And the Crescent shone with a wreathing grace Around that Star on the covered face; No sound but of sobs and a parting look, And the forest sighed and the aspen shook As the train went rumbling on. And down to the feet of the moaning sea, Where the waves made the only melody, No band or bell was played or tolled-- But the Hero cared not--hate fell cold On the heart of him who slept. Where the church was closed by the mandate given, And he lay on the wharf under night and heaven, Fair friend and slave with uncovered head, Gazed alike on the face of the sleeping dead, And alike in silence wept. So the vigil held, 'till the chastened cloud, For the shame of men, hid its face and bowed; And thousands came when the moon was high, And they bore their burden sadly by, To its rest on the prairie plain. As the prairie flowers that now grow o'er him, Where the white-maned steeds that walked before him Proud and stepped and slow--and the mourners said, Let a stately place for his couch be made-- Houston must have its fane. There they lay him out in a proud old hall, With the floor's edge kissing the sacred pall; And thousands came to the hallowed room, 'Till the day went down to the night of gloom, For his land did honor him. And when to the bannered march's swell, They bore him out with a lingering knell, Sad tears flowed out from a thousand eyes, And a thousand voices were choked with sighs, And the sun in the West was dim. THE COTTON-BURNER'S SONG.[9] Lo! when Mississippi rolls Oceanward its stream, Upward mounting, folds on folds Flaming fire-tongues gleam; 'Tis the planter's grand oblation On the altar of the nation; 'Tis a willing sacrifice-- Let the golden incense rise-- Pile the cotton to the skies! CHORUS.--Lo! the sacrificial flame Gilds the starry dome of night! Nations! read the mute acclaim-- 'Tis for liberty we fight! Homes! Religion! Right! Never such a golden light Lit the vaulted sky; Never sacrifice as bright Rose to God on high; Thousands oxen, what were they To the offering we pay? And the brilliant holocaust-- When the revolution's past-- In the nation's songs will last! CHORUS. Though the night be dark above, Broken though the shield-- Those who love us, those we love, Bid us never yield; Never! though our bravest bleed, And the vultures on them feed; Never! though the serpent's race-- Hissing hate and vile disgrace-- By the million should menace! CHORUS.