Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE FALL OF MAUBILA (1540), by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH Poet's Biography First Line: Hearken the stirring story Last Line: I wait my latter day. Subject(s): America - Exploration; De Soto, Hernando (1500-1542) | ||||||||
HEARKEN the stirring story The soldier has to tell, Of fierce and bloody battle, Contested long and well, Ere walled Maubila, stoutly held, Before our forces fell. Now many years have circled Since that October day, When proudly to Maubila De Soto took his way, With men-at-arms and cavaliers In terrible array. Oh, never sight more goodly In any land was seen; And never better soldiers Than those he led have been, More prompt to handle arquebus, Or wield their sabres keen. The sun was at meridian, His hottest rays fell down Alike on soldier's corselet And on the friar's gown; The breeze was hushed as on we rode Right proudly to the town. First came the bold De Soto, In all his manly pride, The gallant Don Diego, His nephew, by his side; A yard behind Juan Ortiz rode, Interpreter and guide. Baltasar de Gallegos, Impetuous, fierce and hot; Francisco de Figarro, Since by an arrow shot; And slender Juan de Guzman, who In battle faltered not. Luis Bravo de Xeres, That gallant cavalier; Alonzo de Carmono, Whose spirit knew no fear; The marquis of Astorga, and Vasquez, the cannoneer. Andres de Vasconcellos, Juan Cales, young and fair, Roma de Cardenoso, Him of the yellow hair -- Rode gallant in their bravery, Straight to the public square. And there, in sombre garments, Were monks of Cuba four, Fray Juan de Gallegos, And other priests a score, Who sacramental bread and wine And holy relics bore. And next eight hundred soldiers In closest order come, Some with Biscayan lances, With arquebuses some, Timing their tread to martial notes Of trump and fife and drum. Loud sang the gay Mobilians, Light danced their daughters brown; Sweet sounded pleasant music Through all the swarming town; But 'mid the joy one sullen brow Was lowering with a frown. The haughty Tuscaloosa, The sovereign of the land, With moody face, and thoughtful, Rode at our chief's right hand, And cast from time to time a glance Of hatred at the band. And when that gay procession Made halt to take a rest, And eagerly the people To see the strangers prest, The frowning King, in wrathful tones, De Soto thus addressed: "To bonds and to dishonor By faithless friends trepanned, For days beside you, Spaniard The ruler of the land Has ridden as a prisoner, Subject to your command. "He was not born the fetters Of baser men to wear, And tells you this, De Soto, Hard though it be to bear -- Let those beware the panther's rage Who follow to his lair. "Back to your isle of Cuba! Slink to your den again, And tell your robber sovereign, The mighty lord of Spain, Whoso would strive this land to win Shall find his efforts vain. "And, save it be your purpose Within my realm to die, Let not your forces linger Our deadly anger nigh, Lest food for vultures and for wolves Your mangled forms should lie." Then, spurning courtly offers He left our chieftain's side, And crossing the enclosure With quick and lengthened stride, He passed within his palace gates, And there our wrath defied. Now came up Charamilla, Who led our troop of spies, And said unto our captain, With tones that showed surprise, "A mighty force within the town, In wait to crush us, lies. "The babes and elder women Were sent at break of day Into the forest yonder, Five leagues or more away; Within you huts ten thousand men Wait eager for the fray." "What say ye now, my comrades?" De Soto asked his men; "Shall we, before these traitors, Go backward, baffled, then; Or, sword in hand, attack the foe Who crouches in his den?" Before their loud responses Had died upon the ear, A savage stood before them, Who said, in accents clear, "Ho! robbers base and coward thieves! Assassin Spaniards, hear! "No longer shall our sovereign, Born noble, great, and free, Be led beside your master, A shameful sight to see, While weapons here to strike you down Or hands to grasp them be." As spoke the brawny savage, Full wroth our comrades grew -- Baltasar de Gallegos His heavy weapon drew, And dealt the boaster such a stroke As clove his body through. Then rushed the swart Mobilians Like hornets from their nest; Against our bristling lances Was bared each savage breast; With arrow-head and club and stone, Upon our band they prest. "Retreat in steady order! But slay them as ye go!" Exclaimed the brave De Soto, And with each word a blow That sent a savage soul to doom He dealt upon the foe. "Strike well who would our honor From spot or tarnish save! Strike down the haughty Pagan, The infidel and slave! Saint Mary Mother sits above, And smiles upon the brave. "Strike! all my gallant comrades! Strike! gentlemen of Spain! Upon the traitor wretches Your deadly anger rain, Or never to your native land Return in pride again!" Then hosts of angry foemen We fiercely held at bay, Through living walls of Pagans We cut our bloody way; And though by thousands round they swarmed, We kept our firm array. At length they feared to follow; We stood upon the plain, And dressed our shattered column; When, slacking bridle rein, De Soto, wounded as he was, Led to the charge again. For now our gallant horsemen Their steeds again had found, That had been fastly tethered Unto the trees around, Though some of these, by arrows slain, Lay stretched upon the ground. And as the riders mounted, The foe, in joyous tones, Gave vent to shouts of triumph, And hurled a shower of stones; But soon the shouts were changed to wails, The cries of joy to moans. Down on the scared Mobilians The furious rush was led; Down fell the howling victims Beneath the horses' tread; The angered chargers trod alike On dying and on dead. Back to the wooden ramparts, With cut and thrust and blow, We drove the panting savage, The very walls below, Till those above upon our heads Huge rocks began to throw. Whenever we retreated The swarming foemen came -- Their wild and matchless courage Put even ours to shame -- Rushing upon our lances' points, And arquebuses' flame. Three weary hours we fought them, And often each gave way; Three weary hours, uncertain The fortune of the day; And ever where they fiercest fought De Soto led the fray. Baltasar de Gallegos Right well displayed his might; His sword fell ever fatal, Death rode its flash of light; And where his horse's head was turned The foe gave way in fright. At length before our daring The Pagans had to yield, And in their stout enclosure They sought to find a shield, And left us, wearied with our toil, The masters of the field. Now worn and spent and weary, Our force was scattered round, Some seeking for their comrades, Some seated on the ground, When sudden fell upon our ears A single trumpet's sound. "Up! ready make for storming!" That speaks Moscoso near; He comes with stainless sabre, He comes with spotless spear; But stains of blood and spots of gore Await his weapons here. Soon, formed in four divisions, Around the order goes -- "To front with battle-axes! No moment for repose. At signal of an arquebus, Rain on the gates your blows." Not long that fearful crashing, The gates in splinters fall; And some, though sorely wounded, Climb o'er the crowded wall; No rampart's height can keep them back, No danger can appall. Then redly rained the carnage -- None asked for quarter there; Men fought with all the fury Born of a wild despair; And shrieks and groans and yells of hate Were mingled in the air. Four times they backward beat us, Four times our force returned; We quenched in bloody torrents The fire that in us burned; We slew who fought, and those who knelt With stroke of sword we spurned. And what are these new forces, With long, black, streaming hair? They are the singing maidens Who met us in the square; And now they spring upon our ranks Like she-wolves from their lair. Their sex no shield to save them, Their youth no weapon stayed; De Soto with his falchion A lane amid them made, And in the skulls of blooming girls Sank battle-axe and blade. Forth came a winged arrow, And struck our leader's thigh; The man who sent it shouted, And looked to see him die; The wound but made the tide of rage Run twice as fierce and high. Then came our stout camp-master, "The night is coming down; Already twilight darkness Is casting shadows brown; We would not lack for light on strife If once we burned the town." With that we fired the houses; The ranks before us broke; The fugitives we followed, And dealt them many a stroke, While round us rose the crackling flame, And o'er us hung the smoke. And what with flames around them, And what with smoke o'erhead, And what with cuts of sabre, And what with horses' tread, And what with lance and arquebus, The town was filled with dead. Six thousand of the foemen Upon that day were slain, Including those who fought us Outside upon the plain -- Six thousand of the foemen fell, And eighty-two of Spain. Not one of us unwounded Came from the fearful fray; And when the fight was over And scattered round we lay, Some sixteen hundred wounds we bore As tokens of the day. And through that weary darkness, And all that dreary night, We lay in bitter anguish, But never mourned our plight, Although we watched with eagerness To see the morning light. And when the early dawning Had marked the sky with red, We saw the Moloch incense Rise slowly overhead From smoking ruins and the heaps Of charred and mangled dead. I knew the slain were Pagans, While we in Christ were free, And yet it seemed that moment A spirit said to me: "Henceforth be doomed while life remains This sight of fear to see." And ever since that dawning Which chased the night away, I wake to see the corses That thus before me lay: And this is why in cloistered cell I wait my latter day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TOMB OF THE CONQUEROR by EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR DISTANT RUNNERS by MARK VAN DOREN ASSUNPINK AND PRINCETON [JANUARY 3, 1777] by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH BEN BOLT by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS [JANUARY 8, 1815] by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH THE OLD MILL by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH ARNOLD AT STILLWATER by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH BETTY ZANE by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH PHILIP KEARNY by THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH |
|