342
WRITINGS OF SAM HOUSTON, 1843
His heart no longer leaps At the sight of the buffalo. The voices of your camp Are no longer heard to cry
"Flacco has returned from the chase." Your chiefs look down upon the earth
And groan in trouble. Your warriors weep.
The loud voices of grief are heard From your women and children. The song of birds is silent,
The ears of your people Hear no pleasant sound,
Sorrow whispers in the winds, The noise of the tempest passes It is not heard. Your hearts are heavy. The name of Flacco brought Joy to all hearts. Joy was on every face, Your people were happy.
Flacco is no longer seen in the fight, His voice is no longer heard in battle, The enemy no longer Makes a path for his glory. His valor is no longer A guard for his people. The might of your nation is broken. Flacco was a friend to his white brothers. They will not forget him ; They will remember the red warrior.
His father will not be forgotten. We will be kind to the Lipans. Grass will not grow On the path between us.
Let your wise men give counsel of peace, Let your young men walk in the white path. The gray headed men of your nation Will teach wisdom. Thy brother, Sam Houston.
1From a photostatic copy of the original in the New Yot·k Public Library. Also see Executive Record Book, No. 40, 232, Texas State Library; Crane, Life and Select Literary Remains of Sam Houston, 339-340.
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