We are not many--we who press'd Beside the brave who fell that day-- But who of us has not confess'd He'd rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterey? [Illustration] [Illustration] BUENA VISTA. [By some strange oversight, this fine ballad appears in none of the popular collections. So far as the editor can discover, indeed, it exists nowhere in print except in a volume privately printed by General Pike some years ago, and to his courtesy the editor is indebted for the copy from which the piece is here reproduced.--EDITOR.] [Illustration] [Illustration] BUENA VISTA. BY ALBERT PIKE. From the Rio Grande's waters to the icy lakes of Maine, Let all exult! for we have met the enemy again; Beneath their stern old mountains we have met them in their pride, And rolled from BUENA VISTA back the battle's bloody tide; Where the enemy came surging swift, like the Mississippi's flood, And the reaper, Death, with strong arms swung his sickle red with blood. SANTANA boasted loudly that, before two hours were past, His Lancers through Saltillo should pursue us fierce and fast:-- On comes his solid infantry, line marching after line; Lo! their great standards in the sun like sheets of silver shine: With thousands upon thousands,--yea, with more than three to one,-- Their forests of bright bayonets fierce-flashing in the sun. Lo! Guanajuato's regiment; Morelos' boasted corps, And Guadalajara's chosen troops!--all veterans tried before. Lo! galloping upon the right four thousand lances gleam, Where, floating in the morning-wind, their blood-red pennons stream; And here his stern artillery climbs up the broad plateau: To-day he means to strike at us an overwhelming blow. Now, WOOL, hold strongly to the heights! for, lo! the mighty tide Comes, thundering like an avalanche, deep, terrible and wide. Now, ILLINOIS, stand steady! Now, KENTUCKY, to their aid! For a portion of our line, alas! is broken and dismayed: Great bands of shameless fugitives are fleeing from the field, And the day is lost, if Illinois and brave Kentucky yield. One of O'Brien's guns is gone!--On, on their masses drift, Till their cavalry and infantry outflank us on the left; Our light troops, driven from the hills, retreat in wild dismay, And round us gather, thick and dark, the Mexican array. SANTANA thinks the day is gained; for, now approaching near, MIÑON'S dark cloud of Lancers sternly menaces our rear.