliad. Deaf Smith rode straight, with reeking spur, Into the shock and rout: "I've hacked and burned the bayou bridge, There's no sneak's back-way out!" Muzzle or butt for Goliad, Pistol and blade and fist! Oh, for the knife that never glanced, Dulces and cigaritos, Song and the mandolin! That gory swamp was a gruesome grove To dance fandangos in. We bridged the bog with the sprawling herd That fell in that frantic rout; We slew and slew till the sun set red, And the Texan star flashed out. John Williamson Palmer [1825-1906] THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS [DECEMBER 17, 1839] It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailòr, "Last night, the moon had a golden ring, The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, Colder and louder blew the wind, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, Oh say, what may it be?" "Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!". And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns, "O father! I see a gleaming light, Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, And ever the fitful gusts between The breakers were right beneath her bows, And a whooping billow swept the crew She struck where the white and fleecy waves But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, The salt sea was frozen on her breast, And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, On the reef of Norman's Woe! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] THE LOST COLORS [1843] FROWNING, the mountain stronghold stood, By blood and fire the robber band Hot was his heart and cool his thought, What sullen regiment is this That lifts its eyes to dread Cutchee? |