Buena Vista

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat;
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few
No rumour of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind

Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew
Still swelled the glory tide;
Not long, our stout old Chieftain knew
Such odds his strength could bide

Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his beloved land
The nation's flag to save
By rivers of their father's gore
His first-born laurels grew
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead
Dear as the blood ye gave
Where valor proudly sleeps