The Defence Of The Alamo

Santa Ana came storming, as a storm might come; There was rumble of cannon; there was rattle of blade; There was cavalry, infantry, bugle and drum Full seven thousand in pomp and parade. The chivalry, flower of Mexico; And a gaunt two hundred in the Alamo! And thirty lay sick, and some were shot through; For the siege had been bitter, and bloody, and long. Surrender, or die! Men, what will you do? And Travis, great Travis, drew sword, quick and strong; Drew a line at his feet. . . . Will you come Will you go? I die with my wounded, in the Alamo. Then Bowie gasped, Lead me over that line! Then Crockett, one hand to the sick, one hand to his gun, Crossed with him; then never a word or a sign Till all, sick or well, all, all save but one, One man. Then a woman stepped, praying, and slow Across; to die at her post in the Alamo. Then that one coward fled, in the night, in that night When all men silently prayed and thought Of home; of to-morrow; of God and the right, Till dawn; and with dawn came Traviss cannon-shot, In answer to insolent Mexico, From the old bell-tower of the Alamo. Then came Santa Ana; a crescent of flame! Then the red escalade; then the fight hand to hand; Such an unequal fight as never had name Since the Persian hordes butchered that doomed Spartan band. All day all day and all night; and the morning? so slow, Through the battle smoke mantling the Alamo. Now silence! Such silence! Two thousand lay dead In a crescent outside! And within? Not a breath Save the gasp of a woman, with gory gashed head, All alone, all alone there, waiting for death; And she but a nurse. Yet when shall we know Another like this of the Alamo? Shout Victory, victory, victory ho! I say tis not always to the hosts that win! I say that the victory, high or low, Is given the hero who grapples with sin, Or legion or single; just asking to know When duty fronts death in his Alamo.