Page:The Fall of the Alamo.djvu/188

 'T is all in vain!—but no, there, over there A hollow lies—a glen—a deep ravine— There runs a brook; quick, quick, ere burst my veins. E'en now I can behold the sun's reflex Upon its waters; onward, ever onward!— Ah!—it is blood,—red blood, red human blood Whose purple tide rolls shattered limbs and skulls And glaring weapons from a battle-field. How they do toss and strive, these ghastly bones. As if the combat's wrath were still in them! There floats a snow-white arm; how it extends Its fingers! ah! it grasps, it seizes me; Away from out these horrors' sight, away! I pray thee, wake him: e'en to hear his dream. To see him writhe, congeals my blood with terror. I cannot, will I not incur his wrath; He oft dreams so. See, he begins anew. [Laboring under still more violent convulsions than before.] Ha! still I live ! What change in me and nature! Instead of stifling heat, as erst, now creeps An icy chill through every limb of mine, While over me a midnidit-blackness veils