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. Through the grove of San Domingo our general led the way, Reconnoitring in silence the city as it lay— When from the Citadel, which frowned scarce half a league before, We saw a flash of flame leap out, and heard a cannon’s roar: The enemy were there in force, and we braced us for the fray, Though retiring for the time before the guns of MONTEREY. All day our parties scanned the place; and never had our eyes Beheld a spot so guarded from all danger of surprise; Its fortresses apparently all human force defied, For what nature left unfinished, consummate art supplied: We felt, while gazing on it, that many a bloody day Would pass before our gallant troops were lords of MONTEREY. Next morning came the order; and we saw chivalrous WORTH, With his regulars, march silently and determinedly forth. On the heights that overhung his road the Bishop’s Palace rose, Like a giant looking down on the columns of his foes; But his men pressed bravely on, led by HAYS and noble MAY, Till from their eyry in the hills they gazed on MONTEREY. Meanwhile we stood like restive steeds, fretful and full of fire, And anxious for the conflict which every hour brought nigher. Day waned, and morning came again, and then the word was given And answered by a thousand shouts that shook the vaults of heaven, For our troops, long curbed, now held the reins, and lightly leapt away, Sweeping with headlong fury toward defying MONTEREY. We saw brave WORTH, whose noble band was ordered to the right, Lead on his men through sheets of flame, and storm the castled height, And the Mexic flag go down, and the stars and stripes expand In the golden yellow sunlight, like a rainbow o’er the land, As, led by gallant BUTLER, our division fought its way, Foot by foot, and step by step, toward the town of MONTEREY. The Citadel had greeted us, but we passed along the plain, While its showers of grape and musket-shot deluged our ranks like rain; But fierce and hot as was its fire, ’twas naught to what ensued When in the suburbs narrow ways our little phalanx stood; But BUTLER led us on, and we swore to win the day Or die, like Yankee volunteers, in the streets of MONTEREY.