On the edge of the hills, in our eyry, Like statues, we silently stood— Our cavalry guarding the mountain, Our infantry watching the wood. We gazed on our beautiful city, We thought of the stain on our name. And we swore that the sun of our country Should never descend on our shame! Like a knight, in his saddle Najira[2] Sat, watching the foeman with smiles, As they mounted the rugged sierra, And marched through its craggy defiles; And he laughed, as he turned to the vultures That circled and soared overhead, Coming down from their nests in the mountains To fatten and gorge on the dead. On, like wolves, came the reckless invader: We heard the huzzas of their men, Now low, in the depth of the forest, Now loud, when they formed in the glen; And we saw the bright gleam of their muskets Flash and fade through the emerald trees. And the crimson and white of their banner As it rippled and flowed on the breeze. Arising erect in his stirrups, Najira looked round on his band, And his eye flashed as brightly and keenly As the brand that he held in his hand: “For your altars—your country, her honor! Your daughters, your sires and your wives, Be warriors—be heroes,” he shouted, “And conquer, or yield up your lives!” On they came, and we looked on our leader, Who paused ere he gave us the word; His dark eye was pregnant with passion, His hand clutched the hilt of his sword; But a moment, and down, like the whirlwind, Steed and man, in the pride of our might. We plunged on the ruthless invader, And swam in the hell of the fight! Our noble, chivalric Najira, Over rock, through defile and ravine, Wherever the danger was darkest, Wherever a foeman was seen, Led the charge, as, in old, Alvarado And Cortez, again and again, Led the Spaniard to conquest and glory Over many a Mexican plain. And his men, full of ardor, with vivas, Pursued where the enemy fled— The hoofs of their horses disfiguring The faces and forms of the dead; And ever the shout of Najira Was heard in the din of the fray, As he swooped, like his own native eagle, With fire-flashing eyes, on his prey. Full of terror the traitorous Texan,[3] That stain on the Mexican name, Gave way in dismay, as Najira Plunged on in his passion for fame. As, pursuing, he wheeled round the mountain And swept like a storm through the gorge, From an ambuscade, deep in the forest, Their guns flushed like sparks from a forge.