But cheerily still; and said: "I pray thee, then, The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had bless'dAnd, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. L ET me lie down WOUNDED. Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree, Oh, it was grand! Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share; Weary and faint, Prone on the soldier's couch, ah! how can I rest, Oh, that last charge! Right through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell, It was duty! Some things are worthless, and some others so good Dying at last! My mother, dear mother! with meek, tearful eye, I am no saint; But, boys, say a prayer. There's one that begins, Hark! there's a shout! Raise me up, comrades! We have conquer'd, I know! Ah! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright, I'm muster'd out. O God of our fathers, our freedom prolong, I'm muster'd out. COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD. "The King of Aragon now entered Castile, by way of Soria and Osma, with a powerful army; and, having been met by the queen's forces, both parties encamped near Sepulveda, and prepared to give battle. "This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, de la Espina, is one of the most famous of that age. The dastardly Count of Lara fled at the first shock, and joined the queen at Burgos, where she was anxiously awaiting the issue; but the brave Count of Candespina (Gomez Gonzalez) stood his ground to the last, and died on the field of battle. His standard-bearer, a gentleman of the house of Olea, after having his horse killed under him, and both hands cut off by sabre-strokes, fell beside his master, still clasping the standard in his arms, and repeating his war-cry of 'Olea!'”—Annals of the Queens of Spain. CARCE were the splinter'd lances dropp'd, SCARO Scarce were the swords drawn out, Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear, Had wheel'd his steed about: His courser rear'd, and plunged, and neigh'd, But the coward spurr'd him to the bone, Gonzalez in his stirrups rose: "Turn, turn, thou traitor knight! Thou bold tongue in a lady's bower, Thou dastard in a fight!" But vainly valiant Gomez cried "Now, by the God above me, sirs, Than a single knight among ye all "Yet ye who fear to follow me, "Olea, plant my standard here – "Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace, Down on the ranks of Aragon Slowly Gonzalez' little band Gave ground before the foe; But not an inch of the field was won And not an inch of the field was won From the widow'd wives of Aragon, Backward and backward Gomez fought, Backward fought Gomez, step by step, Till the cry was close at hand, Till his dauntless standard shadow'd him; And there he made his stand. Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail, As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell, The standard caught his eye, And he smiled, like an infant hush'd asleep, To hear the battle-cry. Now one by one the wearied knights Have fallen, or basely flown; And on the mound where his post was fix'd Olea stood alone. "Yield up thy banner, gallant knight! Thy duty has been nobly done; "Spare pity, King of Aragon; I would not hear thee lie: “Yield, madman, yield! thy horse is down, Thou hast nor lance nor shield; Fly!-I will grant thee time." "This flag Can neither fly nor yield!" They girt the standard round about, A wall of flashing steel; But still they heard the battle-cry, "Olea for Castile!" And there, against all Aragon, Full-arm'd with lance and brand, Olea fought until the sword Snapp'd in his sturdy hand. |