Washington telegraph., 1849-05-09

with the blOOd-clOtted hair waving back
from its outline, was swollen in every
vein, as though his Soul shone from it,
ere she fled forever. Lips set, brows
knit, hand frm-a circle Of his men fight
ng round him-he dashed into the Mexi-
cans until his sword was wet, his arm
weary with blood.
AT last, with his thigh splintered by
ball, he gathered his proud form to its full
Height, and fell. His face ashy with in.
ense agony, he bade his comrades to leave
him there to die. That ravine, should be
the bed of his glory.
But gathering around him, a guard Of
breasts and steel-while two of their
lumber bore him tenderly along-those
men of Kentucky fought round their fall
en- hero, and as retreatiLg step by step,
hey launched their swords and bayonets
nto the faces of the foe, they said with
every blow-"HENRY Clay
1t was wonderful to see how that name
lerved their arms, and called smile to
.he face of the dying hero. How it
would have made the heart of the old
man at Ashland throb, to have heard his
name yelling as battle cry, down the
shadows of that lonly pass
Along the ravine, and up this lonely
path! The hero bleeds as they bear him
on and tracks the way with his blood
Faster and thicker the Mexicans swarm
they see the circle around the fallen
man, even see his pale face, uplifted as a
smile crosses its fading lineaments, and
Ikea pack of wolves scenting the frozen
traveller at dead of night, they come
howIng up the rocks, and charge the
devoied band with one dense mass of bay
onets
Up and on. The light shines yonder,
on tne topmost rocks of the ravine. 1t is
the light of the setting sun. Old Taylor's
eye is upon that rock, and there we will
fight pur way, and die in the old mans
sight.
1t Was murderous way, that path up
the step bank of the ravine! Uttered
with lead, slippery with blood, it grew
black tr every moment with swarming
Mexitans, and the defenders of the
wouDled heto, fell one by one, into the
chasn yawning all around.
A last they reach the light, the swords
and bayonets glitter in sight of the con-
tending armies, and the bloody contest
-oars towards the topmost rock.
Then 1t was, that gathering up his dy-
ing frame-armed with supernatural Wig
or-young Clay started from the arms of
his supporters, and stood with outstretch-
ed hand, in the light of the setting sun.
1t was glorious sight he saw there,
amid the rolling battle clouds; Santa An
mas formidable array hurled back into the
ravine and gorge. by Taylor's little band.
But more glorious thing it was to see
that dying man, standing for the last time,
in the light of that sun, which never
shall rise for him again!
"Leave me-. he shrieked as he fell back
on the sod-"I must die and 1 will die
here. Peril your lives no longer for me!
Go! There is work for you yonder.'
The Mcxicano crowding. on hungry for
blood. Even as he spoke, their bayonets,
by hundreds, We're levelled at the throats
of the devoted band. BY the mere force
/ of their overwhelming numbers, they
crushed them back from the side Of the
dying Clay.
| One only fingered; a brave man who
had known the brave and chivalric Sol
der, and loved him long; he stood there,
and covered as he was with blood, heard
these last words:
"7'eH myJatAer hoao I died, and gire
linn these Pistols"
F. Lifting his ashy face into the light, he
turned his eyes, upon his comrades face
placed the pistols in his hand-and fell
back to his death.
That Comrade, with the pistols in his
grasp, fought his way alone to the top
most rock of the path, and only once look
ed back. He saw quivering form, can
opied by bayonets--he saw those out
stretch hands graphing with points of
steel--he saw pale face lifted once in
the light, and then darkness, rushed upon
the life of young HENRY CLAY.
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