Like Cortez, had our general led his gallant little band
Through hosts of savage foemen to the centre of the land; —
Guerilla and Ranchero had followed on his track,
Like hungry wolves, but steadily our men had beat them back.
There lay the noble city—its cathedrals, and its towers
And parapets; its palaces, and gardens bright with flowers —
With the sunlight falling on it, over tower and dome and spire,
Through the mellow morning radiance, in a rain of golden fire:
Never, even in dreams of Orient lands, had Saxon eyes looked down
On so glorious a country, or so beautiful a town.