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"Yet ye who fear to follow me,
As yon traitor turn and fly;
For I lead ye not to win a field:
I lead ye forth to die.

"Olea, plant my standard here—
Here on this little mound;
Here raise the war-cry of thy house,
Make this our rallying ground.

"Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace,
The last care I shall have
Will be to hear thy battle-cry,
And see that standard wave."

Down on the ranks of Aragon
The bold Gonzalez drove,
And Olea raised his battle-cry,
And waved the flag above.

Slowly Gonzalez' little band

Gave ground before the foe;

But not an inch of the field was won
Without a deadly blow;

And not an inch of the field was won
That did not draw a tear

From the widow'd wives of Aragon,
That fatal news to hear.

Backward and backward Gomez fought,
And high o'er the clashing steel,
Plainer and plainer rose the cry,
"Olea for Castile!"

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,
Yet he moved not where he stood,
Though each gaping joint of armor ran
A stream of purple blood.

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 lord lies on the plain;

Thy duty has been nobly done;
I would not see thee slain."

"Spare pity, King of Aragon;

I would not hear thee lie:
My lord is looking down from heaven
To see his standard fly."

"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.

Among the foe, with that high scorn
Which laughs at earthly fears,

He hurl'd the broken hilt, and drew
His dagger on the spears.

They hew'd the hauberk from his breast,
The helmet from his head;

They hew'd the hands from off his limbs;
From every vein he bled.

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UR flag on the land, and our flag on the ocean,
An angel of peace wheresoever it goes:

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Nobly sustain'd by Columbia's devotion,

The angel of death it shall be to our foes!

True to its native sky,

Still shall our eagle fly,

Casting his sentinel glances afar;

Though bearing the olive-branch,

Still in his talons staunch

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Hark to the sound! There's a foe on our border-
A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom;
Freemen are rising and marching in order,
Leaving the plough, and the anvil, and loom.
Rust dims the harvest-sheen

Of scythe and of sickle keen;

The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar; Veteran and youth are out,

Swelling the battle-shout,

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Our brave mountain eagles swoop from their eyrie,
Our lithe panthers leap from forest and plain;
Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie,
Out of the East roll the waves of the main.
Down from their Northern shores,

Swift as Niagara pours,

They march, and their tread wakes the earth with its jar; Under the Stripes and Stars,

Each with the soul of Mars, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Spite of the sword or assassin's stiletto,

While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave,
The oak of the North, or the Southern palmetto,
Shall shelter no foe except in the grave!
While the Gulf billow breaks,

Echoing the Northern lakes,

And ocean replies unto ocean afar,
Yield we no inch of land

While there's a patriot hand
Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

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A shudder shot through every vein-
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky;

No hold had he above, below
Alone he stood in air:

To that far height none dared to go-
No aid could reach him there.

We gazed, but not a man could speak!
With horror all aghast

In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue-

As riveted unto the spot

Stood officers and crew.

The father came on deck: he gasped,
"O God, thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,

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And aimed it at his son.

"Jump, far out, boy, into the wave!

Jump, or I fire," he said;

"That only chance your life can save: Jump, jump, boy!" He-obeyed.

He sankhe rose-he lived - he moved – And for the ship struck out:

On board we hailed the lad beloved,

With many a manly shout.

His father drew, in silent joy,

Those wet arms round his neck, And folded to his heart his boy

Then fainted on the deck.

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