Poems (Terry, 1861)/After the camanches
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FRONTIER BALLADS.
![](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/34/Rule_Segment_-_Flare_Centre_5px_-_60px.svg/60px-Rule_Segment_-_Flare_Centre_5px_-_60px.svg.png)
I.
AFTER THE CAMANCHES.Saddle, saddle, saddle!
Mount and gallop away!
Over the dim green prairie,
Straight on the track of day.
Spare not spur for mercy,
Hurry with shout and thong,
Fiery and tough is the mustang,
The prairie is wide and long.
Mount and gallop away!
Over the dim green prairie,
Straight on the track of day.
Spare not spur for mercy,
Hurry with shout and thong,
Fiery and tough is the mustang,
The prairie is wide and long.
Saddle, saddle, saddle!
Leap from the broken door
Where the brute Camanche entered
And the white-foot treads no more.
The hut is burned to ashes,
There are dead men stark outside,
But only a long dark ringlet
Left of the stolen bride.
Leap from the broken door
Where the brute Camanche entered
And the white-foot treads no more.
The hut is burned to ashes,
There are dead men stark outside,
But only a long dark ringlet
Left of the stolen bride.
Go, like the east-wind's howling!
Ride with death behind.
Stay not for food or slumber,
Till the thieving wolves ye find!
They came before the wedding,
Swifter than prayer or priest;
The bridemen danced to bullets,
The wild dogs ate the feast.
Ride with death behind.
Stay not for food or slumber,
Till the thieving wolves ye find!
They came before the wedding,
Swifter than prayer or priest;
The bridemen danced to bullets,
The wild dogs ate the feast.
Look to rifle and powder!
Fasten the knife-belt sure;
Loose the coil of the lasso,
Make the loop secure;
Fold the flask in the poncho,
Fill the pouch with maize,
And ride as if to-morrow
Were the last of living days!
Fasten the knife-belt sure;
Loose the coil of the lasso,
Make the loop secure;
Fold the flask in the poncho,
Fill the pouch with maize,
And ride as if to-morrow
Were the last of living days!
Saddle, saddle, saddle!
Redden spur and thong;
Ride like the mad tornado,
The track is lonely and long.
Spare not horse nor rider;
Fly for the stolen bride;
Bring her home on the crupper,
A scalp on either side!
Redden spur and thong;
Ride like the mad tornado,
The track is lonely and long.
Spare not horse nor rider;
Fly for the stolen bride;
Bring her home on the crupper,
A scalp on either side!