Conquest Ended

December's glowing sun looked down
      On verdant field and leafy oak,
SAN LUIS' towers, and roofs of brown, 
      And the swift victor's camp-fire smoke.

Before its golden beams illume
      The eastern mountains' sea-ward wall, 
The captive foe must meet his doom,
      From many a deadly rifle-ball!

No blanching on his manly cheeks, 
      No quailing in his dauntless eye ;
Firm as his own Nevada's peaks.
      The Insurgent Chieftain waits to die.

To die a soldier's death of shame, 
      Twice conquered by a single hand,
And wearing on his mountain name 
      The fire-mark of Dishonor's brand.

Wrapt in his "old Castilian pride," 
      He begged no boon of lingering life ;
If for his Country's love he died,
      Why kneel to live for Home and Wife?

Home, Mother, Wife, and dark-eyed Girls, 
      Dear to the Brave, and doubly dear
When o'er him Death's white breaker curls—
      Wrung out no weak memorial tear.

A glitter on the snowy peaks,
      And on the rifle's ready line, 
To his calm eye the moment speaks,
      And flashes far its fatal sign.

Alone in his unguarded tent.
      Watching the Hour's relentless hand, 
The Victor stood, with forehead bent,
      Lip-parted for the last command :

When all the Captive's wealth of Home, 
      Mother and Wife and black-eyed Girls
Thronged round him — these with cheeks like foam 
      In the dark splendor of their curls —

That with her pale majestic face
      Crowned well by smooth Madonna hair,
And clinging in a linked embrace,
      They breathed and looked and wept their prayer.

" Mercy! thou merciful and brave;
      Spare, spare to us our more than life! 
The Husband, Son, and Father save,
      To weeping Mother, Child, and Wife.

"Perhaps a mother's fading eye
      Watches the west for thy return; 
A true wife's prayer ascends on high,
      Tender with thoughts that o'er thee yearn;

“Or in an hour that change may bring,
      Far from their fallen father's tomb,
Thy children's happy laugh may ring,
      Unconscious of their flying doom !

"God spare them long! and spare us, thou, 
      The bitter cup they would not drain ;
And we will hold thee, close as now,
      To hearts where grateful love shall reign."

Oh, to have seen our Hero then!
      The great tear trembling in his eye, 
Not "first" alone, but "best of men!"
      Had been our heart's applauding cry.

"Guards, lead the Captive to my tent !"
      Calm in the rifle's deadly aim. 
The Doomed had stood, and proudly went —
      But seeing, trembled as he came.

"Take from my hand, and with my hand,
      Full pardon, and thy periled life, 
To be the bulwark of thy land.
      The joy of Mother, Child, and Wife!"

Thrice conquered, at the Victor's knee
      The strong man bowed, with heaving breast,
Devoting hand and heart to be 
The ransom of the far Southwest.

There bowed a People's jealous hate, 
      There breathed a People's loyal vow ;
And, thronging through the Golden Gate, 
      Our myriads share that conquest now.

                  ---------------

More worth than laurels dripping red, 
      Is Mercy's stainless lily crown;
Its odor, round the Brave Man shed,
      Is sweeter than his old renown.

Not myriads alone shall bless 
      The Hero of the Spotless Shield,
For now our rousing millions press 
      Around his Banner in the field.

Like lightning to the embattled wrong,
      Like sunshine to the poor and weak,
It calls the dauntless and the strong, 
      It lures the merciful and meek.

Not myriads alone shall share
      The triumphs of that glorious flag ;
But, from' the walls of Slavery's lair, 
      To white Nevada's farthest crag,

O'er all the land his courage gave 
      To Freedom and the march of man,
When, unpolluted by a slave, 
      Rolls west her endless caravan,

May teeming millions find a home, 
      And spread the empire of the free.
From far Pacific's whitening foam 
      To broad Atlantic's heaving sea !