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; While in yon 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 clave his body through.