PS 3503 
 .0541 
 T4 
 1916 
 Copy 1 
 
 TT7 V A C 
 
 S Y 
 
 WALTER BAIRD 
 
TEXAS 
 
 A POEM, IN WHICH IS SET FORTH SOMETHING 
 OF THE MARVELOUS RESOURCES OF THE 
 GREAT EMPIRE OF THE LONE STAR, 
 TOGETHER WITH THE ROMANCE 
 AND SACRIFICE OF ITS HE- 
 ROIC STRUGGLE FOR 
 INDEPENDENCE 
 
 BY 
 WALTER BAIRD 
 
.-.^^Xk 
 
 ^V"> 
 
 JT^ 
 
 iCI.A'1'16742 
 LiFC -7 1916 
 
 HERBERT C. MAY CO. 
 PRINTERS 
 HOUSTON 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 TO 
 
 THE TEXAS NATIONAL GUARD 
 
 WHO, BY THEIR LONG AND MONOTONOUS VIGIL 
 
 ON THE BORDER, ARE ONCE MORE 
 
 DEMONSTRATING THAT, 
 
 "THEY ALSO SERVE WHO ONLY STAND 
 AND WAIT," 
 
 THIS BOOKLET IS SINCERELY 
 DEDICATED 
 
 Private WALTER BAIRD, Company A 
 Third Texas Infantry 
 
 Camp Scurry 
 
 November 5, 1916 
 
 3] 
 
TEXAS 
 
 The sunshine is bright, down in Texas, 
 
 The breeze is so soft and caressing 
 It goes about kissing and blessing; 
 
 'Tis seldom that anything vexes 
 In this fair, glowing land of the free ! 
 
 Yes, 'tis a good land, 'tis a dream-land, 
 Amber-hued, and with deep-purple hollows, 
 
 A-down which the purling stream follows, 
 As it goes on its waj'^ to the sea. 
 
 The traveler there sees the maize-fields. 
 
 Green in spring, golden-brown in September, 
 Sees the white cotton fields, will remember 
 
 This beautiful, snowy-white yield. 
 This King of a land overflowing. 
 
 Where laughter and song ever echo 
 From forest and far-flung prairie. 
 
 So full-throated, open and merry 
 It is as if Pan's pipes were blowing. 
 
 No, it cannot be told in the telhng; 
 
 There are melons, blood-red to the rind. 
 And l)owered in cool leaves you may find 
 
 Fruits nestled, so luscious and swelling. 
 They compliment all who partake ! 
 
 Below, from the warm earth upheaving. 
 Come tubers and nuts; there are hives 
 
 That devote all the span of their lives 
 To distilling a sweet^past believing 
 
 Is this which the small insects make. 
 
 [5] 
 
Then the lakes and the far-winding rivers 
 
 Hold fish— fish that leap and that dart, 
 Causing many an angler to start 
 
 And cast a deft hook near where quivers 
 The ripple that staggers the reed. 
 
 There are calls, crystal-clear as the ozone. 
 Of quail, and his brown stubble-kind, 
 
 Bullet-winged, eager-eyed; you may find 
 Flat marshes where water-fowl feed. 
 
 And fly on the wind in such numbers 
 
 It roars with the fanning of wings. 
 As among them the deadly shot sings. 
 
 High above, the great Sandhill Crane lumbers 
 And utters his weird, lonesome cry, 
 
 As a ship, cast adrift in mid-ocean. 
 Without port or calm haven near, 
 
 (Its pilot the specter of fear) 
 Just keeps on in tireless motion. 
 
 So navigates he the wide sky. 
 
 There are swine, there are horses and cattle, 
 
 Tame fowls that cluck, gobble and quack. 
 Sheep that mince along deep, narrow tracks. 
 
 And guineas, half wild, that will rattle 
 Like corn-fiddles, if there's a hawk. 
 
 And down where the sea chafes the beaches. 
 The edible bivalve clings tight. 
 
 Until he is raked to the light; 
 And sails show in far misty-reaches 
 
 Where deep, sullen sea-echoes mock. 
 
 Ore-veins, veins of iron and of copper. 
 Veins of gold, veins of silver and spar, 
 
 Baritese, graphite, cinnabar; 
 
 Flashing gems for the fair, dainty shopper. 
 
 Just waiting the cutter's deft art. 
 
 There are beds of black coal and of marble. 
 
 Pink, maroon, blue and gray, pearly while; 
 
Some streak-ed, and some black as night, 
 And granites, a composite garble, 
 Stored away to be riven apart. 
 
 Fields of rice, green as emerald gleaming. 
 
 When young, and the nurturing tide 
 Threads the ditches and spreads, thin and wide; 
 
 So bright they are, there in a seeming 
 That nothing was ever so clean ! 
 
 Then later, when summer has warmed it. 
 And gilded and yellowed its leaves, 
 
 And it's bound into bountiful sheaves, 
 Who can blame the glad birds that have swarmed it. 
 
 Who begrudge them the spoil that they glean ! 
 
 And forests that tower and that cluster, 
 
 Tall pines, with their needle-strewn aisles, 
 Purple-trunked, rearing files upon files. 
 
 Bewailing the restless wind's bluster, 
 As sentry-like, calmlj'^ they stand! 
 
 There are cities of beauty that thunder 
 By day, and that sparkle by night 
 
 With a commerce that knows not its might; 
 Such growths to make any one wonder 
 
 What the far future holds for this land! 
 
 Yes, 'tis a good land, such a good land. 
 
 Earth knows none more fair or more kind. 
 But, oh, would you hear how the woodland, 
 
 The great, rolling plain, how the wind 
 Blowing soft, singing low in the even. 
 
 Once knew only despots' decree; 
 Would you hear how some stalwarts, sore driven. 
 
 Fought on till they made the land free! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 In that treacherous land, and deep. 
 
 Where intrigue and hate never sleep. 
 And pride is as false as it's cheap. 
 
 There, garbed in rich tinsel and braids, 
 
 [7] 
 
Dark-eyed Andulusian maids 
 
 About him, and courtiers sly — 
 Each one with a purpose to seek. 
 
 Each one with a vengeance to reek- 
 Santa Anna his court held, and well 
 
 Was every harsh mandate enforced 
 By those who would not be divorced 
 
 From his favor; and so it befell 
 
 That north, 'cross the great Rio Grande, 
 
 Was felt the fell blight of the hand. 
 And the cruel and arrogant rule 
 
 Of this man, so enamoured of power. 
 He plotted and planned every hour 
 
 Vain dreams of an ambitious fool ! 
 A president! Alas for the free! 
 
 A dictating monarch was he; 
 Betrayer of those whom he swayed; 
 
 And Texas, in all her young pride. 
 He saw with a gaze crafty-eyed. 
 
 And determined to see her dismayed ! 
 
 "Napoleon of the West," so he styled 
 
 Himself, as full vainly he smiled. 
 And planned further show of his might. 
 
 But poorly he measured the men. 
 Now grown far beyond his proud ken. 
 
 On whom he would put further slight. 
 Small knowledge had he of the blood. 
 
 Flowing hot in invincible flood 
 Through the veins of the bold pioneers. 
 
 Small ken of the women Avho shared 
 The lot of the men wlio had dared. 
 
 And watered the land with their tears! 
 
 Long nights, when marauders were nigh. 
 When echoed the Indian's wild cry. 
 
 And hushed was the babe's fretful moan. 
 These mothers of men, steadv-eycd, 
 
 8 
 
Alert, ready rifle at side, 
 
 Kept many a vigil alone! 
 Small wonder there soon came a time 
 
 When these pioneers, with sublime 
 Love of freedom, with spirits unquenched. 
 
 Gave back a defiant reply 
 To the power whose harsh sway was a lie. 
 
 Behind which only hate was intrenched ! 
 
 Then over the border came hordes 
 
 Of Mexicans; all of the fords 
 Of the Rio Grande knew their proud tread; 
 
 And from out every village and trail. 
 Every ranch, every town, every vale. 
 
 Came Texans, immortally led! 
 Houston, Travis and Bowie, they came, 
 
 Fannin, Deaf Smith, Lamar — every name 
 Now indelibly writ on the scroll. 
 
 Reserved for the world's mighty few. 
 Who, knowing the cost, dare to do; 
 
 Who pause not, though life is the toll! 
 
 With a smile on his lips, Crockett bore. 
 
 Sadly quaint, full of deep forest lore, 
 Down upon the small, resolute band. 
 
 Claimed kindred, and stepped into line. 
 They welcomed him, knowing the sign 
 
 That his heart ever followed his hand. 
 And his hand ever followed his heart. 
 
 When once he was sure, at the start. 
 There remained for him naught but, "ahead" 
 
 So he joined in this march of the brave. 
 Marching on, marching on to the grave 
 
 And a name with the great deathless dead! 
 
 The Alamo! Now let the pen 
 
 Of the poet dip vitrol and then 
 Let it write the black, treacherous page, 
 
 Let it blast the dark-skinned hellish crew 
 
 [9] 
 
Who to their coward natures kept true, 
 
 And emblazon it forth every age ! 
 The Alamo! Heroic Muse, 
 
 Let all of thy spirit diffuse 
 The record that struggles to tell 
 
 How a pitiful handful of men. 
 Shut up in a grim slaughter pen. 
 
 Fought on till the last of them fell ! 
 
 Thermopylae, pride of the Greek, 
 
 A messenger had of defeat; 
 The Alamo had none — 'tis meet. 
 
 For strong as the rocks of this land. 
 The spirit of that brave little band 
 
 Yielded only to death, not defeat! 
 
 A figure here looms large, portentous, grim, 
 
 A figure, shadowy, kindly, yet aloof. 
 Like Washington his outlines, far and dim. 
 
 Reveal the man of destiny; reproof, 
 Such as the greatest only know, he knew, 
 
 Resistless time alone revealed his size. 
 Sheared off the false and left the vision true. 
 
 Explained the dream that dwelt within his eyes. 
 
 Perhaps old Oolooteka, stoic chief. 
 
 Knew better of this strange adopted son. 
 Knew better of his hopes and of his grief, 
 
 And guessed the course his troubled life would run. 
 Great in acclaim, far greater under slight. 
 
 His stature lessened not when petty scorn 
 Brought out his greatness; ample in the light 
 
 His figure towered, yet saddened and forlorn. 
 
 What Andrew Jackson did for Tennessee, 
 Sam Houston did for Texas, and his love 
 
 For his adopted land e'er let him see 
 
 What time to court the eagle — when fhe dove. 
 
 no I 
 
He smarted under censure but kept on. 
 Nor from his purpose paused, nor turned aside; 
 
 Ahead he ever saw the glorious dawn 
 
 So soon to break upon the Lone Star's pride ! 
 
 Grim was his face when came the bloody tale 
 
 Of murderous treachery at Goliad, 
 Relentless was his purpose not to fail 
 
 Of full redress, yet was his great heart sad 
 As silent, through the gloom, the specters trod 
 
 Of men who lately pulsed with life and hope, 
 A deathless band that went its way to God, 
 
 Crusaders glorious, climbing up the slope. 
 
 The Alamo, the hero-haunted, called. 
 
 Each frontier mother, every saddened wife, 
 Each orphaned babe — the sum of it appalled! 
 
 And Houston's men waxed eager for the strife. 
 So ready was their zeal, so deep their hate, 
 
 They counted not the numbers of the foe 
 Then rapidly approaching; just to wait 
 
 Chafed every spirit; well did Houston know 
 
 The value of a masterly retreat. 
 
 By which the foe would carelessly divide. 
 His ruse worked well; with eager, flying feet 
 
 The Texans turned and swept in crushing tide 
 Like tigers, just unleashed upon their prey; 
 
 "Remember Goliad!" "The Alamo!", 
 The cry urged on the patriots to the fray 
 
 That swept with blasting flame the hated foe! 
 
 Outnumbered far, naught might then quench the flame 
 
 That glowed within each breast, naught say it nay, 
 As recklessly they hewed their way to fame. 
 
 And gave to Texas San Jacinto day! 
 For as the "Sisters, Twin," spat blasting fire, 
 
 With empty muskets clubbed, with blow on blow 
 These pioneers gave vent to pent-up ire. 
 
 Beset the foe and quickly laid him low. 
 
 [Ill 
 
His fierce pride gone, fear graying his dark cheek. 
 
 El Presidente found himself before 
 The stern and wounded Houston, spent and weak. 
 
 Stretched out upon the great field's grassy floor. 
 There, Houston, mindful what this man deserved. 
 
 Was mindful more of Texas' destiny, 
 Was great enough to know what cause he served — 
 
 The cause of Texas, so he made her free! 
 
 Free ! Free as the pure air that fans above. 
 
 The gi'aceful, bounteous land where millions dwell. 
 
 Beneath safe roof-trees, free to hope and love 
 While to their ears comes softly, "All is well!'* 
 
 [12 1 
 
iLS?"^ OF CONGRESS 
 
 ■if