| "NOW for a brisk and cheerful fight!" | |
| Said Harman, big and droll, | |
| As he coaxed his flint and steel for a light, | |
| And puffed at his cold clay bowl; | |
| "For we are a skulking lot," says he, | 5 |
| "Of land-thieves hereabout, | |
| And these bold señors, two to one, | |
| Have come to smoke us out." | |
| |
| Santa Anna and Castillon, | |
| Almonte brave and gay, | 10 |
| Portilla red from Goliad, | |
| And Cos with his smart array. | |
| Dulces and cigaritos, | |
| And the light guitar, ting-tum! | |
| Sant' Anna courts siesta, | 15 |
| And Sam Houston taps his drum. | |
| |
| The buck stands still in the timber— | |
| "Is it patter of nuts that fall?" | |
| The foal of the wild mare whinnies— | |
| Did he hear the Comanche call? | 20 |
| In the brake by the crawling bayou | |
| The slinking she-wolves howl; | |
| And the mustang's snort in the river sedge | |
| Has startled the paddling fowl. | |
| |
| A soft, low tap, and a muffled tap, | 25 |
| And a roll not loud nor long— | |
| We would not break Sant' Anna's nap, | |
| Nor spoil Almonte's song. | |
| Saddles and knives and rifles! | |
| Lord! but the men were glad | 30 |
| When Deaf Smith muttered "Alamo!" | |
| And Karnes hissed "Goliad!" | |
| |
| The drummer tucked his sticks in his belt, | |
| And the fifer gripped his gun. | |
| Oh, for one free, wild, Texan yell, | 35 |
| As we took the slope in a run! | |
| But never a shout nor a shot we spent, | |
| Nor an oath nor a prayer, that day, | |
| Till we faced the bravos, eye to eye, | |
| And then we blazed away. | 40 |
| |
| Then we knew the rapture of Ben Milam, | |
| And the glory that Travis made, | |
| With Bowie's lunge, and Crockett's shot, | |
| And Fannin's dancing blade; | |
| And the heart of the fighter, bounding free | 45 |
| In his joy so hot and mad— | |
| When Millard charged for Alamo, | |
| Lamar for Goliad. | |
| |
| Deaf Smith rode straight, with reeking spur, | |
| Into the shock and rout: | 50 |
| "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, | 55 |
| And the gun that never missed! | |
| |
| Dulces and cigaritos, | |
| Song and the mandolin! | |
| That gory swamp is a gruesome grove | |
| To dance fandangoes in. | 60 |
| 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. | |
