Around the monster swarm the brawny men,
Wielding with sinewy arms and savage cries
Their flinty spears and tomahawks of stone.
Erect old bruin growls upon his foes,
And swings with mighty power his ponderous paws--
Woe unto him who feels the crushing blow--
Till, bleeding from an hundred wounds and blind,
With sudden plunge he falls at last, and dies
Amid the shouts of his wild enemies.
So fought the Spartan few, till one by one,
They fell surrounded by a wall of foes.
The river boiled beneath the storm of lead;
Weighed down with wounded comrades many sunk,
But more went down with bullets in their heads.
O! it was pitiful. The outstretched hands
Of men that erst had faced the battle-storm
Unshaken, grasping now in wild despair,
Wrung cries of pity from us. Vain our fire--
The range too long--it fell upon our friends;
At which the foemen yelled their mad delight.
A storm of bullets poured upon the boat,
Mangling the mangled on her, till at last,
Shattered and over-laden, suddenly
She made a lurch to leeward and went down.
"A shallow boat lay moored upon the shore;
Our gallant Colonel called for volunteers
In mercy's name to man it and push out.
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