But more than all, that holy dower,
The flag they raised in danger's hour.
Flag of the Lone Star! oh, glorious sign!
Where is the banner that rivals with thine?
Baptized in heroes' blood, by martyrs unfurled,—
Flag of the Lone Star! thou pride of the world!
An open field in front of the Mexican camp. Colonel Bradburn returning from the Alamo.
What moves me so? what strange, what unknown thoughts
Storm in upon my heart which I had deemed
So well intrenched, so strongly fortified
'Gainst every inward, every outward voice?
Where now are all my self-invented doctrines,
That cost me years of struggle, nights of sorrow,
To raise against my conscience as barrier.
To muffle its exhorting voice, to lull
By fancied right my reason into sleep?
Where is that memorized vocabulary.
That, reinforced by well-learnt scowls and gests,