Their dying shout at Monterey.
And on, still on, our column kept
Through walls of flame its wavering way;
Where fell the dead, the living stepped,
Still charging on the guns which swept
The slippery streets of Monterey.
The foe himself recoiled aghast,
When, striking where he strongest lay,
We swooped his flanking batteries past,
And braving full their murderous blast,