"One night each year in Honduras, they clear the roads for his ghost,
Their long dead Gringo President—who rides with his phantom host.
He sweeps o'er the land in silence and the cowering natives hide,
From the Wraith of William Walker—who haunts the land where he died.
"Thus it was the wild tale started—that when dying on the sand,
Walker smiled and sternly told them, 'Till avenged I'll haunt your land!'
And now on snow-white stallion once a year at midnight's spell,
Across the land from sea to sea—rides the form that all know well.
"His head is high, his blade is bare, his white steed spurns the ground,
A phantom troop charge close behind—but all make never a sound;