.

GOLIAD.
"How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes bless'd?
* * * * * By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung.
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there." "How shall we rank thee upon glory's page?
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage." "Grief fills the room up of my absent child; Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Remembers me of all his gracious parts." Near midnight, on March the ninth, the weary fugitives arrived at Gonzales.

They had been detained by the deep mud in the bottom lands, and by the extreme exhaustion of the ladies, demanding some hours' rest each day.

The village was dark and quiet.

Here and there the glimmer of a candle, now and then the call of a sentry, or the wail of a child broke the mysterious silence.
Ortiz appeared to know the ground perfectly.