THE DESERT
That silence which enfolds the Great Beyond
Broods in these spaces where the yucca palms
Like gray old votaries chant unworded psalms,
Grand, voiceless harmonies where-to the Heavens respond.
Lone, vast, eternal as Eternity,
The brown wastes crawl to clutch the wrinkled hills,—
Till night lets down her solemn dusk and fills
The waiting void with haunting mystery.
Here Solitude hath made her dwelling place,
As when of old amid untrodden sands,
Slow-journeying, wise men of all alien lands
Sought at her feet life’s hidden roads to trace.
All ways of earth, still glad or sad they go,
The roads of life—till breath of man shall cease—
Silent, the desert keeps her ancient peace,
And that last secret which the dead may know.
THE EAGLE OF SACRAMENTO
This poem is founded upon an incident in Colonel Doniphan’s campaign with the Army of the West in 1846-47. The battle of Sacramento was fought Feb. 28, 1847; the Mexican army, accompanied by the governor and leading citizens of Chihuahua, had taken a strong position in the rocky foothills of the Sierra de Victoriano, and there awaited Colonel Doniphan who had about nine hundred men. The Mexican army numbered 2200 men, with heavy artillery and entrenched. They expected to rout the Americans at the first fire, and amused themselves with feasting and sports while awaiting their approach.
Colonel Doniphan was compelled to make his attack across a small plain in full range of the artillery and cut by a deep gulch which offered a serious stay to the charge. Just as the column halted on its brink some of the men saw a bald eagle hovering over the plain and set up a shout of “Victory! The eagle!” They charged up the hill, sweeping the Mexican army before them, with the loss of but one man, Major Owens, who was shot from his horse.
The Chihuahuan army lost 1100 men and all stores, sheep, cattle, hard bread, and much silver coin. Several wagons were found filled with ropes cut in lengths with which to tie the captured Americans. The governor, citizens, and army fled in confusion back to the city of Chihuahua, which was occupied by Doniphan’s troops and held for some weeks.
The Hills of Victoriano were gay that winter morning;
Chihuahuan gentlemen looked down tricked out in brave array;
When Trial with the ebon flag rode forth to give us warning.
“Your leader”—“Come and take him—and luck be yours the day!”
“No quarter to the Gringo”! the skull and cross-bones fluttered;
Four thousand throats took up the yell, the echoes flung it back;
How boastfully, exultantly, the taunting threat they uttered—
As coyotes bold with number yelp round a gray wolf’s pack.
Nine hundred men in buckskin, in patches and in tatters;
Lean and hungry as the deserts we had traversed wearily;
But little versed in pipe clay, in gold lace and such matters—
Only our bare brown rifles to match their pageantry.
There on the hills above us the proud senores gathered
As for some rare fiesta, laughed with their men below;
“Now by the flag they jest at they’ll pray they ne’er were fathered;
Their jaunty coats shall sit awry ere this day’s sun is low.”
Their peons manned the cannon, their rabble filled the trenches—
We were too mean a crew to soil the hands of gentlemen;
Their mocking words they fling at us, till Mitchell fiercely clenches
His fist and shouts: “Now, rangers! Sweep the vermin from their den!”
Barred with a rain-washed gulley the hill sloped up before us;
A deep-worn trench too wide to leap and like to cost us dear;
Just on its edge we halted—broad wings were hovering o’er us—
“An omen! Look! the eagle!” uprose a mighty cheer.
With one wild charge we crossed the gulch, half on our comrades’ shoulders,
And, the great bald eagle leading, stormed up the rocky hill;
Their grape went wide below us, or crashed among the bowlders,
And when our rifles spoke them back the beaten guns were still:
We scared them from their cover, we sent the peons flying;
We turned on them the cannon they had not wit to fire;
What way the battle led us was strewn with dead and dying,
And we heaped their gaudy trappings to feed the funeral pyre.
One knee around the saddle horn, half lounging in his saddle,
Sat Doniphan, and whistled as he whittled carelessly,
Shaping a cedar splinter to a rough-turned wooden paddle:—
“With my compliments to Trial for his pirate flag,” said he.
The flag was torn and trampled and the throats that cried “No quarter!”
Were silent on the bloody field or sullen in defeat;
The ropes they’d cut to bind our hands we cut again still shorter,
And we bound the fleeing stragglers as we caught them in retreat.
Back on the road where late they came with pomp and jest and laughter,
They fled, the governor leading, to Chihuahua’s very gate;
And in their gay-decked carriages our rangers followed after,
Or on their prancing horses rode down in martial state.
What spoil was ours for taking—bread and corn and sheep and cattle!
How the “Gringo beggars” feasted on the feast the Dons had spread!
And the priest Ortiz who cursed us and reviled us through the battle,
Was left to scare the vultures and say masses for the dead.
We had three score captured cannon, guns and gun mules all together;
Our saddle bags were heavy with peso and doubloon;
We had bridles silver-studded and carved of Spanish leather—
Ah! well we turned the tale of them that boasted all too soon!
And well we cheered the eagle till the hills above us thundered;
We set the old cathedral bells to peal triumphantly—
And in the gray old plaza, while our prisoners scoffed and wondered,
We shamed our sullen foemen when we gave them amnesty.
CACTUS AND ROSE
She wore red roses as a queen
Her jewels when she wills to shine;
She pressed one full bud to her lips,
The while she bent her eyes to mine:
“Were not life cheap for such a flower?”
Was it by chance her fingers strayed
So near my own? But ere the touch
The tempter in my blood was stayed.
A mist was on the laughing eyes,
It veiled her soft, enticing grace;
Beyond her lure of gold and blue
A tender, shadowy, haunting face
Grew like a star in twilit skies
When evening fades to rarer light;
Again I saw the cactus flowers,
Blood red, in braids as black as night.
Again we paced the earthen floor
In waiting measure, till the dance
Swept to its swift and dizzy whirl;
And there were eyes that looked askance
Because her brown hand lay in mine
Like some small, gentle, brown-winged bird;
And there were hearts had given life
For that one shy, low-spoken word
That made the night so more than dear;
That set my years to one strange tune
Of footfalls on the hard-beat earth,
And soft guitar and low-hung moon;
And wind that whispered through the roof’s
Rude thatch of branches interlaced;
And bare, dark, earthen walls whereon
The leaping firelight roughly traced
Her shadow, swaying as we danced.—
Then morning came, as calm and pale
As some dead face where tapers shine;
And through the tule reeds the quail
Called mournfully—as if they knew
No other night would ever be
So dear, so rare, so blessed of God,
From sunrise to eternity.
White-robed as any bride she lay;
Like weary stars the tapers shone;
And what I vowed in that dim place
Was vowed to her dead heart alone:
I went forth old, that had been young;
But still I keep till life’s last hour
The quail call through the tule reeds,
And one dead, crumbling, cactus flower.