I cannot err! God's finger points it out!
My light escape upon the very spot
Which, from their threats, should see my execution,—
The bridges, by the freshet swept away,
The marshy ground, impeding every step.
All these foreshadow their defeat and ruin,
And more,—as if a god had struck them blind,
They, in the recklessness of their success,
Neglect the plainest rules of watchfulness—
Seest, tyrant, not the writing on the wall
That prophesies thy near-impending fall?
How so familiar seem these grounds to me,
How touchingly these meads address my heart,
As if they were my childhood's rambling-place.
Here o'er these fields the prancing charger bore
My daughter at my side with fleeting pace;
There gleam the glassy waters of the bay
Upon whose emerald waves we oft beguiled
The merry hours with sail and oar and net,
And yonder in the hazy distance rise
The pinnacles of Anahuac's Fort,
Our former pleasant, peaceful, happy home—
Till broke the demon of thy tyranny
Upon the peace of every family.
What evil thou hast sown from far-off land.
That evil's harvest-field shall be this strand.
