And she, the mother of thy boys, The memory of her buried joys,— Talk of thy doom without a sigh; Heroes Die, but Heroism is Eternal. (EXTRACT FROM MR. MURDOCH'S LECTURES.) ON the 21st of February, 1862, a battle was fought in Texas between the Federal forces and the Rebels. Captain McRea, of the Federal artillery, was in command of a battery supported by a force of New Mexican levies. The Texan Rangers made a dash for the guns: the infantry gave way and ingloriously fled at the first charge, thus leaving the battery unsupported. Nothing daunted, the gallant McRea fought on until, finding himself surrounded, and seeing no chance of redeeming the fortunes of the day, in defiance of the summons to surrender, he drew his revolvers, and, leaping on one of his guns, maintained the fight, falling in the midst of foes, covered with wounds,thus gallantly sealing with his blood his fidelity to his country's cause. Who would withhold from such valor the meed of praise, or feel his pulse beat sluggishly when the poet sings in glowing strains the gloirous deeds of those who die in defence of country and Government, covered with the benediction of a sorrowing people? The circumstances attending the glorious death of the hero of our fight, and that of the hero of Mr. Boker's poem, are the property of different ages and of different nations; yet the soul which shines through them belongs to all time and all nations: it is the generous outpouring of that spirit which burns in the bosom of every man loyal to honor, to woman, and to country, and which sustains the possessor in every trial of danger and of suffering, and in the solemn hour of death. True honor and chivalry are the same now as they were in the days of romance, and are always found beneath the banners on which are emblazoned Justice, Truth, and Virtue; and there, till Fame's trump shall sound no more, will be found such glorious and selfsacrificing champions as Olea and McRea. Count Candespina's Standard. BY GEORGE H. BOKER. "THE King of Aragon now entered Castile by way of Soria and Osma with a powerful army; and, having been met by the queen's forces, both parties encamped near Sepulveda, and prepared to give battle. "This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, de la Espina, is one of the most famous of that age. The dastardly Count of Lara filed at the first shock, and joined the queen at Burgos, where she was anxiously awaiting the issue; but the brave Count of Candespina (Gomez Gonzalez) stood his ground to the last, and died on the field of battle. His standard-bearer, a gentleman of the house of Olea, after having his horse killed under him, and both hands cut off by sabrestrokes, fell beside his master, still clasping the standard in his arms, and repeating his war-cry of 'Olea!"-MRS. GEORGE: Annals of the Queens of Spain. SCARCE were the splinter'd lances dropp'd, Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear, Had wheel'd his steed about; His courser rear'd, and plunged, and neigh'd, Loathing the fight to yield; But the coward spurr'd him to the bone, And drove him from the field. Gonzalez in his stirrups rose: “Turn, turn, thou traitor knight! Thou bold tongue in a lady's bower, Thou dastard in a fight!" But vainly valiant Gomez cried "Now, by the God above me, sirs, Better we all were dead, Than a single knight among ye all Should ride where Lara led! As "Yet, ye who fear to follow me, "Olea, plant my standard here, "Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace, Will be to hear thy battle-cry, 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 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 lord lies on the plain; Thy duty has been nobly done; I would not see thee slain." "Spare pity, King of Aragon; I would not hear thee lie: My lord is looking down from heaven, "Yield, madman, yield!-Thy horse is down, They girt the standard round about, A wall of flashing steel; 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 They hew'd the hauberk from his breast, The helmet from his head, They hew'd the hands from off his limbs, Clasping the standard to his heart, He raised one dying peal, That rang as if a trumpet blew,— "Olea for Castile !" |