"Yet ye who fear to follow me, "Olea, plant my standard here— "Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace, Down on the ranks of Aragon Slowly Gonzalez' little band Gave ground before the foe; But not an inch of the field was won And not an inch of the field was won From the widow'd wives of Aragon, Backward and backward Gomez fought, Backward fought Gomez, step by step, Till the cry was close at hand, Till his dauntless standard shadow'd him; And there he made his stand. Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail, As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell, The standard caught his eye, And he smiled, like an infant hush'd asleep, To hear the battle-cry. Now one by one the wearied knights Have fallen, or basely flown; And on the mound where his post was fix'd Olea stood alone. "Yield up thy banner, gallant knight! Thy duty has been nobly done; "Spare pity, King of Aragon; I would not hear thee lie: "Yield, madman, yield! thy horse is down, Thou hast nor lance nor shield; Fly! I will grant thee time." "This flag Can neither fly nor yield!" They girt the standard round about, But still they heard the battle-cry, "Olea for Castile!" And there, against all Aragon, Full-arm'd with lance and brand, Olea fought until the sword Snapp'd in his sturdy hand. Among the foe, with that high scorn He hurl'd the broken hilt, and drew They hew'd the hauberk from his breast, They hew'd the hands from off his limbs; UR flag on the land, and our flag on the ocean, Nobly sustain'd by Columbia's devotion, The angel of death it shall be to our foes! True to its native sky, Still shall our eagle fly, Casting his sentinel glances afar; Though bearing the olive-branch, Still in his talons staunch Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Hark to the sound! There's a foe on our border- Of scythe and of sickle keen; The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar; Veteran and youth are out, Swelling the battle-shout, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Our brave mountain eagles swoop from their eyrie, Swift as Niagara pours, They march, and their tread wakes the earth with its jar; Under the Stripes and Stars, Each with the soul of Mars, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Spite of the sword or assassin's stiletto, While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave, Echoing the Northern lakes, And ocean replies unto ocean afar, While there's a patriot hand A shudder shot through every vein- No hold had he above, below To that far height none dared to go- We gazed, but not a man could speak! In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, As riveted unto the spot Stood officers and crew. The father came on deck: he gasped, And aimed it at his son. "Jump, far out, boy, into the wave! Jump, or I fire," he said; "That only chance your life can save: Jump, jump, boy!" He-obeyed. He sankhe rose-he lived - he moved – And for the ship struck out: On board we hailed the lad beloved, With many a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy, Those wet arms round his neck, And folded to his heart his boy Then fainted on the deck. |