Page:The Fall of the Alamo.djvu/201

 Of joy and grief on our lives' harpsichords. And yet, meseems, 't is better after all, That finds my sorrow in its utterance A slight relief, and in thy sympathy A soothing balm. So hear then my account. Knowing full well my stout fidelity To Texas and her cause,—suspecting, too. My father's loyalty, though without grounds, The tyrant must have had us watched by spies, Hid near our tent, to hear what there was spoken. When ere my father's journey to this fort I made a new but vain attempt (alas! It proved the last!) to rouse his love of right, When on my knees I warned him 'gainst his friends And told him of the hidden passage-way Through which he yet could reach the Port of Honor, This our converse must have been overheard And brought to Santa Anna's ears. Meanwhile, Upon my prayer to tend thy brother James, The tyrant—under the pretence to grant it, But in reality to wrest from me Through threats and force my secret's dear possession,— Had me conducted to thy brother's cot In Mission of Concepcion. Fine his plan, Yet finer God's, who made the villain's scheme The instrument of my deliverance. For know, Concepcion is the very place Where lies the entrance to the hidden way.