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IDYLS 
 
 GOLDEN SHORE 
 
 BY 
 
 HU MAXWELL 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 1889 
 
 CO 
 
7^ a. 
 
 zl^ 
 
 Pir 
 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 
 HU MAXWELL 
 
 1887 
 
 Press of 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York 
 
THE AUTHOR 
 
 DEDICATES THIS VOLUME 
 
 TO 
 
 HIS FRIEND 
 
 PROFESSOR A. W. FREDERICK 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " There is a pleasure in the pathless woods ; 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore ; 
 There is society where none intrudes, 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar." 
 
 — Byron. 
 
 TTHE thirty-six pieces of verse to be found in 
 * this book were written as fragments, no one 
 depending upon or related to another. They were 
 written, for the most part, at night by my camp- 
 fire, while on the western plains and deserts, or 
 during stormy days in the Sierra Nevada Moun- 
 tains when I could not leave shelter ; frequently, 
 also, in the noise and confusion of a camp full of 
 frontiersmen or Indians with nothing to do but 
 sing and talk. 
 
 Several of the pieces, in part or in full, have ap- 
 peared in the newspapers, mostly in the West 
 Virginia School Journal^ Wheeling Intelligencer^ 
 Preston Journal^ Toledo Blade, and the Louisville 
 Courier- Journal. But I have changed all of them 
 since then, I hope for the better. They all relate to 
 California, or the " Golden Shore," that strange and 
 beautiful country, different from all other lands of 
 earth. I have endeavored to write as the subjects 
 impressed themselves upon me. 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 As I said, what here appears is only a series of 
 sketches, not a story with one purpose running 
 through. Nor have I had the opportunity to give 
 to them the systematic revision which I would like. 
 Other work has prevented me from giving my at- 
 tention to writing more than a few minutes or a few 
 hours at a time. The book has not received as much 
 as two full days of uninterrupted work ; but what I 
 have done has been done by piecemeal. Neverthe- 
 less, it is as good as I can make it, or I would not 
 publish it. I fear that similar expressions may be 
 found in the different pieces more frequently than 
 a better writer would have allowed. 
 
 Several verses of mine relative to California, that 
 have appeared in the newspapers, will not be found 
 in this volume. Some of them were omitted on 
 account of their worthlessness, others because I 
 could not secure copies of them. I had sent them 
 to local papers in the West, and having lost the 
 manuscripts, I could not secure copies of the 
 papers. However, the loss is slight, and there is 
 enough without them. 
 
 Hu Maxwell. 
 
 St. George, W. Va. , 1887. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preface i 
 
 The Golden Gate g 
 
 A Legend of Lake Tulare 13 
 
 The Bandit's Bride 16 
 
 Se5Joritas 58 
 
 A Translation 61 
 
 The Burning River 63 
 
 The Conquest 70 
 
 Santa Cruz 71 
 
 Avernal 75 
 
 The Bourne 79 
 
 The Phantom Lake 80 
 
 California 89 
 
 The Sea-Girt Isle 90 
 
 The Haunted House of Tulare .... 94 
 
 El Refujio 100 
 
 The Exile's Lament 103 
 
 The Blue Quail 106 
 
 The Two Ships 122 
 
 The Moaning Rock 128 
 
 Adios 134 
 
 San Joaquin 138 
 
 Nacimiento 148 
 
 Afar 179 
 
 Ada 182 
 
 The Bridge of Nihilvideo 184 
 
 Dream On 191 
 
 Inanis 192 
 
 vii 
 
Viii CONTENTS. 
 
 The Ring 
 
 A Sonnet 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Earthquake's Path ^95 
 
 Mabel St. Clair ^^^ 
 
 214 
 
 Elesie del Quamada 2^5 
 
 Kaweah 2^^ 
 
 Bonnibel de la Santa Ynez 225 
 
 BuENA Vista ^^i 
 
 232 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 T OOK not in this for more than simple love 
 ■'-^ For that fair country by the western sea, 
 Where morns are ever fair, and blue above 
 
 The skies are bending over wood and lea. 
 Look not for more than this, I ask of thee, 
 
 For to sublimer heights I cannot soar. 
 The love of nature is my only plea, 
 
 And this alone I offer — nothing more — 
 
 On this I Ve built the Idyls of the Golden Shore. 
 
 Bear with me kindly, for too well I know 
 How near the brink of failure was my way ; 
 
 Full often I have fallen far below 
 
 The merit of my theme, and cast my lay 
 
 In fragile manner and in loose array. 
 
 But kindly pardon this, and bear in mind 
 
 My love is deeper than my words can say, 
 And passion pants an utterance to find — 
 Bear with me gently then, nor toward me be un- 
 kind. 
 
 I 've wandered far into the wildest West ; 
 
 And that far wildest West has swept my soul, 
 And set it quivering in a deep unrest, 
 
 Beyond my bidding and beyond control. 
 
2 PREFACE. 
 
 I 've watched the ocean's waters rise and roll 
 Against the rocks that cliffed from mountains 
 high ; 
 I 've heard the murmurs rush on reef and shoal, 
 Complaining all the night with moan and sigh, 
 And in the morning hour grow faint, and cease, 
 and die. 
 
 I 've lingered by the rivers, pure and bright 
 With all that summer mildness can bestow ; 
 
 I 've slept on flowers that clustered in the light, 
 When sun of summer-time was sinking low ; 
 
 I 've felt the nightfall breezes softly blow 
 
 Their blessings and perfumes along the land ; 
 
 And over me the stars in mildest glow 
 
 Have gleamed in heaven above like silver sand 
 Strewn o'er the darker fields where endless plains 
 expand. 
 
 The mountains, in their haughtiness and pride 
 And glittering cold, have flashed all dazzling 
 white 
 
 Aloft above the world — the world defied ; — 
 And I have asked me if the flood of light 
 
 Was not sublimer than the shrinking sight 
 Could reckon of ; and I have felt the rush 
 
 Of passion-storms across my soul in flight, 
 
 Roused from their resting, and resolved to brush 
 All lowness from the earth, and what is base to 
 crush. 
 
 That was the clime. Theocritus might sing 
 His sweetest songs, and be forever heard ; 
 
PREFACE, ^ 3 
 
 And Virgil might his music garlands fling 
 With deeper measure on each flowing word, 
 
 Had they but known this land. It would have 
 stirred 
 Their kindling souls, the sweetly rythmic clime 
 
 Far in the west, where fronting cliffs engird 
 A realm but lately touched upon in rhyme. 
 The fairest realm of realms of this or ancient time. 
 
 Yet, lately touched ; for hands have swept the lyre 
 To anthem idyls of that land of gold ; 
 
 And legends have been clothed with mystic fire. 
 Hearts kindled with a fervor as of old. 
 
 The muses whispered where the rivers rolled, 
 And where the snowy mountains shade the 
 plain ; 
 
 But even yet the half has not been told. 
 
 And still remains the theme of music strain. 
 And part, perchance, forever will untold remain. 
 
 Ye bards of the Sierras, ye who sung 
 Of valleys fair and hills of snowy sheen. 
 
 Far on the western shore where nature flung 
 Her riches down upon a world of green, — 
 
 Ye who have sung of such, think not between 
 Thine own and mine — thy dream and mine— - 
 shall rise 
 
 Aught that shall mar or ruffle the serene 
 That rests where sympathy the truest lies — 
 My feelings knit with thine in deepest kindred ties. 
 
 Then, bards of the Sierras — of the land 
 
 That blooms in beauty by the western sea — - 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 With lance I touch your helmets — not to stand 
 For combat or for tournament with ye — 
 
 I touch your helmets gently. Think of me 
 As one who truly loves that western shore ; 
 
 And in your love, how much soe'er that be, 
 I 'm with ye ; and I with ye will adore 
 In deed and truth forever and forevermore. 
 
 If thou shalt find reiteration oft 
 
 Of azure skies and flowers blooming fair, 
 
 And snowy peaks where mountains rise aloft 
 O'er rivers flowing crystal as the air, 
 
 'T is but the truth, for such are everywhere 
 Among the splendors of that dreaming land ; 
 
 'T is flowers, flowers, flowers, rich and rare. 
 And rivers flowing, flowing, o'er the sand 
 Of gold, and high above are mountains wild and 
 grand. 
 
 I 've dealt as I have felt in all the throng 
 
 Of nature and emotion that were mine ; 
 My deeper spirit hath been swept along 
 
 In the proud current of the theme divine. 
 My sympathy and love are mixed with thine. 
 
 Thou realm of light and gladness in the West ; 
 And now my ruder hands a wreath would twine 
 
 From flowers of brightness in their beauty 
 dressed, 
 
 Thou Golden Shore, thou clime of happiness and 
 rest. 
 
 And if at times emotion storms have burst 
 In wildness o'er me in the darker hours : 
 
PREFACE. 5 
 
 And if in anger I have turned and cursed, 
 
 Forgive my weakness. When the tempest lowers 
 
 I cannot see above me blooming flowers, 
 But only night, in all its gloomy reign ; 
 
 Forgive me then, for oft my hate devours 
 My kindlier feelings ; and full oft the pain 
 Of blighted hopes return to taunt me with dis- 
 dain. 
 
 For dreams will come to me from out the past, 
 From days of happiness which are no more. 
 
 Then those who never loved me come and cast 
 Their scorn upon me as in days of yore ; 
 
 And the rebellion rises, and I pour 
 
 Unfathomed hate upon whate'er is near. 
 
 Gloom from the past of sadness gathers o'er. 
 And I am lost awhile in memories drear. 
 Which pass away again and then again appear. 
 
 Would that it were not so ; for I would dress 
 In gladness and in sunshine what is fair — 
 
 To think of thee should be to love and bless, 
 Thou realm beside the sea, thou Beauty's share 
 
 Of all the earth. But memories of despair 
 Can cloud a heaven ; and the brightest day 
 
 That ever dawned hath brought to some one care ; 
 Hath brought a sorrow that hath passed away 
 Alone with coming night of shadows drear and 
 gray. 
 
 A shade of sadness like a dull regret 
 
 Has brooded o'er me when I wished to feel 
 
O PREFACE. 
 
 Alone with calmest mood ; fain to forget 
 
 The blighted hopes that slowly round me steal. 
 
 What I have felt I wished not to conceal ; 
 I 've spoken all — all that I could express ; 
 
 But what was deepest, words could not reveal — 
 And that was smothered back by hard duress, 
 A part was bliss, and part was kindred to distress. 
 
 For when I lingered where the rivers flow 
 In calmness onward like a summer dream, 
 
 My memories wandered to the long ago, 
 And kindled in the brightness of a gleam 
 
 That shines for me no more, except to seem 
 As it has been, and then my feelings deep 
 
 Have flooded in upon me, like a stream 
 Of deluged cataracts, where torrents keep 
 The canon cliffs aroar with rush, and plunge, and 
 leap. 
 
 Clime of the West ! my offering I lay 
 
 Down by thy shrine, and humbly leave it there, 
 
 Scarce worth the room, but there is room for aye 
 For all mementoes of that country fair. 
 
 What mine is worth is given free as air 
 To what I love. It ever shall be so : 
 
 No middle ground to me is anywhere ; 
 Bloom lives eternal ; or eternal blow 
 The storms of winter's breath that wildly come 
 and go. 
 
 Clime of the West, and hearts forever true, 
 That dwell beyond the occidental hills ! 
 
PREFACE. 7 
 
 Above, the heavens are bending, high and blue, 
 And flowers beneath, the air with odors fill. 
 
 Believe not that I am a stranger still 
 
 Intruding with rude steps upon thy shore ; 
 
 Believe this not, for I have felt the thrill 
 Of gladness that is thine for evermore. 
 And am no alien now as in the years of yore. 
 
 Remember me as one who never knew 
 
 Aught but a depth of love for thee and thine ; 
 
 Remember me as one whose heart is true 
 In all it claims, and who would fondly twine 
 
 One garland more of bloom and columbine 
 Around thy dreamy beauty — not to kneel 
 
 In idol worship down in blind design. 
 But every word I say to think and feel, 
 Emotions too intense to smother or conceal. 
 
 Then, if the legends of the shadowy past, 
 Wrapped in the vagueness of the far away. 
 
 Are in the mold of my own passions cast. 
 This much believe : I honestly essay 
 
 To paint as I have seen and felt, and lay 
 All fantasies and falsities aside, 
 
 And be myself awhile, and give the day 
 To light and not to shadows, and abide 
 The work of hope, and love, and patriotic pride. 
 
 Bear then the errors kindly ; well I feel 
 How little I have touched upon the theme 
 
 That lay before me. Vesture can't conceal 
 All that of beauty lives within the dream. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 On this I ground my hope that thou wilt deem 
 Not faults as most, but what is true and fair, 
 
 Beyond the dimness of the error gleam ; 
 And that thou wilt in adoration share 
 With me a love of light and beauty everywhere. 
 
THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 "X 17 HERE the mountains break abruptly from 
 ^ ^ their domes of mist and gloom, 
 Down to vernal vales and valleys, bright with 
 
 flowers in their bloom, 
 Where the ocean's waves grow milder as they sink 
 
 into their rest 
 In that harbor's placid stillness, at the Gateway of 
 
 the West ; 
 
 There a beauteous city rises, looking over all below, 
 
 O'er the images of mountains, pictured where the 
 billows flow 
 
 Slowly, grandly, and unbroken through the rock- 
 embattled strait, 
 
 From the wide and dreary ocean, landward through 
 the Golden Gate. 
 
 City, resting in thy beauty on thy ocean-fretted hills, 
 Like an Oriental vision, vivid as when slumber fills 
 All the world with fairy phantoms ; City on the 
 
 shining shore 
 Of thy greenland occidental, thou art beauteous 
 
 evermore I 
 Thou art sitting at the portal of this summer-bloom- 
 ing land, 
 
 9 
 
lO THE GOLDEN GATE. 
 
 With its clear and crystal rivers rushing o'er the 
 
 golden sand ; 
 Thou art proud and regal, City, sitting on thy throne 
 
 of state, 
 Hailing ships from every ocean sailing through the 
 
 Golden Gate. 
 
 Guard them well, as thou hast guarded in the years 
 
 which are no more ; 
 Hail them welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome to 
 
 the shining shore ! 
 Smile across the waste of waters ; let the mirror of 
 
 the deep 
 Limner thee in all thy beauty, till the waves are 
 
 lulled to sleep ; 
 Till the billows cease their raging on the rocks and 
 
 reefs afar, 
 And are dreaming in the beaming of the gleaming 
 
 vesper star. 
 Beckon gladsome words of welcome from thy 
 
 queenly throne of state 
 To the sails that come forever sweeping through 
 
 the Golden Gate. 
 
 O what thousand myriad thousand sails from earth's 
 remotest seas, 
 
 Driven long before the tempests, have come swel- 
 ling with the breeze 
 
 Gladly to the promised haven underneath the 
 friendly hill, 
 
 Safe at last from the tornadoes that the roaring 
 ocean fill ! 
 
THE GOLDEN GATE, II 
 
 O what hopes and what ambitions, and what long- 
 ings and unrest 
 
 Have come proudly up the harbor of this Venice 
 of the West ! 
 
 O the hopes and disappointments — spirits crushed 
 by iron fate, 
 
 Bright a moment, hoping, longing, sweeping through 
 the Golden Gate ! 
 
 Gate of Beauty, bid them welcome. Mock not 
 
 hope that runneth wild ; 
 Thou hast sheltered and protected many and many 
 
 a truant child, 
 Kneeling down to thee in blindness, offering him- 
 self to thee ; 
 For thee leaving home and country out beyond the 
 
 stormy sea. 
 Shore of Brightness, thou hast bidden them to 
 
 come from every clime. 
 Hast allured them with the vaguest dreams e'er 
 
 told in prose or rhyme ; 
 And they hearkened to thy whisper, and with 
 
 boundless hope elate, 
 Came they, borne by sails of silver, sweeping 
 
 through the Golden Gate. 
 
 There are histories unwritten, stories never to be 
 
 told. 
 Dreams unrealized and fading like the fantasies of 
 
 old; 
 There were hopes that are no longer, with their 
 
 idols they have died, 
 
12 THE GOLDEN GATE, 
 
 On the desert and the mountain they have perished 
 side by side ; 
 
 Highest aims were those that counted least in sum- 
 ming at the last ; 
 
 Schemes that wove the stars in garlands have to 
 every wind been cast. 
 
 Vain ! But ignorance had blessed them ; bur- 
 nished gilt concealed the fate 
 
 That was lurking in the very shadows of the Gold- 
 en Gate. 
 
 Golden Gate, thou shining portal of the beauteous 
 
 land and fair, 
 Thou the minion of the ocean, seas, and islands 
 
 everywhere ! 
 Were it well to wish that ever thou mayst be as in 
 
 the yore, 
 Isle-Calypso of the nations, weary dreamer's Lotus 
 
 Shore ! 
 Is the mystic spell yet broken ? Has the vision 
 
 vanished yet ? 
 Art thou still the sunlit haven, though a thousand 
 
 suns have set ? 
 By the ocean art thou waiting, and ambitious still 
 
 to wait 
 For the Future's fleets and navies, O thou won- 
 drous Golden Gate ! 
 
A LEGEND OF LAKE TULARE. 1 3 
 
 A LEGEND OF LAKE TULARE. | 
 
 1 
 
 T ONG ago, in time romantic, \ 
 
 ■'— ' Says the legendary lore ; \ 
 
 Long before the wide Atlantic 3 
 
 Bore Columbus to our shore ; \ 
 
 In a castle green with bowers, \ 
 
 All encircled round with flowers, ] 
 
 Once there was an exiled fairy I 
 
 Had a home by Lake Tulare. \ 
 
 \ 
 
 Beautiful, with trees before it, j 
 
 Stood the castle on the strand, \ 
 
 And the breezes whispered o'er it \ 
 
 Like the winds of Fairy-land ; • 
 
 And the lily-vines were clinging | 
 
 O'er the walls, and birds were singing \ 
 
 Where the passing sun and shadow \ 
 
 Played around that El Dorado. j 
 
 i 
 
 When all storms were sweetly sleeping ] 
 
 On the waters calm and still, } 
 
 And the waving willows weeping, j 
 
 Gently felt the zephyr's thrill, ^ 
 
 Then the fairy oft went sailing \ 
 
 In a boat with silver railing, | 
 Trimmed with roses, lightly riding 
 
 O'er Tulare, gliding, gliding. - 
 
14 A LEGEND OF LAKE TULARE. 
 
 Many and many a year had ended, 
 
 And the fairy still was there ; 
 Ne'er had human feet descended 
 
 Near the castle anywhere ; 
 Yet she ne'er was sad or lonely, 
 She was nature's, nature's only. 
 Softly, sweetly singing, sailing 
 In the boat with silver railing. 
 
 In the springtime's happy hours, 
 
 When the sky was blue and clear. 
 And the fragrance from the flowers 
 
 Down the shore was wafted near ; 
 Then the fairy's song rose clearer. 
 And the echoes hovered nearer 
 Round the boat with silver railing. 
 O'er Tulare sailing, sailing. 
 
 But one eve, the fairy, sleeping 
 
 'Neath the sweet and silent shade, 
 Heard a voice like some one weeping ; 
 
 She awoke and felt afraid. 
 Then came strangers rudely riding 
 Down the shore. She, quickly gliding 
 In her boat with silver railing. 
 O'er the lake went sailing, sailing. 
 
 Then the trees and castle faded — 
 Melted in the evening air — 
 
 And the ugly lake-birds waded 
 
 Where had bloomed the gardens fair ; 
 
 And when came the strangers, castle, 
 
 Flower, tendril, wreath, and tassel. 
 
A LEGEND OF LAKE TULARE, 1 5 
 
 All were gone, and sunlight only 
 Lit the lake shore, drear and lonely. 
 
 And the boat with silver railing 
 
 Passed and left no wave or wake. 
 While the evening wind was wailing 
 
 O'er the lonely, lonely lake. 
 All was fading, sunlight clinging 
 To the sails, the sweet voice singing 
 Where the falling mists were blended, 
 As the evening shades descended. 
 
 Farther off the light boat glided, 
 
 Farther off across the tide ; 
 And the crystal waves divided. 
 
 Lightly shone on either side — 
 On until the vision ended, 
 Where the sky and waters blended, 
 And no more the blue-eyed fairy 
 Sailed and sang o'er Lake Tulare. 
 
l6 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 CAME ye through that death-like valley south- 
 ward from Penoche's land, 
 Where mirages loom forever over plains of burning 
 
 sand ; 
 Where the winds from off Los Baiios never turn 
 
 and never rest, 
 Blowing like a raging furnace from the deserts of 
 
 the West ? 
 There it is that sunshine never fell on verdure or 
 
 on bloom ; 
 There eternal death hath silenced all in one unhon- 
 
 ored tomb. 
 Never comes the springtime, never throbs the pulse 
 
 of nature's life ; 
 Summer's fire and winter's tempests hold their 
 
 anarchy and strife ; 
 Rain and sleet of bleak December spend their rage 
 
 and pass away, 
 Followed by the blight and fever of the summer's 
 
 fiery day. 
 Up and down the desolation of the rocks and of 
 
 the caves. 
 Sands are piled in broken ridges, like the ocean's 
 
 broken waves. — 
 Came ye by that valley, coming from the plains of 
 
 Chualar ? 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 1/ 
 
 Thou hast seen the rack and torment of creation 
 
 in despair ; 
 Thou hast seen the wreck and ruin of a blighted 
 
 valley curst 
 With a doom unsparing, darkest, merciless, the last 
 
 and worst/ 
 
 In the caverns of that valley, in the days that are 
 
 no more. 
 Was the home of Vasques, darkest name e'er known 
 
 to bandit lore. 
 He it was whose hands were gory in the deepness 
 
 of the night. 
 And who fled to caves and mountains ere the 
 
 dawning of the light. 
 Many a victim he had buried in the midnight desert 
 
 sands ; 
 Many a murdered friend he 'd hidden where Horn- 
 
 itos Forest stands ; 
 Many a deed, too dark and awful for the crimson 
 
 page of crime. 
 Had been his, from Calaveras down Tujunga's 
 
 dreary clime. 
 Sad and fearful is the story of his vengeance and 
 
 his wrath. 
 Of the deeds of woe unspoken that proclaimed his 
 
 every path. 
 At his name a chill of terror turned the cheek of 
 
 manhood white. 
 Awe and dread could picture spectres in the deep- 
 ness of the night. 
 
1 8 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Friend in all his fierce maraudings was his horse, a 
 
 mighty steed, 
 Black as night, and like a tempest in endurance 
 
 and in speed. 
 Like a whirlwind from the mountains, man and 
 
 horse would onward sweep 
 Over hills, and rocks, and deserts, over crag and 
 
 canon steep ; 
 Up and down the barren ridges, out across the 
 
 gloomy plain. 
 Tireless, man and horse dashed onward, spurning 
 
 deserts with disdain. 
 Far across the sea of prairie, toward the Table 
 
 Mountain height, 
 Vasques and his steed were sweeping like a phan- 
 tom of the night. 
 Those who saw but dimly, vaguely, man and horse 
 
 in evening gloom. 
 Knew that ere the dawn of morning somewhere 
 
 there would fall a doom ; 
 Those who saw in dusk of evening Vasques and 
 
 his steed of night 
 Sweeping from the Idria Canons, o'er the plains in 
 
 tireless flight. 
 Knew the import and the meaning, knew full well 
 
 what was in store 
 For the miners ere the morning on the Joaquin's 
 
 distant shore. 
 
 But 't was useless to pursue him ; better chase a 
 winter storm ; 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 1 9 
 
 He 'd escape them in the darkness like a fleeting 
 
 phantom form ; 
 And before the sun of morning on the hills and 
 
 deserts shone, 
 He had done his work and vanished toward the 
 
 mountains of Jolon. 
 Next perhaps at San Obispo he would burst upon 
 
 the sight, 
 In his path of pillage, sweeping on his steed as 
 
 dark as night. 
 Well they knew him there and dreaded, well they 
 
 knew how more than vain 
 To pursue him ; he would taunt them as he swept 
 
 across the plain ; 
 He would fling his arm defiant, shout " oveja ! " as 
 
 he dashed 
 Up the steep beyond ; the rocky ledges 'neath him 
 
 flamed and flashed. 
 Scarred by steel-shod hoofs ; his charger seemed 
 
 to taunt and to disdain 
 Those who followed, and defiant shook his flowing 
 
 midnight mane. 
 Brushing in the face of Vasques as he passed the 
 
 summit crest 
 Of the hills, and left the Valley of Salinas to the 
 
 west. 
 O'er the Huer-Huero river he would pass, and o'er 
 
 the steep 
 Of the southern Sacramento man and horse like 
 
 winds would sweep, 
 Plunge across Estrelle's torrents angered by the 
 
 winter's rains. 
 
20 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. \ 
 
 Out and up along the vista of Cholame's deluged j 
 
 plains ; j 
 
 Till amid the dark recesses of his home the rocks \ 
 
 among, 
 
 Far away beneath the mountains, he to ground had \ 
 
 lightly sprung, 
 Left his horse to wait returning, climbed a high 
 
 and looming ledge ' 
 
 Overlooking all the country of Tulare's farthest \ 
 
 edge,— 
 Climbed and looked, lest in the distance foemen 
 
 were upon his path — ^ 
 
 He would meet them, he would greet them, doom I 
 
 for doom and wrath for wrath ! ! 
 Gazed he over all the region far away on every side, 
 Hills, and floods, and wastes, and deserts, rolling 
 
 like the ocean tide. j 
 
 Nothing human, nothing living ; silent all things, ; 
 
 save the moan 
 
 Of the winds along the ledges. He was safe : he ' 
 
 was alone. ' 
 
 Down the steep of rocks he hurried, and the smit- ! 
 
 ten granite rang \ 
 
 'Neath his rowelled heels ; and daggers smote with i 
 
 low and deadly clang i 
 
 *Gainst his belt of pistols. Downward over rocks i 
 
 that seemed to spurn i 
 Human feet. His night-black charger proudly 
 
 waited his return. ! 
 
 Home again unharmed, and Vasques stroked his 
 
 horse. Then in the shade \ 
 
 \ 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 21 
 
 Of his cave he counted over what he 'd garnered in 
 
 the raid. 
 As he counted gold and silver and the jewels he 
 
 had brought, 
 O'er his swarthy face were passing light and shade 
 
 that told his thought — 
 Light of rapture ; disappointment's shade ; for 
 
 some were valued less 
 Than he thought for ; part were gorgeous ; part he 
 
 held as nothingness. 
 Counted down, he hid his treasure, with the spoils 
 
 of raids before, 
 In a secret crystal crevice underneath the cavern 
 
 door. 
 
 This was Vasques, he the terror of the borders and 
 
 frontiers, 
 Curse of California's valleys in the rush of earlier 
 
 years. 
 This his home, his rest from raiding ; hither often 
 
 he had fled, 
 Chased by bands of daring horsemen who had left 
 
 the canons red 
 With their blood, too hard pursuing on the hunted 
 
 bandit's trail, — 
 Blood along the deep abysses truly told the awful 
 
 tale,— 
 Told how they had pressed too eager on him in the 
 
 dark ravine, 
 How he fiercely turned upon them as they passed 
 
 the cliffs between ; 
 
22 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Turned and slew them ; as the tiger turns when 
 
 baying hounds pursue, 
 Turns and tears them, then at leisure glides the 
 
 dusky jungle through. 
 
 In a vine-clad valley blooming brightly all the sum- 
 mer day. 
 Fanned by winds that come and softly breathe 
 
 perfumes o'er San Jose, 
 Lived a young and beauteous maiden, fairer than 
 
 the fairest flowers 
 That e'er blossomed in the trellised arches of the 
 
 southern bowers. 
 Never was there maiden fairer in that country of 
 
 the fair ; 
 Never happier or truer, lovelier, more debonair. 
 Scarcely did the dawn of morning, dashing with 
 
 its gold the world, 
 Lend a lustre to the river and the brooks that 
 
 played and purled 
 Down the meadow lands forever, till she came with 
 
 footsteps light 
 O'er the pathway through the pastures of the wild 
 
 alfalfa bright. 
 And she pondered like one dreaming, lingering for 
 
 hours and hours 
 *Neath the shadows of the willows on the shining 
 
 shore of flowers. 
 There she met a dark-eyed stranger who like her 
 
 was Imgcring there. 
 And his face was dull with sadness and his brow 
 
 was knit with care. 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 23 
 
 He was Vasques, the mysterious ; he was weary 
 with the flight ; 
 
 He had fled, pursued by horsemen, many and many 
 a day and night. 
 
 But he had outstripped pursuers in the midnight of 
 the chase. 
 
 And had left their fleetest horsemen far behind 
 him in the race. 
 
 He had shouted his defiance to them straggling far 
 below 
 
 As he vanished o'er the summit of the heights of 
 Pajaro. 
 
 But while plunging down the steepness, breaking 
 from the northern side 
 
 Of the hills, and while the distant men and horse 
 he still defied. 
 
 O'er a cliff unseen his charger leaped, and crash- 
 ing through the trees, 
 
 Struck the rocks below — bewildered — wheeled and 
 sank upon his knees — 
 
 Groaned, and stretched along the bowlders. Breath- 
 less now the mighty horse. 
 
 Vasques stood a moment silent in his anger and 
 remorse. 
 
 " Rather had I died than this ; and would 't were I 
 instead of thee ! 
 
 Would that I were dead, and thou wert roaming 
 o'er the prairies free ! " 
 
 So he spoke ; but as he spoke it, from the over- 
 hanging ledge 
 
 The pursuers yelling greet him. Looking down- 
 ward from the edge 
 
24 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 Of the precipice above him, there they saw the 
 
 mighty steed 
 Stretched upon the rocks. They shouted and 
 
 wheeled each with dashing speed, 
 Rushing toward a pathway leading down the cliff, 
 
 with whoop and yell 
 Sounding through the midnight canons like the 
 
 battle screams of hell. 
 
 Vasques stroked his horse and muttered : " Dead, 
 
 my charger, art thou dead ? 
 Wert thou living, I would never leave thee till the 
 
 rocks were red 
 With the blood of those who taunt us. I would 
 
 with thee stay and die. 
 Fighting for thee, and together in one grave we 
 
 both should lie. — 
 Art thou dead, my noble courser — dead ! 'T is use- 
 less now to wait ; 
 'T will at best avail thee nothing — waiting will 
 
 but seal my fate." 
 As he spoke, they rushed upon him from the woods 
 
 on every side ; 
 Seized him — but his ^deadly dagger in their blood 
 
 was crimson dyed. 
 And the three who pressed him hardest and were 
 
 grappling in their strife 
 First to seize him, paid the fearful cost of rashness 
 
 with their life. 
 Then he dashed adown the thickets where the 
 
 manzanita grew 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 2$ 
 
 Densely deep and lapped together till no horseman 
 
 could pursue. 
 Wrenching from his heels the rowels that were 
 
 worse than useless now, 
 He fled fleetly, and at morning passed the farthest 
 
 mountain brow. 
 And before him saw the valley glowing in the light 
 
 of day, 
 And afar the groves of linden on the plains of San 
 
 Jose. 
 There he stood a moment gazing out across the 
 
 distant scene, 
 To the northward where the meadows rolled away 
 
 in changeless green. 
 Back behind him mountains mingled, widely in a 
 
 shapeless mass, 
 Barren ridges, seamed with many a gulch-ravine 
 
 and canon pass. 
 Rocks, and cliffs, and spurs, and ledges, flung to- 
 gether rude and wild ; 
 Ragged peaks and domes above them in confusion 
 
 heaped and piled. 
 Far along the south horizon dimly in the distance ran 
 Last in view the even summit of the Mountain 
 
 Gavilan. 
 
 Vasques rested but a moment on the height, for 
 
 well he knew 
 Soon along the distant ridges foes again would 
 
 sweep in view. 
 Down the mountain side he hastened, clinging to 
 
 the jags of flint 
 
26 THE BANDIT'S BRTDE. 
 
 Jutting from the soil of syenite ; set his heels with 
 
 din and dint 
 In the narrow shelves ; and downward passed he 
 
 cautiously and slow, 
 Ridge by ridge, from gulch to canon, till he reached 
 
 the plain below. 
 Down along the quiet river where the trees were 
 
 dense and green 
 He pursued his way in silence through the glad- 
 some summer scene ; 
 Under drooping weeping willows ; under quaking 
 
 aspen bowers. 
 Passed he silently and sadly in the radiant morning 
 
 hours. 
 Not for self alone the darkness and the sadness 
 
 and remorse. 
 But he thought how crushed and lifeless was his 
 
 faithful, faithful horse. 
 For himself he cared not, feared not ; there was 
 
 nothing now to fear ; 
 He had nothing now to care for ; all was dead that 
 
 e'er was dear. 
 Neither feared he man, nor spirit of the dead or of 
 
 the lost : 
 Life was his, and he would sell it at such high and 
 
 fearful cost 
 That the buyer would go with him bankrupt to the 
 
 realms of night, — 
 Plunge in hate's embrace together cursing through 
 
 the downward flight. 
 But his horse — would they insult him ; Dared 
 
 they touch him now in death ? 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 2*J 
 
 Touch that horse which they could never touch 
 
 while he had living breath — 
 Would they with their coward hands now dare to 
 
 stroke that midnight mane, 
 Which, like raven wings of darkness, had defied 
 
 them on the plain ? 
 Which had streamed on desert tempest and along 
 
 the mountain height, 
 *Mid the whirlwinds and tornadoes, darker than 
 
 the blackest night ? 
 " Never! " spoke in wrath the robber ; " would that 
 
 I had fought and died 
 For my horse — it were a comfort to have perished 
 
 at his side ! " 
 
 Thus at morn along the river he was pacing to and 
 
 fro, 
 Waiting, as the lion waiteth, for the coming of the foe. 
 " I will be pursued no farther," spoke he ; "I will 
 
 die at least 
 Like a man — I am no coward — neither am I brute 
 
 or beast ! 
 I will wait ; and it were better they should never 
 
 press me here — 
 Better vex not him who hath not aught on earth to 
 
 love or fear ! " 
 As he spoke, the fire of vengeance lit the darkness 
 
 of his eye. 
 And he stood at bay, determined there to live, or 
 
 there to die ; — 
 Stood he there beneath the willows where the 
 
 morning wind was low, 
 
28 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Saying he would fly no farther from the wrath of 
 mortal foe. 
 
 And while waiting, keenly watching through the 
 willows for the band 
 
 Of pursuers whom he hated as a curse upon the 
 land, 
 
 Came the sound of footsteps lightly down the 
 shaded arbor way, 
 
 And before him hesitating stood the Maid of San 
 Jos^. 
 
 Scarcely had he heard her coming, for so softly did 
 she tread, 
 
 Till beside him she was standing, half in wonder, 
 half in dread. 
 
 Tall he was, and proud, and manly, though of fea- 
 ture stern and cold, 
 
 Face of firmness and of coldness, cast in dark Cas- 
 tilian mold. 
 
 Checked by wonder and amazement, stood she still 
 as one who fears 
 
 Something strangely unexpected that in sudden- 
 ness appears. 
 
 Scarcely was he less astonished, and he turned in 
 quick surprise. 
 
 All the spirit of his nature flashing deeply from his 
 eyes : — 
 
 Turned and saw the maiden standing, and he 
 marked her slight alarm. 
 
 Like one fearing, like one turning from a half-sus- 
 pected harm. 
 
 All his youthful pride and kindness came again 
 upon him then ; 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 29 
 
 All his sullen hate and vengeance toward the race 
 
 of mortal men 
 Seemed to vanish for the moment ; and his thoughts 
 
 had flown away 
 To the far Xenil, bright river, where he passed his 
 
 youthful day ; 
 Where he loved and lost, and never saw a solace 
 
 in the world 
 After that, but wrecked and ruined to the tempest 
 
 he was hurled — 
 Flung upon the wild commotion of a proud and 
 
 blighted life, 
 Left to battle with the whirlwinds in their anarchy 
 
 and strife ; 
 While his bitter disappointments preyed upon him 
 
 like a fire. 
 Fiercely burning ever, leaving nothing but a mad 
 
 desire. 
 To overwhelm the flames of passion and to stifle 
 
 dull regret, 
 And to drug his memory till he could awhile the 
 
 past forget. 
 He had turned upon the faithless race of men, and 
 
 everywhere 
 He had made them feel how fearful is the courage 
 
 of despair. 
 All the past came like a picture o'er him when he 
 
 saw the maid 
 Standing, fearing, wondering, dreaming in the som- 
 bre willow shade. 
 She was like that youthful maiden whom he once 
 
 had proudly claimed. 
 
30 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 And beneath her love and kindness all his way- 
 wardness was tamed ; 
 
 But who had been banished from him, torn away, 
 although she pled 
 
 'Gainst the hardness of her fate, and soon was 
 numbered with the dead. 
 
 All of this in recollection came before him as he 
 stood 
 
 By the river lowly flowing through the shadows of 
 the wood. 
 
 " Do not fear me, gentle maiden ; though a stranger, 
 I can tell 
 
 That thou fearest — do not fear me — fear me not — 
 I wish thee well." 
 
 She had almost turned to leave him, turned al- 
 though she knew not why. 
 
 At his words she hesitated, turned again to make 
 reply. 
 
 All the fountains of emotion that are known to 
 woman's soul 
 
 Were in hers, and welled unbidden like a tide be- 
 yond control ; 
 
 And she listened as he told her not to fear, that he 
 was kind 
 
 To the kind, and would not harm her, and that she 
 would ever find 
 
 Him a friend in time of danger if that hour should 
 ever fall — 
 
 True and tried, and at her bidding — ever ready at 
 her call. 
 
 Then he told her he was Vasques. — At the name 
 her pallid cheek 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 3 1 
 
 Told how well she knew his story, though she did 
 
 not move or speak. 
 Then he told her, low and truly, how for days the 
 
 rushing band 
 Had pursued him from Avalda's cliffs that front 
 
 the ocean strand ; 
 How he taunted and defied them ; how his horse 
 
 as black as night 
 Had outstripped them in the desert, mocked them 
 
 from the mountain height ; 
 Galloped leisurely before them over valley, waste, 
 
 and plain. 
 Tantalizing them, and flaunting on the wind his 
 
 streaming mane ; 
 Till along the highlands sweeping, down a blind 
 
 abyss he fell — 
 Crushed to death. — But Vasques faltered, could not 
 
 speak, or could not tell 
 How his faithful horse had perished — words were 
 
 stifled by his grief. 
 And his hand which ne'er had trembled, trembled 
 
 like an aspen leaf. 
 
 In a moment he could master all his feelings, and 
 
 disguise ; 
 While the maiden stood in silence and the tears 
 
 had filled her eyes. 
 " But," he said, " since then, I care not if I die or 
 
 if I live. 
 There is nothing under heaven that would tempt 
 
 me to forgive 
 
32 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Those who killed my horse. I 'm waiting here, and 
 
 here I mean to wait 
 For their coming. I will greet them in the rapture 
 
 of my hate. 
 When thou seest the band approaching, gentle 
 
 maiden, turn away ; 
 'T were not well for thee to witness what this grove 
 
 shall see to-day." 
 Even as he spoke, a rushing sounded from the 
 
 upper plain ; 
 And a horse of midnight blackness, powerful of 
 
 neck and mane. 
 Riderless across the prairie headlong dashed at 
 
 frightful speed — 
 Vasques shouted in defiance, for he knew his faith- 
 ful steed — 
 Vasques flung his arm and shouted, ran to meet 
 
 his horse that came 
 Bounding, while the golden mountings of the saddle 
 
 shone like flame 
 'Gainst the blackness of the charger ; and the reins 
 
 of bridle flung 
 Wildly through the air their silver-bangled chains 
 
 that pendant hung. 
 Vasques met his horse, and shouted, and the 
 
 charger made reply. 
 Neighing fiercely, leaping wildly, mane and neck 
 
 were proud and high — 
 Nearer till they rushed together in their ecstasy, 
 
 at length ; 
 Vasques spoke — the horse was gentle, tame, but 
 
 terrible in strength 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 33 
 
 " Never," said the bandit, " never shall we part on 
 
 earth again ! 
 Nevermore will I desert thee to the touch of mortal 
 
 men ! 
 Never since the world has known me have I seen 
 
 such day as this ! 
 Never have the wings of fortune shadowed me with 
 
 such a bliss ! 
 Now forever and forever, while the tide of life 
 
 shall flow, 
 Will we part no more, for hatred or for love of 
 
 friend or foe ! " 
 And the proud horse stood beside him ; and as 
 
 Vasques would have sprung 
 To the saddle, he drew backward — In the stirrup 
 
 tightly hung 
 Some one's boot ! And Vasques backward stood 
 
 a moment in surprise ; 
 Stood and glared in speechless anger — death was 
 
 flashing from his eyes. 
 " Curse the villain, curse ! " he muttered as he saw 
 
 what had been done ; 
 " They have tried to mount my charger — curse for- 
 ever every one ! 
 They have found him stunned and stupid where 
 
 the hidden ledges rise, 
 Where I thought him dead. But living, they have 
 
 held him for their prize ; 
 And some reckless villain mounted to the saddle, 
 
 but in vain ; 
 He was hurled to earth and trampled, dragged and 
 
 trampled o'er the plain ; 
 
34 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 And along the rugged mountain now his mangled 
 
 body lies — 
 None but me can ride my charger : he who tries it 
 
 surely dies ! 
 No one's hand but mine shall ever hold that rein ; 
 
 and none shall dare 
 Touch that saddle — He who does it shall find death 
 
 his certain share ! " 
 Tearing out the hated trophy from the stirrup, 
 
 Vasques sprung 
 To the golden-mounted saddle, and the chains of 
 
 silver rung ; 
 While the steed was rearing, plunging in the mad- 
 ness of delight, 
 Mingling with the jewelled housings, mane as black 
 
 as Egypt's night. 
 
 Scarcely what it meant surmising, scarcely know- 
 ing what to say. 
 All the while in wonder waiting, stood the Maid of 
 
 San Jose ; 
 Looking on in silent wonder from the shadows all 
 
 the while. 
 Ever casting glances o'er the prairies rolling many 
 
 a mile. 
 But, now mounted, Vasques told her all, and told 
 
 her how he feared 
 Nothing now, nor cared how quickly the pursuing 
 
 band appeared. 
 He would wait till half surrounded, then would 
 
 dash away and sweep 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 35 
 
 Onward, eastward o'er the prairie like a tempest 
 o'er the deep ; 
 
 ' Twere in vain, he said, that horsemen should pur- 
 sue him in his flight ; 
 
 He would taunt them and upbraid them from the 
 morning till the night ; 
 
 From the night until the morning, through the 
 shadows and the gloom, 
 
 He would call to them and mock them and allure 
 them to their doom. 
 
 O the shallow heart of woman, changing as the 
 
 shadows change ! 
 Turning from the true and noble, leaning toward 
 
 the wild and strange ; 
 Looking ever to a level lower than her native 
 
 sphere ; 
 Giddy-headed, undecided. Where romances most 
 
 appear, 
 There you find her, there you meet her ; there you 
 
 evermore will find. 
 She will follow handsome phantoms and will leave 
 
 the world behind. 
 She will turn to what is newest, and her destiny 
 
 will cast 
 At the feet of whom she knows not. — To be best is 
 
 to be last. 
 
 She had learned to love the bandit, though what he 
 
 had been she knew. 
 What he was she knew ; and plainly all the future 
 
 was in view. 
 
36 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 But of that she reckoned nothing : planned as 
 
 women always plan, 
 Planned from darkness to redeem him, make of 
 
 him a noble man. 
 Woman's weakness ! woman's error ! her most fatal, 
 
 deadly snare ! 
 Better try to build a heaven from the ruins of 
 
 despair ; 
 Better try to form a diamond from the dust of 
 
 powdered slate ; 
 Better try to change to beauty all the shapes of 
 
 horrid hate — 
 Kneel — for this alone can save thee — fall implor- 
 ing on thy knees, 
 Plead in prayer to gracious Heaven to forgive such 
 
 thoughts as these ! 
 For thou canst not, blinded woman, lead again to 
 
 light of day 
 Him who hath himself abandoned, and hath flung 
 
 himself away. 
 He and thou will sink together ; he the millstone 
 
 at thy neck, 
 Dragging thee beneath the billows, downward from 
 
 the drifting wreck. 
 Thou art woman. Be a woman. Give not nature's 
 
 plan the lie. 
 Thou art meant to live for man, and not for him to 
 
 fall and die. 
 Thou art meant to be the sunshine that will light 
 
 along his life. 
 Thou art not his passion's consort. Thou shouldst 
 
 be his spirit's wife. 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 37 
 
 There at morn beside the river where the quaking 
 
 shadows lay, 
 Listening to the bandit's story stood the Maid of 
 
 San Jose. 
 And the warmth of all her nature in the blue of 
 
 dreaming eyes 
 Shone as sunlight glows and deepens through the 
 
 summer's azure skies. 
 As the lifewarm helianthus leans to brightness from 
 
 above, 
 So a woman's deep existence turns to him who 
 
 speaks of love — 
 Turns to him who softly whispers words almost too 
 
 low to hear ; 
 But she knows the meaning — words are ne'er too 
 
 low for woman's ear ; 
 Meaning never is too hidden for the wisdom of her 
 
 heart — 
 To interpret love unspoken is a woman's native 
 
 art. 
 But the dream of bliss must vanish. Brightly thus 
 
 the morning passed. 
 Till across the plain afar the troop of horse ap- 
 peared at last. 
 Though the Spaniard's eye discerned them while 
 
 they yet were far away, 
 Yet he of their coming spoke not to the Maid of 
 
 San Jos^ ; 
 And she knew not danger threatened, till the bandit 
 
 lightly sprang 
 To the saddle, while the nearer hoofs across the 
 
 prairie rang. 
 
38 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 " A Dios " — adieu — he whispered — " Sometime we 
 
 shall meet again ; 
 But I now must turn attention to this troop of fated 
 
 men — 
 A Dios ! " He bounded forward, in defiance fling- 
 ing high 
 In the air his arm. The horsemen even then were 
 
 rushing by 
 Where the maiden stood. They saw not any one 
 
 was standing there, 
 So intently were they looking after Vasques through 
 
 the glare 
 Of the noonday sun. She heard them cursing 
 
 fiercely as they passed, 
 Saying that the taunting Spaniard would have debts 
 
 to pay at last. 
 Words there were no more, for even then a pistol 
 
 shot was heard, 
 And the horsemen in confusion for a moment 
 
 scarcely stirred — 
 Shocked and stunned ; and then she saw them lift- 
 ing up a bloody form 
 From the ground, the lifetide ebbing from the 
 
 temples throbbing warm. 
 Turned she then away, remembering that she had 
 
 been told to turn 
 If pursuers pressed him. Truth of all she now 
 
 could see and learn ; 
 Turned away, and in a moment looked again and 
 
 saw the mane 
 Brushing Vasques' face who galloped grandly o'er 
 
 the distant plain. 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 39 
 
 Then she turned away, and hurried homeward from 
 
 the fearful scene, 
 Till the view of plain and horsemen all was hid in 
 
 arbors green. 
 
 It would be a mere recital of what has been said 
 
 before 
 To narrate the flight of Vasques all the plains and 
 
 mountains o'er. 
 'T was the same pursuit determined and the same 
 
 evasive flight. 
 Same upbraiding and defying from the noonday till 
 
 the night, 
 From the darkness till the morning 't was the same 
 
 defiance still, 
 Galloping at random leisure over valley, vale, and 
 
 hill. 
 Many a time so near upon him came they in the 
 
 darksome maze 
 That the powder from his pistol scorched their 
 
 faces like a blaze ; 
 But as often he would vanish like a spectre from 
 
 the sight, 
 Plunged and lost amid the darkness and the shad- 
 ows of the night. 
 When the morning dawned, 't was ended ; they had 
 
 given up the chase ; 
 He was miles before them sweeping Idria Moun- 
 tain's ancient face. 
 And he quickly scaled the summit ; and along the 
 
 awful crest 
 
40 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 'Gainst the morning sky he galloped toward the 
 wildness of the west. 
 
 Baffled, angry, and exhausted the pursuers back- 
 ward turned ; 
 
 Hot with wrath and indignation, every haggard 
 visage burned. 
 
 Slowly sought their homes, the horsemen — riding 
 slow in single file. 
 
 Sullen in their backward journey through the val- 
 leys many a mile. 
 
 Vasques reached his hidden canon as he oft had 
 done before, 
 
 And there flung himself in slumber on his cavern's 
 stony floor. 
 
 In his dreams there passed before him horsemen 
 o'er the rocky way ; 
 
 While beside him, sweetly smiling, stood the maid 
 of San Jos^. 
 
 Then it seemed that lowly o'er him she was kneel- 
 ing, whispering low, 
 
 Like his loved and lost who perished broken- 
 hearted long ago. 
 
 'T was a dream, he knew it, fleeting ; 't was a 
 dream that soon was gone. 
 
 He awoke. The winds above him tirelessly were 
 rushing on, 
 
 As they rush and rush forever in the madness of 
 their flight. 
 
 Through the hollow rocks that murmur, like the 
 spirits of the night. 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 4I 
 
 He awoke. The day was lonely. Silent was the 
 
 desert world, 
 Save the moaning wind, and nearer lisping of a 
 
 brook that purled 
 Faintly with a dreamy cadence over crystal ledge 
 
 and stone. 
 Just beneath the cavern doorway where the noon- 
 tide brightness shone. 
 Then he slept again. Again the dream came to 
 
 him as he slept : 
 Past him bands of cursing horsemen like a raging 
 
 tempest swept. 
 But beside him, sweetly smiling, kneeling like one 
 
 kneels to pray, 
 Whispering gently and confiding, knelt the Maid of 
 
 San Jose. 
 Then it seemed the storm was over, that the 
 
 danger-clouds were past, 
 That the wildness of his nature had been tamed in 
 
 peace at last. 
 Dreaming there, he thought that something might 
 
 be left for him on earth. 
 Other than a life of danger. He could feel the 
 
 soothing worth 
 Of a woman's love ; and never, thought he as he 
 
 slept and dreamed. 
 Had the sunshine o'er his pathway with a brighter 
 
 beauty beamed. 
 'T was a dream : the cruel waking flung him back 
 
 upon the world. 
 All his dream-built clouded castles were to endless 
 
 ruin hurled. 
 
42 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 He arose and cursed the slumber which had prom- 
 ised but to curse ; 
 
 Which had blessed him that the blessing might but 
 make the doom the worse. 
 
 Better, truly ever better, never dream at all than 
 dream 
 
 Happiness awhile to vanish like a lamp of mid- 
 night's gleam, 
 
 To go out and leave the darkness deeper, blacker 
 than before, 
 
 All the light and beauty blotted from creation 
 evermore. 
 
 Never, never sleep, or sleeping, never, never more 
 awake ; 
 
 Let thy dreaming be forever ; let thy slumber 
 never break — 
 
 Blessed forever — cursed forever — one or other let 
 it be : 
 
 Sleep forever — wake forever — chained forever — 
 ever free ! 
 
 Passions mingled, hope and promise, disappoint- 
 ment, and despair ! 
 
 Driven from the homes of human, hunted, hated 
 everywhere. 
 
 This was hard, but not the hardest fortune of the 
 bandit's fate : 
 
 Love is stronger than the strongest anarchy of 
 wrath and hate. 
 
 Love will twine a wreath of flowers round a sinking 
 human soul — 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 43 
 
 Hate and pride may storm and bluster ; love will 
 hold the last control. 
 
 Sorrow is a deeper sorrow when affections are its 
 spring. 
 
 'T is but to prolong the drifting that to floating 
 reeds we cling : 
 
 *T is at best a desperation holding still to some- 
 thing dear, 
 
 Wishing death when at a distance — shrinking it 
 when it is near — 
 
 Looking back when all has vanished, looking for- 
 ward to a void ; 
 
 Brooding over desolation whence all beauty is 
 destroyed. 
 
 Such is love when lost or hopeless (little better 
 when at best) ; 
 
 And the soul that never rested seeks in it a phantom 
 rest — 
 
 Seeks and finds a very phantom, worse than all the 
 phantom forms 
 
 That rush howling through the darkness of the 
 spirit's passion-storms. 
 
 Mix with action when thine anguish is too great 
 
 for thee to bear : 
 Mingle tumult with existence — flood thy life and 
 
 drown thy care. 
 Do it not, and it were useless long to battle for thy 
 
 life: 
 Sooner than be seared to silence, rush into the 
 
 mighty strife 
 
44 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 Of the ages. Join the revel and the riot of the 
 hour ; 
 
 Plunge into the ranks, and with them climb to 
 Babel's highest tower. 
 
 Climb ! 'T is true, the curse will strike thee : bet- 
 ter it should strike thee there 
 
 Than to come upon thee brooding in the desert of 
 despair. 
 
 It was now the soft September. Summer days had 
 
 passed away, 
 And again beside the river sat the Maid of San Jos6. 
 Many a morning she had lingered in the shade of 
 
 lindens fair. 
 While her cheek was warm with kisses from the 
 
 balmy southern air. 
 At her feet the flowers were blooming, and their 
 
 odor came and went 
 Like the waves along the river stirring in their dis- 
 content. 
 Many a morn beside the river she had strolled 
 
 amid the flowers. 
 And had lingered till the coming of the noonday's 
 
 deeper hours ; 
 And before her ever passing, like a picture in a 
 
 dream, 
 Like a vision, like a memory, like the murmur of a 
 
 stream, 
 Was a form that long had vanished, but still seemed 
 
 forever near — 
 Turn where'er she would, before her ever would 
 
 the form appear. 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 45 
 
 But that morning by the river he was sitting at her 
 
 side. 
 He had come again to meet her, and to claim her 
 
 for his bride ; 
 And the proud steed stood beside him in impatience 
 
 and disdain, 
 Stamping, champing, in his ardor to be bounding 
 
 o'er the plain. 
 
 But why linger here ? Why linger anywhere ? 'T is 
 
 plain to know 
 All the rest, or almost all ; for, evermore, it hath 
 
 been so. 
 Women liefer love a villain, only be he handsome, 
 
 proud, 
 Than to love the truest manhood of the truest com- 
 mon crowd. 
 Villains sooner love a woman who is radiant and 
 
 fair. 
 In a station far above them — sooner drag her to 
 
 their lair — 
 Than of all the world beside ; and such a victim 
 
 was the prey 
 Of the bandit when he whispered to the Maid of 
 
 San Jose. 
 
 Hasten onward. It is useless thus to linger on the 
 shore 
 
 Where she listened to him whispering his adven- 
 tures o'er and o'er ; 
 
 Telling lies to hide the darkest ; clothing murder in 
 a dress 
 
46 THE bandit's bride. 
 
 That would make him seem a hero ; pleading sor- 
 row and distress 
 
 At the cruel persecutions that had been against him 
 hurled, 
 
 Marking him the vilest wretch that ever trod the 
 righteous world ; 
 
 Telling lowly in a whisper, soft as angels from 
 above, 
 
 How his very soul was dying for some kindred soul 
 to love ; 
 
 How his spirit yearned for kindness, and how kind- 
 ness seemed to hush 
 
 All the rage of pride and courage that at times 
 would o'er him rush ; 
 
 How none ever yet had loved him, and perhaps 
 none ever would ; 
 
 How he wished that he were worthy loving some 
 one truly good ; 
 
 But that he was too impetuous, and too rough 
 through every part ; 
 
 He could never gain affections, never win a woman's 
 heart. 
 
 Hasten on ! 'T is vain to linger telling this recital 
 o'er. 
 
 To the same it ever leadeth as it ever led before. 
 
 Woman — peace to error ! Let us spare hencefor- 
 ward all but one ; 
 
 'T were not just to lay before them all what but 
 their worst hath done — 
 
 'T were unjust to find the weakest and declare that 
 all are weak. 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 47 
 
 Though the most deceive, yet some may truly think 
 
 and truly speak. 
 Though their faith is as shadow ever changiug 
 
 with the day, 
 Shadow of the quaking aspen where unrestful 
 
 zephyrs play. 
 Yet it may be some are better ; some may hold a 
 
 truer plan, 
 Some, perhaps, may shun a villain and yet love an 
 
 honest man. 
 
 Maid of San Jos6, 't is finished ! Thou hast 
 
 promised him to fly 
 With him to a distant country, and for him to live 
 
 and die. 
 Reason pleaded, but was silenced. Common-sense 
 
 itself is vain 
 When it argues 'gainst affections. Tell the 
 
 heathen that his fane 
 Is a stumbling-block of error, and he will as lief 
 
 believe 
 As a woman will the warning that her lover will 
 
 deceive. 
 The affections never hearken to the counsels of the 
 
 wise ; 
 It is all in vain to argue. Better turn away thine eyes. 
 And let ruin claim its victim, for 't is fated so to 
 
 be— 
 Woman, thou hast linked thy fetters ! Death alone 
 
 can set thee free ! 
 Maid of San Jos6, 't is finished. Thou art now his 
 
 plighted bride ; 
 
48 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 And for thee and thine *t were better hadst thou in 
 
 thy childhood died. 
 It would be a tender mercy if thou couldst but 
 
 perish now, 
 Ere the chill of living sorrow shall come o'er thy 
 
 beauteous brow. 
 It would be a fond caressing if the hand of death 
 
 were laid 
 On thine eyes this day, and send thee sleeping to 
 
 thy dreamless shade. 
 There are hours of grief and sadness, and of sor- 
 row and of gloom, 
 ^Vhen the only mercy promised is the mercy of the 
 
 tomb. 
 Even so for thee it will be. Thou canst not believe 
 
 it yet ; 
 But the night will fall about thee, even ere the sun 
 
 has set. 
 
 Hasten on and reach the final, reach the last, for it 
 is near. 
 
 Listen not ; the words of promise are too low for 
 thee to hear. 
 
 But her promise has been given ; and he says : 
 '* Till death shall part, 
 
 I will love thee, I will bless thee, I will press thee 
 to my heart." 
 
 In a moment they were flying toward the hills that 
 skirt the west, 
 
 Where the woods of fir and cedar fringe the moun- 
 tain's even crest. 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 49 
 
 And the mighty night-black charger carried both, 
 
 nor seemed to know 
 That he carried aught, and swiftly sped as swiftest 
 
 winds that blow ; 
 Passing through the lines of linden that across the 
 
 valley grew, 
 Till the charger, sweeping grandly in the distance, 
 
 passed from view. 
 Then along the quiet valley at the deepness of the 
 
 day. 
 All was resting save the whisper of the winds from 
 
 far away ; 
 Save the pulse-like throb, the stirring of the leaves 
 
 along the strand, 
 In the balmy breath of breezes coming from the 
 
 southern land ; 
 Saving this, the deepest stillness, deepest silence 
 
 rested there, 
 And there seemed a voiceless sadness dreaming 
 
 through the autumn air. 
 
 Who will close this fragment story ? Who will tell 
 what is untold ? 
 
 Who is there that knows the secrets which these 
 western deserts hold ? 
 
 None ! For no one e'er unraveled half the mys- 
 teries of crime 
 
 That surround the name of Vasques, fading now in 
 flight of time. 
 
 Glimpses vaguely seen and darkly, each a dash and 
 nothing more, 
 
50 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Each within itself a mystery, are the drift of bandit 
 
 lore. 
 Nothing certain, nothing worthy more than of a 
 
 faint belief ; 
 Now an ecstasy of rapture, now a passion-burst of 
 
 grief ; 
 Mingled all with din and darkness, the confusion of 
 
 the past. 
 What was first in annal record, in recital may be 
 
 last ; 
 And the last may be the first, and much in doubt is 
 
 never told ; 
 What is new is made the newest, and unheeded is 
 
 the old. 
 What of that ? It matters nothing. Though 't is 
 
 told a thousand ways. 
 And is mixed with all the mystery of the deeds of 
 
 ancient days. 
 Yet the final drift is certain — how the bandit and 
 
 his bride 
 Perished in the awful midnight, out upon the 
 
 desert wide ; 
 Perished, but 't was not together, each forsaken and 
 
 alone, 
 'Mong the barren wastes, a hundred miles to south- 
 ward from Tejon. 
 
 Yes, 't is brief, then hasten onward, for the end is 
 
 swift and nigh. 
 Scarcely had the sun of morning touched the 
 
 zenith of the sky ; 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 5 1 
 
 Scarcely had they reached the mountain, skirting 
 
 through the western way, 
 Shutting in the peaceful river and the plain of San 
 
 Jose ; 
 Scarcely had the flying bandit passed those moun- 
 tains with his bride. 
 When a troop of fleetest horsemen came across the 
 
 valley wide. 
 They had trailed him from the canons, and had 
 
 tracked him to the strand 
 By the river, and they saw him riding toward the 
 
 western land ; 
 And in swift pursuit they followed, shielding well 
 
 themselves from view 
 By the random rows of linden which about the 
 
 valley grew. 
 Till they saw him pass the summit, disappearing 
 
 o'er the crest 
 Of the hills that border lowly all the margin of the 
 
 west. 
 Then they rode with speed of whirlwind onward up 
 
 the rocky race. 
 Leading to the mountain summit, in the fever heat 
 
 of chase. 
 
 Even now they were discovered ; and the bandit 
 
 southward turned ; 
 And his horse with pride and power, crag, and 
 
 rock, and bowlder spurned. 
 When she saw that the pursuers now the summit 
 
 ridge had crossed : 
 
52 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 " Are we lost ? " the bride in anguish asked, im- 
 ploring, " Are we lost ? " 
 " Never, dearest ; calmly trust me. Well I know 
 
 what I can do — 
 Well I know my horse. 'T is useless that pursuer 
 
 should pursue — 
 Canst thou see that beauteous mountain rising 'gainst 
 
 the southern sky ? 
 'T is our home, and we shall reach it ere the mid- 
 night passes by. 
 Turn thy gentle eyes from danger. Think not 
 
 ruin follows near. 
 Trust me as thou wouldst be trusted by the one 
 
 thou holdest dear." 
 Thus he spoke, and hid his anguish ; for he knew 
 
 not whence to turn ; 
 On his cheek he felt the fever of despair and anger 
 
 burn. 
 Dread and fearful were the chances for escape 
 
 before him now. 
 Looking back, he saw, but spoke not. With his 
 
 hand he held his brow, 
 While his horse was rushing onward tireless in the 
 
 awful flight — 
 Still increasing speed as ever the pursuers burst in 
 
 sight. 
 Ever and anon there sounded curse and yell from 
 
 those who prest 
 Foremost on their panting coursers over ridge and 
 
 mountain crest, 
 And from thence could see the bandit with his 
 
 bride along the edge 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 53 
 
 Of some distant cliff, still fleeing over precipice 
 and ledge — 
 
 Fleeing still with speed untiring, rushing through 
 the jungle deep. 
 
 Where the thorny manzanita grows along the bar- 
 ren steep. 
 
 When their curses sounded nearer : " Are they 
 nearer than before ? " 
 
 She would ask, and he would answer : '* No, and 
 shall be nevermore." 
 
 Desperate chase ! o'er plain and valley, over moun- 
 tain, over hill ; 
 
 Over gorge and over canon, over river, over rill 
 
 Hour on hour the summer evening, neither gained 
 and neither lost ; 
 
 While the one would cross the summit, even then 
 the plain was crossed 
 
 By the other, gaining nothing, losing nothing ; and 
 the sun 
 
 Sank into the western shadows, and the autumn 
 day was done. 
 
 Vasques hoped that with the darkness rest would 
 
 come, and well it might ; 
 Ever since the hour of mid-day had they fled in 
 
 mortal flight ; 
 And along the lone Salinas they were sweeping 
 
 southward far. 
 From the river Nacimiento over barren drift and 
 
 bar. 
 
54 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Sweeping on, and still behind him came athwart the 
 
 deepening shade, 
 Hoof and spur and metal housings, clanging in the 
 
 escapade. 
 Turning eastward, he eluded the pursuers for 
 
 awhile ; 
 But again they pressed upon him in a dark and 
 
 lone defile. 
 Fearful was the chase, and fearful was the rushing 
 
 of the flight ; 
 Fearful was the sound of curses echoing through 
 
 the depths of night. 
 Up the steep from ridge to summit, mounting ever 
 
 higher, higher. 
 Swept they on. The rocks beneath them were a 
 
 blazing path of fire. 
 Down again beyond the summit, plunged the bandit 
 
 and his bride. 
 Where the rolling hills beyond them spread into 
 
 the darkness wide. 
 
 " I am faint — I fall — I perish ! Pain — my head is 
 wild with pain ! 
 
 Leave me — ended, all is ended — leave me — fly into 
 the plain 
 
 And escape — " Her accents faltered, and she now 
 was sinking fast — 
 
 Vasques wheeled into a canon — the pursuers gal- 
 loped past. 
 
 She was fainting — she was falling. Now uncon- 
 scious on the ground. 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 55 
 
 Vasques wheeled away a moment — startled by the 
 
 nearer bound 
 Of returning horse. Already came the clang of 
 
 panting steed — 
 Vasques plunged into the darkness with a wild and 
 
 reckless speed, 
 Saying : " I will lead them onward for a moment, 
 
 and will glide 
 From their sight, deceive, delude them, and return 
 
 unto my bride." 
 This he muttered in confusion as he fled across the 
 
 height. 
 For a moment disappearing from the hearing and 
 
 the sight. 
 But the clang of hoofs beyond them told them 
 
 plainly whence he fled ; 
 And with yell of triumph rushed they onward o'er 
 
 the path he led. 
 Turned he often to elude them ; turned to left and 
 
 turned to right, 
 Thus to foil and to deceive them in the darkness of 
 
 the night. 
 But they ever pressed the harder, coming nearer 
 
 and more near. 
 Till their hoarsely panting horses just behind him 
 
 he could hear. 
 
 Where the oaks with giant branches like the eastern 
 
 banyan trees, 
 Sway in dark and sullen grandeur on the heavy 
 
 midnight breeze ; 
 
56 THE BANDIT'S BRIDE, 
 
 Where the earth is dank and deadly, and its poison 
 
 reek distills 
 O'er the marshy plains extending out beyond the 
 
 Idria Hills ; 
 There at midnight closed the battle for his life, and 
 
 Vasques fell. 
 Beaten down and overpowered, while around him 
 
 rose the yell 
 Of their triumph, when his foemen saw that he 
 
 could rise no more ; 
 And that he at last had yielded, and defiance now 
 
 was o'er. 
 Deadly was the last encounter. Fearful was the foe- 
 men's cost ; 
 It for them were doubly better if the battle they 
 
 had lost. 
 Better had they wheeled and left him when he 
 
 fiercely turned at bay : 
 They who perished in the fight were more than 
 
 those who saw the day 
 Dawning on the morrow. Dying round him groaned 
 
 the fallen foe — 
 Some were cursing, some were praying, some in 
 
 death were lying low. 
 Fearful was the scene. The darkness hid the worst 
 
 and fiercest fight — 
 Deep among the reeds and rushes hidden ever 
 
 from the light. 
 
 It was over. Few and haggard were the foemen 
 left to tell 
 
THE BANDIT'S BRIDE. 57 
 
 To the world the awful story how the bandit 
 
 Vasques fell. 
 But he perished. Then the night wind came and 
 
 passed, and all was still ; 
 And the morning late and lonely dawned along the 
 
 eastern hill. 
 
 And the morning late and lonely gleamed along the 
 barren steep, 
 
 Where the bandit's bride was lying like one dream- 
 ing, fast asleep. 
 
 'T was the sleep that never waketh. Life had 
 slowly ebbed away, 
 
 And her brow was cold as marble ere the dawning 
 of the day. 
 
 Peace ! Her waywardness was over. Heaven's 
 mercy can forgive 
 
 Those who blindly love and perish, those who 
 blindly love and live. 
 
58 seNoritas, 
 
 seNoritas* 
 
 ^EJ^ORITAS del Los Critas, 
 *^ 'T is in vain we would forget 
 How you sweetly smiling greet us, 
 Though we are as strangers yet. 
 
 Memory will turn forever 
 
 From the hours that time shall bring, 
 And from you shall never sever 
 
 In the year's eternal spring. 
 
 Gladly would we linger near you 
 
 And no longer wander o'er 
 Lands and seas, but love you, cheer you 
 
 In the world's forevermore. 
 
 * These verses were written one Sunday morning on River 
 Los Critas, forty miles north from Santa Barbara. I im- 
 agined I could write in Spanish, and the original was sup- 
 posed to be in that language, and was addressed to some 
 Spanish young ladies whom I met that morning. But, when 
 I submitted the verses to a Spaniard for his approval, he 
 looked over them and remarked that he could read English 
 very little, but thought the verses good. I explained that 
 they were Spanish. He shook his head. I took the hint, and 
 made no further attempt at Spanish. This is the translation. 
 The original for the first line (incorrect) is retained. 
 
 H. M. 
 
SE 1^0 RITAS. 59 
 
 Senoritas del Los CritaSy 
 
 In the hours through days to be, 
 
 Meet us, in remembrance meet us. 
 Though we roam o'er land and sea. 
 
 In your mountain homes remember, 
 
 When the wild alfalfas bloom 
 In the long and bright December, 
 
 That there is a land of gloom — 
 
 Country gloomy toward the rising 
 
 Of the sun, and we are there. 
 But are fondly realizing 
 
 Vistas from your country fair. 
 
 When the azure o'er your mountains 
 
 Bends in brightness high above. 
 And the fells and fairy fountains 
 
 Whisper like a sigh of love ; 
 
 When the vines are climbing, twining 
 O'er your homes of lattice walls. 
 
 And the quail with plumage shining 
 In the forest calls and calls ; 
 
 When the breezes from the ocean 
 
 Come through Gaviota Pass, 
 Stirring with a restless motion 
 
 Blossoms, leaves, and blooming grass — 
 
 Then remember those who never 
 Will forget you, though afar, 
 
6o SEfTORITAS. 
 
 And away from you forever 
 
 Toward the rising morning star. 
 
 Then remember — not with sorrow — 
 Then remember — nor forget — 
 
 Happy be to-day — to-morrow 
 You will be more happy yet. 
 
 Dull regret shall never chide you ; 
 
 Everywhere shall be delight : 
 Hours of summer sheen shall hide you 
 
 From the shadows of the night. 
 
 True as in the sky above you, 
 Firm as earth beneath your feet, 
 
 Hearts shall ever be that love you 
 Till in death they cease to beat. 
 
 Senoritas del Los Critas 
 
 A Dios^ a long adieu ; 
 Meet us, in remembrance meet us, 
 
 We shall e'er remember you. 
 
A TRANSLATION. 6l 
 
 A TRANSLATION.* 
 
 ORIGINAL. 
 
 KEKER miren nane, 
 Warwar paser 
 Yamne krouekan. 
 Coope narer mi 
 Koolkun i doukser. 
 Dear mane kuker 
 Cle wol proue 
 I sabbeane wal 
 Moonter moppara. 
 Keker mis^re 
 Yapte winegan. 
 Koker sombolo 
 Barnar lippun, 
 Lippun, lippunke, 
 Koolunker punater 
 Bin biwegan 
 Coope narer tanes 
 I doukser. Coope 
 Narer mi koolkun 
 I doukser. 
 
 ' From the language of the Mosquito Indians. 
 
62 A TRANSLATION, 
 
 \ 
 
 TRANSLATION. jj 
 
 Darling mine, sweet mine, we sever. 
 
 I am going far from thee. 
 Must this parting be forever ? 
 
 Shall we stroll beside the sea 
 Any more ? The sea breeze blowing 
 
 Soft I feel upon my brow ; 
 And I see the lightning glowing 
 
 On the distant mountain now ; 
 And the verdant valleys under 
 
 All the hills are gleaming bright, 
 Lit by lightning, while the thunder, 
 
 Dull and mournful, blends with night. 
 And, alas ! thou art not near me, 
 
 And my soul is sad and lone ! 
 Fare thee well. Thou canst not hear me — 
 
 All my joy and bliss are flown. 
 
THE BURNING RIVER. 63 
 
 THE BURNING RIVER. 
 
 "T^ IS strange and beautiful, the ancient song 
 
 ■'• Which singeth how the Omec kingdom fell. 
 The dream of legends and the mystic throng 
 
 Of fantasies the train of memory swell. 
 And he who waits to list is swept along, 
 
 Entranced as by a weird and magic spell ; 
 And deep into the past alone we know 
 
 The annals of the storied long ago. 
 
 Allow me this, and I will ask no more. 
 
 Indulge an idle fancy for a while, 
 And I '11 believe a page of heathen lore 
 
 Whose strangeness has a power to beguile. 
 'T is but a superstition from the yore — 
 
 A broken column from an ancient pile 
 Of Omec masonry — a shattered wall 
 Which fell and in its ruin buried all. 
 
 In years untold, when first the tide of time 
 Was washing gently on the farthest strand 
 
 Of infant earth, and waves with playful chime 
 Sent music inward toward the smiling land. 
 
 And sunlight shone along the changeless clime, 
 O'er plains that reached afar serene and bland, 
 
 Where winter never chilled the summer's love 
 
 Raptured by beauty beaming from above — 
 
64 THE BURNING RIVER. 
 
 In that far day from Strait of Carquinez — 
 But ere the Golden Gate was burst ajar — 
 
 To eastward, where the south wind's balmy breath 
 Came softly, stretched an upland wide and far. 
 
 There loomed not then those pinnacles of death, 
 Kaweah, Lyell, Whitney, Shasta, nor 
 
 That range of snowy peaks and granite hills 
 
 Which now the east horizon's vista fills. 
 
 From out the north, a thousand miles away, 
 There flowed a river, beautiful and deep, 
 
 Along this plain ; and bright the light of day 
 Across the water gleamed or sank to sleep 
 
 Beneath the verdant banks where shadows lay 
 Upon the tide, forevermore to keep 
 
 A trembling quiver there, and evermore 
 
 To rest in music wafted from the shore. 
 
 For strains of rapturous cadence ever rose 
 
 From out the shadows, mingling with the song 
 
 Of myriad birds, with plumage like the snows 
 And skies and sunsets where the gloamings 
 throng 
 
 Across the Alpine summits, and disclose 
 All colors of the earth. And swept along 
 
 Was all this music on the morn-deep air. 
 
 And upward rose to heaven like a prayer. 
 
 Nor was this all. The vines from branches high 
 Hung pendent ; and the zephyrs on them played 
 
 Soft airs like harps ^olian, passing by 
 
 From shadow unto shadow, shade to shade. 
 
THE BURNING RIVER. 65 
 
 And music sweet and lowly, like a sigh 
 
 Of love, each quaver of the wind obeyed, 
 And rose and fell, now near, and far away, 
 And near again with low and plaintive lay. 
 
 'T was like a vision from the spirit land 
 Where what is real scarcely seemeth so ; 
 
 Where realms Utopian rest on every hand. 
 And dreams and vistas ever come and go 
 
 On deep pulsations down from ether's strand, 
 Whose brightness and whose deepness bendeth 
 low; 
 
 And yearnings in their vague and weary quest 
 
 Are calmed at last and lulled into a rest. 
 
 In that far country dwelt the Omec race, 
 To whom the blight of sin was all unknown. 
 
 Whate'er was loveliest in every grace 
 
 They claimed and held in gladness as their own. 
 
 Throughout their land in every quiet place 
 Their snow-white villages in sunlight shone. 
 
 The valleys waved with flowers, the vales were 
 green, 
 
 And azure heavens bent above the scene. 
 
 Beyond the river on the farther side 
 
 A mountain rose of stone as white as snow, 
 
 Streaked with the purest gold in veins that vied 
 With El Doradoes of the long ago. 
 
 From base to summit, branching far a,nd wide 
 The burnished strata shone with dazzling glow 
 
66 THE BURNING RIVER. 
 
 Against the chalk-white cliffs whereon the light 
 Of noonday's sun poured beautiful and bright. 
 
 There was an edict in that ancient land, 
 
 The last and only edict ever there : 
 That none should cross the river to the strand 
 
 That lay beyond — anear the mountain fair. 
 And them who disobeyed, no mortal hand 
 
 Could rescue from the ruin and despair 
 Which would o'erwhelm as by a poison blight 
 
 Blown from the nether realms of endless night. 
 
 For ages and for ages all obeyed, 
 
 Nor yearned to cross the river, but at last 
 Two sat together in the linden shade, 
 
 And toward the Mount of Gold their eyes they 
 cast. 
 And on that self-same day a bark they made. 
 
 And quickly o'er the crystal tide they past, 
 Lured onward by a strange mysterious dream 
 
 Across the waves of that forbidden stream. 
 
 The bark had past but midway o'er the tide. 
 
 When — like a flash — the flood was changed to 
 fire — 
 A rolling mass of flames from side to side 
 
 With billows mounting higher and higher and 
 higher. 
 The crew with cry of torment sank and died. 
 
 Like Buddha mourners on a funeral pyre. 
 And waves closed over. All was stilled and hushed, 
 
 Save cataracts of fire that hissed and rushed. 
 
THE BURNING RIVER. 67 
 
 The Mount of Gold, beyond the farther shore, 
 
 Now molten swept adown the burning stream 
 And mingled with the waves its shining ore 
 
 Till all together as one deluge seem, 
 And onward sweep with hissing and with roar, 
 
 And overflow the plains with glare and gleam. 
 And seas of surging fire on every hand 
 
 Have deluged all the valleys of the land. 
 
 This was the Omec kingdom's overthrow. 
 
 The tribes had perished, or had rushed in flight, 
 And fled amazed from ruin, death and woe, 
 
 And left their country seething in its blight 
 Of fire, and fled to plains of Mexico 
 
 That stretched afar beyond the southern night ; 
 And on the upland east from Carquinez 
 
 All loveliness was burnt and seared to death. 
 
 A change stupendous followed in the wake 
 
 Of the destroying fire, and plowed the plains 
 In canons and abysses ; and the quake 
 
 Of earth betrayed its anguish and its pains. 
 Deep valleys sank, and many a fiery lake ; 
 
 And burning glaciers left their red moraines 
 Leagues out against the north in flaming drifts. 
 
 Strewn random far between the yawning rifts. 
 
 Where late had stood the Mount of Gold, arose 
 A range of granite peaks in dark array, 
 
 Uplifting to the sky their crowns of snows, 
 And bending northward, southward far away. 
 
68 THE BURNING RIVER. 
 
 No longer now the burning river flows : 
 It hath grown cold — a cold basaltic gray — 
 
 A plain of warping rocks with many a seam — 
 To mark the riftings of the lava stream. 
 
 Long ages now have past and brought their change 
 
 Upon the landscape ; and now rises high 
 Against the east, Sierra's Snowy Range 
 
 With summits bathing in the summer sky. 
 The Omec story is a wild and strange 
 
 And beautiful conceit, that passes by 
 As something wholly false. Be not deceived : 
 
 A thing may yet be true, though unbelieved. 
 
 Pass thou to east and south from Suisun 
 
 And cross the foothills spurring to the west, 
 And thou wilt find along the ridges strewn 
 
 A hard, volcanic rock, the crowning crest 
 Of promontories now, and many a dune 
 
 Of rocks in mighty drifts, with thickets dressed — 
 All this debris from out that ancient tide 
 
 Was scattered o'er the landscape far and wide. 
 
 Deep in the drifts of earth thou canst behold 
 
 The wealth of ancient days, where, torn away, 
 The Golden Mount has left its sands of gold 
 
 Strewn leagues along the south, where thickly lay 
 The rocks auriferous with wealth untold. 
 
 To rest until the rush of modern day 
 Shall delve into the depths, and turning o'er 
 
 The sands shall find the treasuries of yore. 
 
THE BURNING RIVER. 69 
 
 Yea, more. Thou yet canst trace the mighty bed 
 
 Of that vast river, fathoms deep and more. 
 The channel banks are filled with rubbish dead 
 
 And one might see them not, though passing o'er. 
 A thousand miles to northward was its head ; 
 
 It emptied toward the Nicaragua shore. 
 A stream sublime and grand in ancient years. 
 
 But now its ruined path alone appears. 
 
 But thou 'canst plainly trace the course of fire 
 
 That deluged o'er the channels of the tide ; 
 That rose with molten mountains higher and higher, 
 
 And overflowed the regions far and wide. 
 Thou canst behold it, too, how in their ire 
 
 Convulsions of the earth from side to side 
 Have rent the strata which the lava left 
 
 With many a rift and deep abysmal cleft. 
 
 Then strange and beautiful the Omec song 
 
 Which sang their ancient kingdom's overthrow. 
 That land where was no sin or thought of wrong, 
 
 Whose races knew not grief that others know, 
 Where all was happiness through ages long. 
 
 Till avarice brought down its flood of woe. 
 And all was sealed — the fair dominion's doom ; 
 
 And all was buried in a burning tomb. 
 
70 THE CONQUEST, 
 
 THE CONQUEST. 
 
 \ 17 HEN you were alone this even, 
 ^ ' Ada May, 
 
 Did you hear the soft winds whisper 
 
 In their play ? 
 Did you hear them sighing, sighing, 
 O'er the withered roses lying 
 Where the butterflies were flying 
 All the day ? 
 
 Zephyrs worship you and love you 
 
 More and more. 
 As you pass, the flowers are bending 
 
 To adore. 
 Bluest blossoms bow before you. 
 Orange blossoms quiver o'er you. 
 Plead to kiss you and adore you 
 
 Evermore. 
 
 Truly you will not be cruel, 
 
 Ada May ? 
 You will let me hear you singing 
 
 Far away ? 
 You '11 not frown when I come nearer 
 So that I can hear you clearer. 
 If I 'm quiet, dear and dearer 
 
 Ada May? 
 
SANTA CRUZ. 71 
 
 Ah, I knew you would not chide me, 
 
 For you know 
 That I came to hear you singing 
 
 Soft and low. 
 And I came to sit beside you 
 Where the manzanitas hide you. 
 And the breezes sweetly chide you 
 
 As they blow. 
 
 Velvet fig-leaves cluster o'er us, 
 
 Ada May ; 
 Cute blue quails are peeping at us 
 
 In their play ; 
 And about us shadows shiver. 
 Blossoms o'er us quake and quiver 
 Like the sunlight on a river 
 
 Far away. 
 
 SANTA CRUZ. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 "T^ WAS a bright, bright morn, and the sea was 
 ^ bright, 
 
 And the winds were soft as a prayer. 
 From the tranquil harbor a sail of white 
 Stood out to sea, and glided light 
 To the south, like an uncaged bird of flight 
 As it breaks away from its prison night. 
 Till the sail of white like a fairy sprite 
 Was wafted along and passed from sight 
 
 On the wings of the balmy air. 
 
72 SANTA CRUZ. 
 
 The boat bore two who were blest supreme 
 
 In all that there is of bliss. 
 From the Shadow Land there came no dream 
 That woe would come ; and the morning's gleam 
 Was not more bright than the dream and theme 
 Of their thoughts and words, for they did not 
 
 deem 
 That things are never as they seem 
 
 In a world as false as this. 
 
 They were blest supreme — these loving two — 
 
 As they sailed from the City of Flowers 
 With hearts^so glad that no one knew 
 How glad they were. Then the sky was blue 
 High over them ; and the ocean's hue 
 Was heaven's mirror, clear and true : 
 But the hills their shadows seaward threw. 
 Gloom dark as the raven's wings that flew 
 O'er Jelead's ruined towers. 
 
 The boat swept south with bending mast, 
 
 For the winds were rising well. 
 The lighthouse tower from vision past. 
 And the winds swelled to a driving blast, 
 While the mists were gathering thick and fast 
 
 On Sierra De San Rafael. 
 
 From the southern sea the cliffs of gray 
 
 Arose, and the bark still bore 
 To the south. And the light of the autumn day 
 Grew dim, and the winds in fiercer play 
 Caught the silver sails, and dashed the spray ; 
 
SANTA CRUZ. 73 
 
 And the white caps rose ; and the mists away 
 In the south on the ocean thicker lay 
 And covered the Island Shore. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 'T was a dark, dark night, and the wild wind blew 
 O'er the rocks of the dreary islands ; 
 
 And over the reefs to leeward flew 
 
 The foam of the floods that were bursting through 
 
 The clefts in the cliffs where the cactus grew, 
 And the lightnings played on the highlands. 
 
 A voice was heard in the roar of the waves, 
 
 And then all but the storm was still. 
 Was it the whistling winds through the caves 
 Of the crags above, where the whirlwind raves ? 
 Or the cry of a startled bird that braves 
 The depths of the night as it blindly laves 
 The dark in its flight to the hill ? 
 
 The fisherman listened, but could not tell, 
 
 For he heard the voice no more. 
 But the roaring tempest grew more fell 
 With a rage that naught of earth could quell. 
 With surge on surge and swell on swell 
 That burst o'er the rocks with a wild farewell, 
 
 As the fierce floods buried the shore. 
 
 *T was a dark, dark night, and the sea was dark, 
 
 And nothing but night was seen. 
 Till a flash of light — 't was a lightning spark 
 From a burning cloud — lit up the dark. 
 
74 SANTA CRUZ. 
 
 And the fisherman saw a stranded bark, 
 The cliffs and reefs between. 
 
 And he saw there two who were floating away 
 
 On the crest of a sweejjing wave. 
 They were young — these two — and they had been 
 
 gay 
 
 When the morning broke of that fatal day ; 
 But 't was over now ; and the driving spray 
 Was flung on high against the gray 
 
 Of the rocks where the tempests rave. 
 
 And the fisherman saw as the vivid streak 
 
 Of the lightning flashed under a cloud, 
 They were dead — these two — for they did not 
 
 speak, 
 And their lips moved not, as cheek to cheek 
 In a last embrace that death made weak. 
 They drifted off ; and the wind blew bleak 
 On the face of her who was mild and meek. 
 And in his who was brave and proud. 
 
 And then all was dark, and all was o'er 
 On the coast where the tempest strews 
 
 The wreck of storms ; and the billows roar 
 
 On the rocks and reefs that guard the shore ; 
 
 And the gray cliffs rise, and the white birds soar ; 
 
 And the floods through rifted headlands pour, 
 
 And the dark mists hover evermore 
 Round the Isle of Santa Cruz. 
 
A VERNAL. 75 
 
 AVERNAL. 
 
 'T^ WAS midnight in the Pass of Avernal, 
 
 ■■• And o'er the lifeless hills the moonlight fell 
 In deathly pallor, like it were afraid, 
 And at each shadow seemed to hesitate 
 As though it fancied ghosts were lurking there. 
 
 'T was midnight ; and aweary I lay down 
 Among the rocks to sleep ; my bed the sand 
 Whereon the sun the livelong summer day 
 Had poured his fiery anger ; and at night 
 The hot winds from Tejon came like a plague. 
 
 'T was night. But from my eminence I saw 
 And traced the canon's tortuous course afar, 
 Marked by the few dwarfed cottonwoods that grew 
 Along the yawning brink, where we had sought 
 Since evenfall for water, but in vain. 
 Still further in the east a plain outspread, 
 Scarce visible, and vague, and seemed to reach 
 Beyond the world and out through boundless space. 
 I turned and looked to westward through the night. 
 The moonlight shone more brightly far adown 
 That landscape, sloping off to meet the sea, 
 Where in soft silence and serene repose 
 Slept in their beauty the Obispo hills 
 
76 A VERNAL. 
 
 Low bordering on the river brook Estrelle. 
 
 I was between the desert and the land 
 
 Of summer blown. To east were wastes of dust, 
 
 And solitudes ; to west were verdant hills. 
 
 To left and right the mountains pierced the sky. 
 
 Fierce peaks uplooming there like mighty spires 
 
 Half burnt by conflagrations, and in ruin, 
 
 Seen through the smoke and mist that hovered still, 
 
 Were scathed and cindered by a million storms 
 
 Of fire and whirlwind, like the Tishbite saw 
 
 On Horeb ******** 
 
 I could have slept had there not come to me 
 
 The memory of a legend I had heard 
 
 The miners tell one night beside their fire. 
 
 'T was of the Pass of Avernal, and how 
 
 A bandit's beauteous bride once perished here. 
 
 A rose may love tornadoes to its death 
 And ruin. Even so it was with her. 
 She loved, she truly loved, but 't was unwise 
 To love at all, a man like him. Her love 
 Was that of a true woman — rash perhaps ; 
 But still devotion all, and faithful. Such, 
 The poet sings, as vines that twine around 
 The oak, clinging for aid and strength and life, 
 And in return bestov/ing love and trust. 
 Like such a vine she clung to him. But oaks 
 Must fall ; and sad if in their overthrow 
 They carry down to ruin tender vines 
 And all together perish on the earth. 
 
A VERNAL. yy 
 
 The bandit won her by a stratagem. 
 
 She thought she knew him, but his crimes were hid 
 
 And all his desperate career he kept 
 
 A secret from her ; and she looked on him 
 
 As one whom woman's heart should trust and love 
 
 Through sunshine and through shadows, calm and 
 
 storm. 
 Poor erring girl ! Had heaven angels none 
 That none were sent to whisper, "Be aware ! " 
 And save her ere it was too late to save ? 
 
 She loved the noble man — as such she thought him — 
 Who rode adown the valley near the door 
 Of her own home beneath the linden trees 
 That waved along the plains of San Jose ; 
 And she was wedded to him. 
 
 Swift there came 
 A change across the spirit of her dream. 
 Her lover was an outlaw from the south, 
 Flying from justice ; and pursuit came fast, 
 Till with one sunset from her wedding day, 
 She saw him disappear in desperate flight, 
 To save himself, among the southern hills. 
 She sought him — true to love, but false to life — 
 And found him far among the barren lands, 
 Concealed in the deep Pass of Avernal. 
 
 He told her of his ruin — truth too late — 
 And begged her to return to her own home, 
 Nor think, nor speak, nor dream again of him 
 
78 A VERNAL. 
 
 Who was unworthy of her trust and love. 
 But no. She would not leave him. Nevermore 
 Be separated from him, but would love him 
 Till, death should come, and after that — forever. 
 
 Death came full soon. That night a clang of hoofs 
 
 Rang out upon the air ; and for his life 
 
 The bandit fled the rocks among, for life 
 
 O'er barren hills, across the desert plains 
 
 That stretched dead wastes toward Wild Flower 
 
 and Le Moore. 
 He came no more. Among the groves that face 
 The Idria Hills, where oaks with giant limbs 
 Swayed in the wind and brushed the marshy earth, 
 That night in combat desperate he fell, 
 O'ertaken and o'erpowered by pursuers. 
 
 Through all that long and dreary, dreary night 
 His bride looked for his coming, but there came 
 No one to breathe her name. 'T was silence all. 
 The hot winds from Tejon blew on till morn ; 
 But he came not. All day she watched and waited. 
 Her blue eyes sought his coming, but in vain. 
 The bleak, parched desert stretched before her far, 
 All desolate and lifeless. On her face 
 The look of deep anxiety grew deeper 
 With fall of eventide ; and night came down 
 With mercy none and pity none for her. 
 
 When morning dawned, she lay as one who slept, 
 But she was dead. Her sweet and palid face 
 
THE BOURNE. 79 
 
 In silence rested on the snow white sands, 
 Not whiter than her brow ; and her blue eyes 
 Were closed forever. 
 
 In the Avernal 
 *T was midnight, and I watched the starlit hills 
 That rose in vagueness round me, and to me 
 My memory whispered of the bandit's bride ; 
 While my companions near me slumbered on 
 And all unconscious dreamed the night away. 
 
 THE BOURNE. 
 
 /^N a far-off shore where the light is bright, 
 ^-^ And as calm as a seraph's prayer, 
 Where the soft dews cluster on lilies white, 
 Serene and still in the silent night, 
 Is the home of Mabel Saint Clair. 
 
 'Tis a sunny shore and a crystal strand, 
 
 And the river softly flows. 
 Where the waves are washing the silver sand 
 And the blooming groves afar expand — 
 As are seen in the dreams of fairyland 
 
 Which none but the dreamer knows. 
 
 'T is a beautiful bourne, that far away shore ; 
 
 And again I seem to be there, 
 Where the cold of the winter days is o'er. 
 And the storms and tempests cease to roar, 
 And the flowers are blooming evermore 
 
 By the home of Mabel Saint Clair. 
 
8o THE PHANTOM LAKE. 
 
 THE PHANTOM LAKE. 
 
 O AN DIEGO'S fiery desert stretching westward 
 
 ^ from the strand 
 
 Of that silent, deathlike river bordering on the 
 
 burning sand — 
 River like that Stygian river sung in songs of 
 
 mythic eld, 
 Separating bournes of beauty from the realms that 
 
 darkness held — 
 San Diego's desert stretches westward from that 
 
 river tide, 
 Reaching in its desolation out in ruin, waste and 
 
 wide. 
 
 To that desert cometh never zephyr laden with the 
 
 bloom 
 Of San Bernardino's gardens out beyond the hills of 
 
 gloom. 
 Summer winds that softly whisper through the 
 
 blossoms of the trees, 
 Waving in eternal freshness over all Los Angeles, 
 Come not there ; but every tempest is a furnace 
 
 and a fire. 
 Withering, scorching, scathing, burning, racked 
 
 with vengeance and with ire. 
 
THE PHANTOM LAKE. 8 1 
 
 They who wander through that desert see a lake 
 
 outspreading fair, 
 Beautiful and placid, resting like a cloud upon the 
 
 air; 
 And along its shores of silver waves are washing 
 
 o'er the sand, 
 Gently as the sunlit ripplings play on Titicaca's 
 
 strand ; 
 And beside the crystal waters, bending gracefully 
 
 and low. 
 Forest-arbors of green cedars wave in silence to 
 
 and fro. 
 
 Far away in cloudless distance snowy peaks of 
 mountains rise 
 
 From the dulness of the desert 'gainst the azure of 
 the skies ; 
 
 While the sunlight flashes, dazzles from the crests 
 of spotless white, 
 
 Burnishing with shining silver every pinnacle of 
 light, 
 
 And transforming and translating into fineness 
 ■* every form, 
 
 Touching with a quietness the sweeping of the dis- 
 tant storm. 
 
 In the phantom lake the pictures of the snowy 
 mountains rest, 
 
 Every rock and crag and summit in translucent 
 beauty dressed. 
 
 He who looks at it believes not that 't is all delu- 
 sive show, 
 
82 THE PHANl^OM LAKE. 
 
 That there is no lake to limn the distant mountains 
 
 clad in snow ; 
 That *t is all mirage, and cruel ; that the trees and 
 
 tide and strand 
 Are but phantoms false and fleeting, hanging o'er 
 
 the shimmering sand. 
 And if but a cloud of summer shade it from the 
 
 noonday gleam. 
 Lake, and waves, and trees, and mountains fade 
 
 and vanish like a dream. 
 
 But the one who sees believes not that 't will fade ; 
 
 and o'er the waste 
 Of the landscape on he presses, on in useless, 
 
 hopeless haste, 
 To be first upon the margin of the lake, beneath 
 
 the trees, — 
 There to bathe his burning temples in the freshness 
 
 of the breeze. 
 Which he knows must ever wander over such a 
 
 verdant shore, 
 Blowing blandly where the flowers blush and 
 
 bloom forevermore. 
 
 Wanderer, better turn forever from the phantom 
 
 trees and strand ! 
 Turn ! The false mirage is looming o'er the lone 
 
 and lurid land ! 
 Better turn thee to the mountains ; nor look back, 
 
 nor think, nor grieve 
 For the beauty that allured thee — it will vanish ere 
 
 the eve r 
 
THE PHANTOM LAKE. 83 
 
 Fade away and leave thee seeking, leave thee wan- 
 dering on in vain, 
 
 Leave thee crushed with disappointment on the 
 drear and voiceless plain. 
 
 But the one who saw believed not ; and he has- 
 tened through the gleam 
 
 Toward the Armidian Garden, like a deep en- 
 chanted dream. 
 
 But it fled before his coming, seemed as far as at 
 the first. 
 
 Flying still, he still pursuing where none other ever 
 durst, — 
 
 Deep into the dying desert, far where never human 
 tread 
 
 Had the way before him measured, where creation 
 slumbered dead. 
 
 Then the sun, with plunge of madness, rushed 
 
 adown the burning west, 
 And the wanderer looked about him for the fields 
 
 in summer dressed. 
 All were gone. The lake had vanished. Round 
 
 about him naught was left 
 Save the parched and lurid landscape, shrivelled, 
 
 rent with rift and cleft 
 By the withering winds for ages — dunes of dust 
 
 and driven drifts 
 From horizon to horizon, where the snowy moun- 
 tain lifts 
 Up aloft its mocking boldness, looking down with 
 
 sullen scorn 
 
84 THE PHANTOM LAKE. 
 
 On the desert where the Phantom Lake had hovered 
 at the morn. 
 
 So I found it. Thou wilt find it when thou turnest 
 to the west 
 
 From the weariness of Yuma, on the promontory- 
 crest. 
 
 Thou wilt find it so ; and dreary will the waste be- 
 fore thee run 
 
 Down the burning desolation, in the anger of the 
 sun. 
 
 Thou wilt feel a vague oppression weighing on thee 
 like a dream 
 
 Of the heavy midnight sadness. Thou wilt feel a 
 sadder theme 
 
 Steal across thy musings dimly, when thou look on 
 nature dead — 
 
 Beauty passed away forever, desolation left instead. 
 
 But speak not, for it were idle that the world should 
 ever know 
 
 What thou feelest in thy sadness — it hath scorned 
 thee long ago. 
 
 It is idle thus to liken all the desert and the shore, 
 
 Whence the pride and hope and promise have de- 
 parted evermore. 
 
 And where now the false mirages loom their bright- 
 ness for awhile 
 
 Only to delude thee, crush thee, mock thee, scorn 
 thee, and beguile, — 
 
 Then to vanish in the shadows, harbingers of com- 
 ing night, 
 
THE PHANTOM LAKE. 8$ 
 
 And to curse thee with the phantom of a beautiful 
 
 delight — 
 'T is in vain that thou shouldst liken all of this to 
 
 blighted life, 
 With its promises in ruins, nothing left but bitter 
 
 strife ; 
 With its fondest hopes derided ; all that it had ever 
 
 known 
 Trampled down to degradation ere the happy- 
 dream hath flown — 
 Dream remaining ! All departed save alone the 
 
 fatal part, 
 (False but beautiful) the fancies of a sympathizing 
 
 heart. 
 
 Say not that the false mirages hovering o'er the 
 
 desert dead 
 Are the same as dreams that hover over life when 
 
 hope has fled — 
 Coming softly, gently stealing, coming whence none 
 
 ever know. 
 Resting in their silent beauty o'er the ruin and the 
 
 woe. 
 Dreams are but the dim mirages rising 'bove a 
 
 stranded soul, 
 Fleeting fair in their concealing of the far and 
 
 stormy goal. 
 They are but a borrowed brightness, the, mirages 
 
 and the dreams — 
 They are paintings on the shadows, drapery of 
 
 sadder themes. 
 
86 THE PHANTOM LAKE. 
 
 The mirages hide the desert with its dreariness of 
 
 death ; 
 Dreams conceal that deeper sorrow word of mortal 
 
 never saith. 
 
 Bat why thus forever liken all that nature hath of 
 
 gloom 
 To the gloom of souls despairing when have faded 
 
 every bloom 
 From our destiny and passions ? Let it pass, and 
 
 think no more 
 Of the solitude of deserts that mirages hover o'er. 
 Brush from memory every vestige of the bliss of 
 
 earlier days, 
 For remembrance is a sorrow to bewilder and to 
 
 craze ; 
 And the mind is but bewildered that will brood on 
 
 what is past, 
 When instead of consolation desperation comes at 
 
 last. 
 At the best 't is nothing better than to stand among 
 
 the snows. 
 Thinking of the dead volcano resting now from 
 
 burning throes ; 
 At thy feet the icy crater, stilled forever now, and 
 
 cold. 
 Where the fires of ancient ages in their mighty bil- 
 lows rolled. 
 Calmed at last is all the tempest, all the fervor and 
 
 the fire ; 
 Calmed at last the heart's emotion, all its passion 
 
 and desire. 
 
THE PHANTOM LAKE, 8/ 
 
 Calmed the tumult and the surging of the seas of 
 molten flame ; 
 
 Calmed the spirit's grief and anguish, sorrow and 
 submissive shame. 
 
 Snows are resting where the burning summits held 
 their ancient reign ; 
 
 In the heart is winter coldness — better ice than 
 burning pain. 
 
 Better coldness than the fever of the passion and 
 the thirst ; 
 
 Better not to be than, being, live to feel thyself 
 accurst. 
 
 Better death beyond the power of the resurrection 
 light, 
 
 Than existence, though eternal, in the depths of 
 endless night ; 
 
 Better solitude and silence, deep and nevermore to 
 break, 
 
 Than the gibbering of spectres when from dream- 
 ing we awake. 
 
 Cost of peace thou shouldst not reckon. It is bet- 
 ter to be free 
 
 At the cost of conscious being, than in servitude 
 to be. 
 
 Brush away the spectre phantoms, the delusions 
 
 brush away ; 
 Let the desert, dead and dreary, meet again the 
 
 light of day. 
 Brush away the idle dreaming that conceals thy 
 
 deeper life. 
 
88 THE PHANTOM LAKE, 
 
 Face to face confront the ages in their tumult and 
 
 their strife. 
 Hurl thy vengeance on oppression, tear away the 
 
 fetter chains, 
 Bring to life the withered flowers dying on the 
 
 desert plains ; 
 Cool the fever of thy passions, quench the hidden 
 
 smouldering fire 
 That hath made thy deep existence, thy emotions* 
 
 funeral pyre. 
 Strike the fools and phantom devils that will noth- 
 ing do but curse 
 And proclaim thy love a failure — hell containeth 
 
 nothing worse, — 
 Strike them in the face, and turning, leave the 
 
 dark and downward way, 
 And upon the higher summits seek the light of 
 
 brighter day ; 
 Then below thee and beneath thee look on mys- 
 tery and gloom. 
 And about thee and above thee look on fields of 
 
 fadeless bloom. 
 In the dark and depths beneath thee, the mirage 
 
 thou canst behold ; 
 But it looms above the falseness and the shadows 
 
 of the old — 
 While about thee and above thee all is beautiful 
 
 and new, 
 Nothing false and nothing fading, all reality and true. 
 Then rebel against the shadows, and in life be 
 
 something more 
 Than a shadow 'mong the shadows on a silent 
 
 shadow shore. 
 
CALIFORNIA, 89 
 
 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 PAIR western realm that borders on the sea, 
 •'■ Kissed by the sun's last ray at eventide, 
 Full many a true, true heart has beat for thee, 
 Adored and loved thee with devoted pride. 
 
 I too, although a stranger on thy shore, 
 Would claim thee for a season as my own ; 
 
 Thou dreamlike country, radiant evermore. 
 No sun on fairer land has ever shone. 
 
 And I have loved thy valleys calm and still ; 
 
 I 've roamed at random o'er thy boundless plains ; 
 I *ve lingered long on many and many a hill. 
 
 Where nature sleeps in peace and silence reigns. 
 
 Thy snow-white mountains rising to the sky 
 
 Have thronged my spirit with submissive dread. 
 
 Thrilled with the panorama wild and high, 
 Among creation's tombs of mighty dead. 
 
 And I have rested, there above the clouds. 
 On rocky crags wrapped in eternal snow, 
 
 While mists like sailing ships with silver shrouds 
 Swept white and wonderful afar below. 
 
90 
 
 THE SEA-GIRT ISLE. 
 
 I 've loved thy storms at times ; for in the hour 
 Of tempests and tornadoes I can feel 
 
 A grandeur in the gloom of darkest power, 
 
 When thoughts rush forth too mighty to conceal. 
 
 Then, land of rapture, fairer and more bright 
 Than other realms of earth, I came to thee, 
 
 And loved thee, left thee, but thy summer light 
 Will beam in splendor evermore for me. 
 
 THE SEA-GIRT ISLE. 
 
 T^HE night was beautiful. No dream so calm 
 ^ And tranquil ever soothed with balmy breath 
 The soul that sinks in sleep when toil is o'er. 
 
 I stood alone on that volcanic isle. 
 'T was like a vision round me everywhere — 
 Beneath my feet the scoria and burnt rocks 
 Were cindered crisp, the skeleton of fires 
 Whose wrath had ceased its raging long ago. 
 
 The cliffs above me hung with saffron bloom 
 Of cactus tropical ; and deathless plants 
 Clung blossoming from every niche and shelf 
 Of fire-distorted crags, cold now and dead ; 
 And at my feet extended far the tides 
 That sweep forever o'er the wide Pacific. 
 
 The night was beautiful. A silence slept 
 Serenely over all the world of waves, 
 
THE SEA-GIRT ISLE. 9I 
 
 Save ever and anon the roar and moan 
 
 Of billows on the reef, or the wild cry 
 
 Of sea-birds screaming through the startled night ; 
 
 Or the hoarse howl and bay of ocean dogs 
 
 That swam from rock to rock. But all this passed 
 
 And came at intervals ; and night hung dull 
 
 About the island hills. 
 
 I was alone, 
 Save over me a dim-seen star or two, 
 The elements around me and beneath. 
 The low, sad moaning of the distant waves 
 Dashing remorseless on remorseless shores, 
 And, wrecked and broken, sobbing life away, 
 Seemed to me whispers of the human voice. 
 Recalling from the past, forgotten days. 
 And hours of happiness that are no more. 
 
 My memory flew away and lost itself 
 Amid the shades of springtime's blooming trees, 
 In realms not beat by oceans and rough waves. 
 She met me there. The eventime was still. 
 Her eyes surpassed in blueness all the skies 
 That arch the vernal vales of Guayaquil, 
 And rest enmirrored where the river rests. 
 She met me, knew me, smiled and passed away, 
 And waking as from dreams, I was again 
 Alone upon that sea-girt isle. 
 
 The voice 
 Of waves forgot the gentler themes, and mocked 
 At me, upbraided me with jeers and* scorn 
 
92 
 
 THE SEA-GIRT ISLE. 
 
 For being human, not inanimate. 
 
 The weakness of mankind was cast at me 
 
 With taunts and cold derision ; and the waves 
 
 That have no souls, and rave at forms that have, 
 
 Beat wilder still upon the sounding shores ; 
 
 And ghostlier still their hollow voices spoke. 
 
 I felt the truth of all their utterances — 
 
 What myriad millions of the human race, 
 
 Formed in the mold and likeness of their God, 
 
 Live like the soulless rocks beneath their feet. 
 
 They hear the thunder while the clouds are dark, 
 
 But in the calmness of the aftertime, 
 
 They reck not that more pure the air has grown. 
 
 No storms of noble passion ever sweep 
 
 Across their destiny to end in calm, 
 
 Through which the spirit's whisperings are heard : 
 
 " There 's nothing great on earth but victory ; 
 
 There 's nothing noble ever gained unsought ; 
 
 There 's nothing good that is not pure and true ; 
 
 There 's nothing pure and true but hope and love." 
 
 What millions of the race of men, to whom 
 
 Life is but living, and the world but earth, — 
 
 Nothing above and nothing more beyond ! 
 
 To them there is no deep sublimity 
 
 On earth, and in themselves is worse than none ! 
 
 They live, but care not that they live for aught ! 
 
 They will not hearken to the still, small voice 
 
 That is not in the whirlwind or the fire. 
 
 But comes in calmness after. The Hand Divine 
 
 In wide creation is through all its works 
 
 To them a mystery, a hidden book. 
 
THE SEA-GIRT ISLE, 93 
 
 The waves still sobbed and moaned beneath the 
 
 cliffs, 
 And all the night was beautiful to me. 
 I felt a gentleness by nature given 
 Come softly over me. My wayward thoughts 
 That had been wandering beyond the seas, 
 Came lightly back, unfraught by grief or care ; 
 And tempests that had tost me in their rage 
 Had passed away. The night was beautiful. 
 I laid me down beneath the laurelled rocks, 
 And heeded not the sea that roared and roared, — 
 And o'er me came the soothing rest of sleep, 
 And all was calmed and hushed at last. 
 
 When morning came, the sunshine kindly fell 
 O'er all the island coast, and gleamed across 
 A restless sea. The waves broke on the rocks. 
 And o'er them was a mist of milk-white spray, 
 And on its crest the fitful rainbows played. 
 The voice of chiding ceased to chide me now — 
 It seemed a token that I was forgiven 
 For all my restless waywardness. 
 
 The arch 
 Of seven hues danced in the shining spray. 
 That hid the wreck of waves beneath. The light 
 That breaks upon the storm-tost soul, so gleams 
 And hides the wrecks, and turns all rage to calm, 
 And builds in beauty from the shattered past, 
 And decks with rainbows where there once was 
 
 gloom, 
 That there is nothing left but peace on earth. 
 
94 THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF TULARE. 
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF TULARE. 
 
 O ANDS are ever drifting, drifting where Visalia's 
 
 ^ plain expands, 
 
 Like the snows of dreary winter in the Nova 
 
 Zembla lands ; 
 And mirages ever hover, vain phantasmagorial 
 
 dreams. 
 Gardens in the air, and rivers fed by bright and 
 
 crystal streams ; 
 Beauty clad in beauty's beauty painted on the 
 
 floating clouds, 
 Or upon the mists of morning resting like the 
 
 whitest shrouds. 
 
 In that land where sands are drifting, where mirages 
 e'er conceal 
 
 'Neath their false and fleeting phantoms every 
 feature lone and real ; 
 
 In that desert stands a ruin by the sands half- 
 covered o'er. 
 
 Long forsaken and forgotten — simoons round it 
 rave and roar, 
 
 Wailing o'er the desolation ; and a haze is in the 
 air. 
 
 And a solitude of shadows, hopeless, cheerless 
 everywhere. 
 
THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF TULARE. 95 
 
 Worn by years of storm and tempest, dingy stand 
 
 the walls and old, 
 Overgrown with desert ivy and with dry and husky 
 
 mold. 
 Latchless doors on creeking hinges swing unceasing 
 
 day and night. 
 As the wind through open gables rushes ruthless in 
 
 its flight. 
 Sash in warped and sunken windows rattles as the 
 
 storm goes by, 
 Hoarsely like the demons laughing when the world 
 
 was doomed to die. 
 
 Long ago, the story runneth, when the West was 
 
 wild and new, 
 'T was a wayside inn, and miners passing that dread 
 
 desert through 
 Found within these walls a welcome — weary at the 
 
 close of day, 
 With the lone and sultry journey and the perils of 
 
 the way. 
 Far and wide 't was known, and never turned a 
 
 traveller from its door, 
 Who had been denied a welcome in those far off 
 
 years of yore. 
 
 But the house is now forsaken, tottering ruins now 
 
 it stands ; 
 Tilted on its wrecked foundations, pelted by the 
 
 driven sands. 
 And the half-wild herdsmen passing by it in the 
 
 dead of night 
 
96 THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF TULARE, 
 
 Hear the crazy ceiling shaking, and they tremble 
 
 in their fright. 
 For they tell of voices moaning in the ruin of the 
 
 rooms, 
 Cries from the departed spirits wandering in the 
 
 shades and glooms. 
 
 Dark and fearful are the stories of the deeds that 
 
 there were done ; 
 Blacker crimes were ne'er enacted 'neath the shining 
 
 of the sun. 
 In the humid vaults are buried, underneath the 
 
 brick-laid floor, 
 Many a miner who in dying stained the robber's 
 
 knife with gore. 
 All is hidden and mysterious. None can tell or 
 
 e'er shall know 
 Who has perished at the midnight when the lamp 
 
 was burning low ; 
 Who at one fell blow has yielded unto death's chill 
 
 arms and cold ; 
 Who has plied the robber's dagger for the cursed 
 
 price of gold. 
 Who can tell, or who would listen ! Tongue the 
 
 truth will never say 
 Till the fierce avenging angel tells it on the judg- 
 ment day. 
 
 Miners tell among each other by their fires at even- 
 time, 
 
 How their friends and comrades perished in this 
 holocaust of crime. 
 
THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF TULARE, 97 
 
 Him they name who at the midnight felt a dagger 
 touch his face — 
 
 Leaped for life, and wildly — useless — fell uncon- 
 scious in his place ; 
 
 And of him who to his comrades cried for help, but 
 cried no more — 
 
 Rushed they to him in the darkness, found him 
 dying on the floor. 
 
 And they tell of many and many thus allured into 
 the den. 
 
 And no more among the living were they ever seen 
 again. 
 
 Then of her — and as they tell it, kindness calms the 
 
 miners brow, 
 For they love her as they loved her, and they know 
 
 she *s happier now, — 
 Then of her they tell the story, how she came from 
 
 far away 
 To her brother who was wasting with consumption's 
 
 slow decay. 
 In Kaweah's mines she ventured, and no dread or 
 
 fear she felt. 
 Seeking there her dying brother, and she at his pil- 
 low knelt 
 Till his eyes were closed forever, and had hushed 
 
 his fevered breath, 
 And she knew his pain was over and relief had 
 
 come in death. 
 Not a tear she shed above him as they laid him to 
 
 his rest 
 
98 THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF TULARE. 
 
 'Neath the branches of a cedar standing on the 
 
 mountain crest ; 
 Not a tear she shed above him, for she felt that 
 
 after life 
 Cometh peace, and calm, and resting from the long 
 
 and bitter strife. 
 
 Then to her own home departing passed she through 
 
 that desert lone, 
 Pausing oft to hear about her winds in sadness 
 
 sigh and moan — 
 Sighing 'mong the desert thistles, moaning round 
 
 the drifts of sand 
 Heaped at random down the vista of the dread and 
 
 dreary land. 
 In the distance, twilight deepening, rose Tulare's 
 
 House in view 
 And before the open doorway soon her horse's rein 
 
 she drew. 
 
 'T was a night of dread and darkness. Oh the 
 gloom and the despair ! 
 
 Heaven, in thy mercy shield her, save her from 
 the villain's lair ! 
 
 Why, if not a sparrow falleth to be left alone to 
 die, 
 
 Why was she unspared, forsaken, when the mid- 
 night hurried by ? 
 
 Why? In vain. That night she perished — mur- 
 dered and no hand to save ; 
 
 And the black lamp's ghostly gleaming fell upon 
 her midnight grave. 
 
THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF TULARE, 99 
 
 In the desert still is standing, yet more dreary than 
 
 of yore, 
 What remains of that old haunted pile on Lake 
 
 Tulare's shore. 
 And the herdsmen in the darkness see it and they 
 
 feel afraid, 
 Seeing dark and dusky spirits flit and glide from 
 
 shade to shade ; 
 Hearing spectres hoarsely laughing at some kindred 
 
 phantom stark ; 
 Hearing spirits crying, shrieking to each other in 
 
 the dark ; 
 Hearing tread of heavy footfalls galloping from 
 
 room to room, 
 From the garret halls and downward to the hidden 
 
 vaults of gloom. 
 Then there comes a light, quick footstep, and a 
 
 sweet voice calling low, 
 And they say 't is hers who perished — murdered in 
 
 that night of woe. 
 Then the herdsmen feel a pity as they spur their 
 
 steeds away 
 From the walls, and leave them standing in their 
 
 shadows and decay. 
 And the tempest still is beating with unceasing hate 
 
 and rage. 
 While the Haunted House is slowly crumbling 
 
 *neath the hand of age. 
 Through the air is fiercely driven sand like winter's 
 
 sleet and rain, 
 And a fearful desolution hovers o'er Tulare's 
 
 plain. 
 
lOO EL REFUJIO, 
 
 EL REFUJIO. 
 
 pAR on the coast of a summer-mild ocean, 
 * Dreary and lonely away in the West, 
 Murmur the billows in endless commotion, — 
 Softly the vespers are whispered to rest. 
 
 Peaceful forever the sunshine is beaming. 
 
 Beautiful in a resplendent repose, 
 Mystical, hovering like visions and dreaming 
 
 Over the weary who rest from their woes. 
 
 Balmy and calm was the morning, and tender 
 
 Wandered the brightness o'er ocean and shore — \ 
 
 Flashed the wild sea with its trailing of splendor j 
 
 Landward and tideward with musical roar. j 
 
 All, all alone there 's a grave by a river, : 
 
 Near to the sea, but the name is untold ; 
 O'er it the leaves of the cottonwoods quiver, 
 
 Round it are blossoms like silver and gold. 
 
 i 
 
 Loving and low in their idyls of mildness 1 
 
 Breezes are playing there all the day long, | 
 
 Coming afar o'er the sea in its wildness. 
 
 Bearing perfumes like the music of song. \ 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 1 
 
EL REFUJIO. lOI 
 
 " Tell me the story, my fancy, the story. 
 Tell me," I said, " is there nothing to tell ? 
 
 Nothing that 's lowly, or nothing of glory. 
 Nothing of sadness, or nothing that 's well ? " 
 
 Silent is all, and there is no replying, 
 
 Silent is all as the silence of death ; 
 Nothing to answer me, asking, but sighing 
 
 Sadly of winds like the pulse of a breath. 
 
 Ah, but thou silence ! Thou can'st not deceive me. 
 
 Never ! For thinkest thou nothing is said 
 In the deep stillness ? Believe me, believe me, 
 
 Deep are the words of the silent and dead. 
 
 Words that I know, though I hear not, for never 
 Was there a grave that was voiceless to teach — 
 
 Never, though questioned and questioned forever, 
 Hath there been idle or meaningless speech. 
 
 In the swift tumult of life we may hear not : 
 Hurried along, we may know not how near 
 
 Hands that are cold are about us — we fear not — 
 Life in its noonday hath nothing to fear. 
 
 But in the silence and stillness, a sadness 
 Steals in upon us and speaks to the soul 
 
 Words that destroy all our gayness and gladness, 
 Bearing us down to a shadowy goal. 
 
 Lingered I then by the summer-mild ocean, 
 Chafing against the lone shores of the West, 
 
I02 EL REFUJIO. 
 
 Chafing the rocks with its storm of emotion ; 
 Feelings of sadness came over my rest. 
 
 For, at my feet was the grave, where the lowly 
 Flowers were blossoming tender and fair ; 
 
 Fragrant and faint were the odors, and holy 
 Incense was cast to the wings of the air. 
 
 Nameless and wordless and voiceless, unbroken 
 Silence was there, save the moan of the sea 
 
 Mingled with whisper of winds ; but unspoken 
 Words had a language and meaning for me. 
 
 Know I full well that some trusting one sleepeth 
 Under the grasses and flowers, and low 
 
 Drooping the linden tree tenderly keepeth 
 Sentinel watch over blossoms of snow. 
 
 Sleeping is some one beneath the white flowers, 
 Well do I know, and I know she was fair, 
 
 Glad and as bright as the beautiful bowers 
 Bending above in forgetfulness there. 
 
 Fair — it is always the fairest that perish. 
 
 Lovely — 't is always the loveliest die. 
 Ever 't is those that we love most and cherish, 
 
 Worship the most, that the soonest pass by. 
 
 So it hath been in the past of my story : 
 They that I held as the fairest and best, 
 
 They that were pure as the angels of glory — 
 
 They were the first that were whispered to rest. 
 
THE EXILE'S LAMENT. I03 
 
 They were the first that the shadows came over, 
 Shadows of night at the dawn of the day — 
 
 Under the violet blossoms of clover 
 
 They that were dearest are silent for aye. 
 
 THE EXILE'S LAMENT.* 
 
 "CAR away o'er the mists of the solemn sea 
 -■■ I behold the hills in the sunlight glow, 
 And I know they are waiting to welcome me, 
 The ones that I loved in the long ago. 
 
 O bear me, wind, on your swift, swift wings, 
 To my home where the bright and crystal rills 
 
 From the rocks come down, and the valley rings 
 With echoes glad from a thousand hills. 
 
 I long to fly from my prison isle. 
 
 And to cross the waves of the dreary sea, 
 For I know that the flowers of the forest smile, 
 And are blooming and waiting to welcome me. 
 
 In the eve, I know when the sun is low 
 Its light with beauty the wild wood fills, 
 
 * They tell of an Indian woman who was left alone twenty 
 years on the island San Nicolas, in the Pacific Ocean, west from 
 San Diego. In 1883 I visited that group of islands, and from 
 the Italian fishermen learned the story of the exile. So far as 
 
 1 know it had never then been published ; but a writer has since 
 touched upon the subject in the Youth' s Companion, Boston, 
 These verses were published in 1883 in the Catholic Universe, 
 Cleveland, Ohio.— H. M. 
 
I04 THE EXILE'S LAMENT. 
 
 And the bright, bright beams in their grandeur glow- 
 On the crest of the San Diego Hills. 
 
 A voice says : '' Dead — for the years are long ! ** 
 Those whom I loved ? O it cannot be ! 
 
 For I know they are waiting with voices of song, 
 On the shore they are waiting to welcome me. 
 
 Remorseless tempests that mock me here, 
 And rave on the rocks of this desolate shore, 
 
 I can see my home o'er the waves appear — 
 O bear me away to my home once more ! 
 
 But the winds heed not, and their wings of breath 
 Sweep by like the shades of the midnight sweep, 
 
 And they laugh with a voice like the voice of death. 
 And deride and mock when I pray and weep. 
 
 I will not weep for the whirlwind's jeer ; 
 
 Far over the tide of the stormy sea 
 The hills of my childhood home appear. 
 
 And in beauty are waiting to welcome me. 
 
 Do the vines still cling to the oak that stood 
 ' By the crystal spring where the grass was green ? 
 Does the pathway lead through the waving wood, 
 Where the blue doves play in the shade and 
 sheen ? 
 
 Do the wild bees hum from flower to flower, 
 Those flowers that tremble with their love t 
 
 Do the faint winds kiss in the morning hour 
 The orange bloom from the plains above ? 
 
THE EXILE'S LAMENT. I05 
 
 Do my kindred sing as they used to sing 
 Where the wildwood shadows sombre lay, 
 
 When the sea was hushed like a dream of spring, 
 And a silence shrouded the summer day ? 
 
 the days are dreary and I long to go 
 
 Where the green trees wave by the sobbing sea — 
 They remember me yet, and they love me I know, 
 And I know they are waiting to welcome me. 
 
 The tireless tides of the wide domain 
 
 Pour over the beach, and the murmurs rise, 
 
 And I hear the low and the sad refrain. 
 The dirge of death as the billow dies. 
 
 And I look away where the hilltops glow 
 In the sun's bright light far over the tide ; 
 
 x\nd my home is there, and I feel and know 
 That loved ones wait on the other side. 
 
 Ye wandering winds on your watery way, 
 
 bear me along on your wild, wild wings 
 
 To that vernal vale where the young fawns play. 
 And the woodland all with a gladness rings. 
 
 Where the cliffs aloft from the ocean loom, 
 And guard the groves from the stormy main, 
 
 Where the saffron silk of the cactus bloom 
 Is tinged with red like a battle stain. 
 
 1 will heed not the jeers and the whirlwind's scorn, 
 
 1 will look o'er the waves of the stormy sea, 
 Where the far hills rest in the light of morn, 
 
 And loved ones are waiting to vrelcome me. 
 
I06 THE BLUE QUAIL, 
 
 THE BLUE QUAIL. 
 
 TT is a vernal and a peaceful scene, 
 
 ^ Where bloom the flowers and where wave the 
 
 trees 
 Forgetfully beside the blue Joaquin, 
 
 Rapt in the softness of the summer breeze. 
 The sunshine resting in its golden sheen 
 
 Is blended drowsily with hum of bees ; 
 And everywhere around and evermore 
 A dream of beauty hovers o'er the shore. 
 
 Beneath the trees a tiny blue quail played, 
 Or sat for hours and watched the river flow, 
 
 And saw its own quaint picture there portrayed 
 In the clear water mirrored deep below. 
 
 The quaking leaves above threw light and shade 
 Upon the stream that moved in stillness slow 
 
 Beneath the banks, where trailing mosses hung 
 
 To ancient oaks whose boughs seemed ever young. 
 
 But those who now may pause to sleep or rest 
 Beside that river, will no longer hear 
 
 The blue quail calling. Dead, the prairies west 
 Extend in solitude, and waste and drear. 
 
 The grove is now abloom, and verdure-dressed ; 
 But in it is no voice to greet or cheer. 
 
THE BLUE QUAIL. lO/ 
 
 'T is Still and lone, and one will strangely feel 
 A sadness like a memory o'er him steal. 
 
 I passed that way ; and from the summer heat, 
 Which on the plains like some vast furnace 
 glowed, 
 
 I sought the grove of trees, a cool retreat, 
 Beneath whose loveliness the river flowed 
 
 Without a murmur. Near beside my feet 
 
 There was a little grave, whereon there snowed 
 
 A shower of milk-white blossoms, settling soft 
 
 From vines that quivered in the trees aloft. 
 
 'T was nameless all — a grave without a name, 
 An untold history ; and I lingered there 
 
 To muse in fancy ; but no answer came 
 To all my questionings. And everywhere 
 
 About and o'er me it was all the same, 
 The same sad silence on the summer air, 
 
 And ere drew near the hours of eventide, 
 
 I took my way across the prairies wide. 
 
 Hard by the borders of Visalia's plains 
 
 That night with herdsmen I lay down to sleep ; 
 
 Oaks centuries old stood round like Druid fanes, 
 Above us vigil in the dark to keep ; 
 
 The earth my bed ; and there the clankless chains 
 Of weary limbs were lost in slumber deep ; 
 
 And memory, like a star's uncertain gleams, 
 
 Came to me then in visionary dreams. 
 
I08 THE BLUE QUAIL, 
 
 In the dull darkness of the plain I lay, 
 And heard the far-off cuckoos calling low. 
 
 The moon with beauty like the dawning day, 
 Uprose o'er Whitney's pinnacle of snow — 
 
 Rose softly up, and threw her beams in play 
 Athwart the moors, like tides of silver flow, 
 
 As poets say, along the golden sand 
 
 Which mark the boundaries of fairyland. 
 
 That night the herdsmen told me of the grave 
 Upon the margin of the calm Joaquin, 
 
 And told me truly what the legends gave 
 As story of that sadly vernal scene. 
 
 Where flowers about it ever bloom, and wave 
 Forevermore the trees in summer green ; 
 
 And glows in sunshine the glad river far, 
 
 Trailing the gleaming of the midnight star. 
 
 In other days — in other years — they said, 
 A herdsman's home was there, a dingy tent, 
 
 Among the trees. His flocks by day he led 
 At random o'er the plains, and stopt or went 
 
 Where pasturage was best. At night his head 
 Ne'er knew a pillow, save the earth which lent 
 
 Him solace from his toils. Before the dawn. 
 
 His sleep was done : he with his herds had gone. 
 
 He had an only child whose mother slept 
 In death beside the sea at Monterey ; 
 
 The orphan boy ne'er knew her name, except 
 His father sometimes told him, and would say 
 
THE BLUE QUAIL. IO9 
 
 That she had gone where plains are softly swept 
 
 By gentlest winds, and airs of summer play 
 On river banks all green with grass and bowers, 
 And prairies bright and beautiful with flowers. 
 
 The father tended o'er the plains his herds 
 And left the child alone the livelong day, 
 
 But came again at night with kindly words 
 To find him waiting in the twilight gray. 
 
 The last and latest of the evening birds 
 To rest among the trees had flown away, 
 
 But still the child his faithful watch would keep. 
 
 Nor, till his father came again, would sleep. 
 
 The days were long — the summer days are long 
 The whole long summer through. Alone the child 
 
 Played in the grove, or sang some childish song 
 While sitting dreamlike where the waters smiled 
 
 Deep in the river ; and he knew no wrong, 
 Or thought no wrong. Alfalfa blossoms wild 
 
 Shed fragrance on the winds that wandered there, 
 
 And filled the grove with incense everywhere. 
 
 He had no playmates, yet he wished for none. 
 
 He knew not what it was — had never known. 
 Scarce did he know that there was any one. 
 
 Except himself and father — they alone — 
 In all the world. The shadows and the sun. 
 
 The grove, the river, and the plains that shone 
 Shimmering with heat by day — these were the whole 
 That earth contained for him from pole to pole. 
 
no THE BLUE QUAIL. 
 
 Nor knew he loneliness. This was his home. 
 
 Each blade of grass was his. Each leaf he knew. 
 In farthest rambles he would only roam 
 
 Down to the borders where the willows grew 
 Along the bayou, and the waters gloam 
 
 More darkly underneath. He wandered through 
 Bright flowers to his waist from morn till night, 
 And all the world he knew, he held in sight. 
 
 One day he passed where he had never strayed, 
 Where dwarfed fantastic sycamores abound ; 
 
 Among the tangled grasses in the glade 
 A tiny blue quail almost dead he found. 
 
 Its foot was fast in grass with twining blade 
 
 That held it, wound around and round and round. 
 
 The trembling bird was weak with cold and fear. 
 
 And cried and fluttered, when the child drew near. 
 
 The small, slight thing soon lost its fear and fright, 
 And nestled closely in the child's fond arms. 
 
 With trust and tameness, as he held it tight, 
 As though to shield it from all loud alarms. 
 
 And thus he carried it with proud delight, 
 
 Where'er he went, and kept it safe from harms, 
 
 And held it kindly ; and erelong it grew 
 
 So tame that it a fear no longer knew. 
 
 W^here'er he played the quail was at his side ; 
 
 Where'er he wandered, it would wander too ; 
 It sang for him each eve and morningtide 
 
 With curious little voice that sounded through 
 
THE BLUE QUAIL, III 
 
 The grove but faintly, and in sweetness died 
 
 A little distance off, as echoes do ; 
 But, to that voice the child would listen long, 
 And oft was lulled to slumber by the song. 
 
 Then, as he slept, the cunning quail would cease 
 And cuddle closely by the child's warm face ; 
 
 And they together there would rest in peace. 
 Aweary both alike with many a race 
 
 O'er grassy banks, whose soft and flowery fleece 
 Was like a carpet wherein none could trace 
 
 The woof or texture — here the quail and child 
 
 Slept where alfileria blossomed wild. 
 
 The long, long summer-time passed like a dream 
 Above the child who had no other thought 
 
 But his blue quail. Together by the stream 
 Of Joaquin's river, they the shadows sought 
 
 That mingled with the sunlight's gentler gleam. 
 And forms of sheen and shade fantastic wrought 
 
 Upon the stillness of the river's breast 
 
 When low the sun was sinking toward the west. 
 
 If lost awhile from one another's sight. 
 
 While playing in the grove or on the shore, 
 
 The child would call ; and low, and faint, and light 
 The quail would answer, more, and more, and 
 more, 
 
 With voice of sweetness, piping soft and slight. 
 Till they had found each other. O'er and o'er 
 
 Each other they had lost and found again 
 
 Among the tangled grasses in the fen. 
 
112 THE BLUE QUAIL. 
 
 The day was bright and beauteous. Saddest day 
 Of all that ever were. The trusting child, 
 
 That knew no harm or danger, ran away 
 
 Where flowers on the shore were growing wild 
 
 O'er hollow banks — ah, fatal, fatal play — 
 
 The last — 't was done ! The flowers that had 
 beguiled 
 
 Hung o'er the river bank where waters deep 
 
 Turn in a sullen tide and backward sweep. 
 
 One step too far — one treacherous step — 't was o'er. 
 
 The child went down even as he picked the 
 flowers. 
 And sank beneath the flood to rise no more, 
 
 And all was still. Dark willow trees and bowers 
 Of gloomy shade a deeper silence wore 
 
 Than ever hung upon the midnight hours. 
 The river lone and merciless moved slow 
 With solemn awfulness and deathlike woe. 
 
 Then came the breeze of evening's gentle breath 
 Upon the stillness, stealing softly on 
 
 Across the grove like whisperings of death — 
 One pulselike wave that died — and it was gone ; 
 
 Like one who is forgetting what he saith, 
 
 Even as 't is said. Until the morrow's dawn, 
 
 'T was silence all ; no leaf or tendril stirred, 
 
 Nor wing nor voice of insect or of bird. 
 
 Upon the morrow in a lowly grave j 
 
 Near by the riverside the child was laid j 
 
THE BLUE QUAIL. II3 
 
 In rest eternal, where the willows wave 
 
 Above, and cast around a checkered shade. 
 
 The winds that wander there, in kindness lave 
 The quaking leaves that quiver as they fade 
 
 And wither in the wint^ of the year. 
 And rustle, falling slowly, sad and sere. 
 
 Beside the lowly grave no knee was bent 
 In humble imploration or in prayer ; 
 
 No ritual was read with pure intent 
 
 To waft a soul to realms beyond despair ; 
 
 No liturgy of light or love was lent 
 
 To break the stillness that was settled there. 
 
 The grave was made — 't was done and all was o'er, 
 
 The child was resting now forevermore. 
 
 What boots it when life's fitful dream is hushed 
 Beyond complaining, where our resting be ? 
 
 The heart bowed down with woe, oppressed and 
 crushed. 
 Will thank the hand that comes to set it free. 
 
 *T is doubly blest when phantom hopes are brushed 
 Aside forever ; though we bend the knee 
 
 While they are with us, and implore and pray 
 
 That rudely they shall not be torn away. 
 
 Twice blest among the voiceless, dreamless blest 
 Are they whose narrow house is closed forever 
 
 Against corroding care. In soothing rest 
 The veil is drawn to be uplifted never. 
 
 No grief shall e'er disturb the peaceful breast. 
 And nevermore shall faith and love dissever ; 
 
114 THE BLUE QUAIL, 
 
 But in that silence which now seemeth lone 
 The truest will be first to clasp its own. 
 
 The humblest grave that ever earthen sod 
 
 Grew green above, hath had more truth to teach 
 
 Of destiny and justice, man and God, 
 
 Than hath been told by all the human speech 
 
 Since earth began. Beneath our feet the clod 
 We tread upon, shall rise at last and preach 
 
 Truth more tremendous, and faith more sublime 
 
 Than man hath ever learned in flight of time. 
 
 The herdsman passed away to other plains 
 Beyond Mokelumne, and pitched again 
 
 His tent, pursuing still his life of gains 
 Among the roving bands of border men. 
 
 The summer brightness and the winter rains 
 
 Came on, and passed, and came. Yet now and 
 then 
 
 Would memory lead him back through pensive 
 hours 
 
 Unto a grave low hidden in the flowers. 
 
 Rough as he was, he never could forget 
 The gentler visions of his earlier years. 
 
 Thoughts from the past would gather o'er him yet, 
 And in those hours his eyes would fill with tears. 
 
 The past and future at the grave were met — 
 That bourne where mingle joys and hopes and 
 fears — 
 
 That place where memory weary and distressed 
 
 Returns in sadder hours to muse and rest. 
 
THE BLUE QUAIL. I15 
 
 But there was one that did not leave the tomb 
 Beside the river. Faithful to the end, 
 
 The tiny quail in sunshine and in gloom 
 
 Remained alone — poor true and trusting friend — 
 
 And lingered where the branches and the bloom 
 Above the lowly mound in silence bend 
 
 A canopy of leaves and drooping vines 
 
 Like those that cluster o'er the ancient shrines. 
 
 Perchance at times along the river side 
 A traveller his journey would pursue : 
 
 Aweary from the prairies drear and wide, 
 If he drew near for rest where willows grew. 
 
 He heard the blue quail calling, though denied 
 Was answer to the calling : still with true 
 
 And faithful purpose, it would call and call 
 
 From morning's early hours till evenfall. 
 
 No answer ever came. It did not know 
 
 How still in death and voiceless was the child. 
 
 It watched the river sweeping deep and slow. 
 And saw the flowers that yet were blooming 
 wild; 
 
 And called and waited — called with accents low. 
 And waited, waited, waited for the mild 
 
 And gentle answer that the child e'er gave — 
 
 Still called and waited by the silent grave. 
 
 The border ranchmen as they wandered by 
 With all their lowing herds oft lingered near 
 
 To listen to the low and plaintive cry 
 
 Which through the grove was rising soft and 
 clear. 
 
Il6 THE BLUE QUAIL. 
 
 The quail still called, but there was no reply, 
 
 Save where the river banks would echo drear, 
 Scarce heard, as when the voice of Orpheus pled 
 For lost Eurydice among the dead. 
 
 The summer and the autumn all the while 
 Were passing slowly day by day away ; 
 
 And winter frowning chased the summer smile 
 From all the landscape ; and each dawning day 
 
 Was drearer ; and along for many a mile 
 
 The plain extended, cheerless, cold, and gray, 
 
 And in the distance, far as sight could run. 
 
 The clouds and prairies bending, seemed as one. 
 
 The night was cold. A bitter, bitter blast 
 Of wind and rain was beating in the dark. 
 
 Torrent in chase of torrent hurried past. 
 
 Howling among the trees, whose branches stark 
 
 Rose bare and cold, determined to the last 
 
 To stand the storm, like some half-ruined bark 
 
 Braves still the oceans, though its very path 
 
 Is strewn with wrecks to mark the tempest's wrath. 
 
 The clouds were rushing low upon the earth, 
 And in dark billows sweeping through the air. 
 
 The night tornadoes howled with hideous mirth 
 Like demons in the regions of despair, 
 
 Rejoicing o'er some new destroyer's birth, 
 In whose wild carnivals they hoped to share. 
 
 The mists and darkness rolling through the gloom 
 
 Seemed bent to hurl creation to its tomb. 
 
THE BLUE QUAIL, 11/ 
 
 Without a sympathy for human kind, 
 
 Is nought sincere, or nothing truly great ? 
 
 Must nature's elements be undefined 
 Until with human and with human hate 
 
 They mingle, and a touch of mortal mind 
 Flows in the current, and the sad estate 
 
 Of ruined innocence be held in view, 
 
 With wreck, and wrack, and madness rushing 
 through ? 
 
 It hath been said, with greater truth than mine, 
 That not a sparrow shall be left to die 
 
 In all the world-wide wastes, but that divine 
 And pitying hands will shield it, and deny 
 
 It not in that sad hour relief benign, 
 And to its lowest pleadings make reply, 
 
 And gently shelter it from cruel blast 
 
 Until its ebbing life has ceased at last. 
 
 Thus it is said. Let us not rush our doubt 
 Into the face of truth. We may not know 
 
 Whereof we question, saying with a shout 
 Of exultation : '' It is always so ! 
 
 The strong are sheltered ; but in storms without 
 The weak are perishing, and none will go 
 
 To bear deliverance to them." Question not ; — 
 
 Believe ! Believe we must ! — we know not what ! 
 
 The morning dawned. The tempest had grown 
 still. 
 Its rage was over now. Its fury spent. 
 The sunshine softly came, like one whose will 
 
Il8 THE BLUE QUAIL. 
 
 Is love, and peace, and tenderness, and lent 
 To earthly forms for beauty's sake, until 
 
 There is no dream on earth but calm content 
 And rest forevermore, and truth, and love. 
 All blended with a radiance from above. 
 
 That morn a traveller passed ; and as he drew 
 His horse's rein, and listened for the call 
 
 Of the blue quail, as he was wont to do. 
 
 He heard the dawn-winds whisper — that was all. 
 
 The grove was silent, save that breezes blew 
 With faintest rustle where the flowers tall 
 
 Grew round the grave. There in the sunshine warm 
 
 The quail lay dead — had perished in the storm. 
 
 Such was the story as they told it me ; 
 
 A simple story, but with deeper part 
 Of undercurrent feeling than may be 
 
 In many another — nearer to the heart 
 That feels what blinded eyes can never see. 
 
 And throbs in nature, though acold to art — 
 Beats with a sympathy and love and trust 
 For all that 's true, though lowly as the dust. 
 
 Then, I had stood beside the grave, and felt 
 An awe come o'er me, though I did not know 
 
 The story then. But something solemn dwelt 
 About me — kin alike to love and woe. 
 
 Obeying this, the dreaming ancients knelt 
 Submissive down, millennials ago. 
 
 In adoration to an unseen mind 
 
 Of might and power, yet ever true and kind. 
 
THE BLUE QUAIL, 1 19 
 
 Hard by the margin of the calm Joaquin, 
 If e'er thou pass that way draw near and rest 
 
 Beneath the trees that wave their branches green, 
 And cast their shadows on the river's breast. 
 
 Enjoy the stillness of that sylvan scene. 
 
 And breathe the spirit of the glorious West, 
 
 And feel the sacredness that dwelleth there, 
 
 Rapt through the silence of the pulseless air. 
 
 Then turn away — but linger yet awhile ; 
 
 Ere close of day there still is ample time 
 To cross the sultry prairi-es many a mile 
 
 And reach Visalia's plains before the chime 
 Of vesper bells, where flocks the hours beguile, 
 
 And nature revels in her glorious clime. 
 Then linger yet awhile ; thou hast not seen 
 The grave beneath the bowers bending green. 
 
 Draw nearer yet, and feel the sacred trust 
 Thou oughtest to thyself — deny it not — 
 
 'T were better here to mingle with the dust 
 Than turn unfeeling from this hallowed spot. 
 
 'T were better not to be, than here to thrust 
 Thy better nature back to be forget, 
 
 And thou go forth into the world again. 
 
 The coldest clay of all the race of men. 
 
 Mark if thou wilt these flowers as white as snow. 
 That fall like snowflakes from the clinging vines, 
 
 And settle softly on the grave below, 
 
 Like wreathes and garlands which some loved 
 one twines 
 
I20 THE BLUE QUAIL. 
 
 For the cold brow of one who ne'er will know 
 
 \Vhat love is worth, or how the heart repines 
 When death has torn away the golden chain 
 And left all love on earth almost in vain. 
 
 Thou hast beheld. Now to thyself return — 
 
 Bring back thy thoughts and turn them on thy 
 soul. 
 
 Look through thy sympathies, and ask, and learn 
 Where drifts that heart of thine which has no goal 
 
 Of love to turn to ? Wrapped in fires that burn 
 Thy very nature out ! Is this the whole 
 
 Of thine existence ? Ask thyself, and stand 
 
 Before the bar — that doom's uplifted hand. 
 
 Shrink if the cry of guilty pierces thee. 
 
 Thou hast deserved it all, and more than all. 
 'T will teach thee truly what thy life shall be, 
 
 And rescue thee, perhaps, from fataler fall. 
 Build from this hour, and turn no more to see — 
 
 As thou hast done, exulting from the wall 
 Of thine ambition — others hurled with wrath 
 Down headlong as they climbed the upward path. 
 
 I stood beside that grave. It was no dream. 
 Though like a vision. Spectres seemed to rise 
 
 And stalk before the east ; and in the stream 
 Down memory's wasted past, I heard the cries 
 
 Which other days had hushed ; and through the 
 gleam 
 Of hope again, I heard the low replies : 
 
 " I love thee yet," and, " Thou wilt never know 
 
 How much I loved thee in the long ago." 
 
THE BLUE QUAIL. 121 
 
 I stood beside the grave, and memories came — 
 The grave awakens memories that sleep — 
 
 I stood beside the grave, and spoke a name, 
 And heard no answer from the silence deep. 
 
 But why complaining ? It will be the same 
 Forever. It is useless now to keep 
 
 Remembrance burning with unceasing fire 
 
 That sears until all sympathies expire. 
 
 I turned away, like one who fain would cling 
 To something dear, but which, alas, is lost. 
 
 I turned away ; and swift as eagle's wing 
 
 My charger bore me, and the plain was crossed. 
 
 O'er rocky bars I heard the steel hoofs ring. 
 
 And o'er low hills with whitest quartz embossed ; 
 
 Athwart the shimmering heat of desert sands 
 
 Where the mirage unveiled celestial lands. 
 
 And when came on the twilight gloaming-time, 
 
 I rested on El Rio Bravo's shore. 
 In front the white Sierras rose sublime, 
 
 Away to south the plain stretched evermore. 
 Anear me VA^elled a low and soothing chime 
 
 Of bells, where flocks were grazing pastures o'er. 
 'T was peaceful all, and I lay down to sleep 
 Where ancient oaks around their vigil keep. 
 
 The herdsmen told the story of the tomb 
 
 Beside the Joaquin River ; and the night 
 Seemed lone to me ; for through the shade and 
 gloom 
 
122 THE TWO SHIPS. 
 
 My thoughts went back like fancy in its flight 
 To other realms. Where mighty mountains loom 
 
 In five wild peaks, the moon poured o'er its light, 
 And silent beams were round me softly cast 
 Until in drowsiness I slept at last. 
 
 THE TWO SHIPS. 
 
 I linger here by the ocean shore. 
 
 'T is the eve of a dreamy summer day ; 
 And I hear the billows rush and roar 
 
 On the shingle strand of the misty bay. 
 
 The moan of waves from the broken sea 
 
 Comes like a sobbing voice of woe, 
 And brings a sadness over me, 
 
 Like a vain regret from the long ago. 
 
 Two ships are sailing over the tide — 
 One sails away, and one draws nigh ; 
 
 But both are sweeping with glorious pride, 
 Their white sails leaning against the sky. 
 
 Sweep on, proud ship, to the wide, wide sea ! 
 
 Proud ship, from the wide, wide sea, come home! 
 You bear no one who is dreaming of me, 
 
 And I am waiting for none that roam. 
 
 For none ? Then why am I waiting now 
 On the sullen ocean's sobbing shore 
 
THE TWO SHIPS. 1 23 
 
 Which chides me, and mocks me, and murmurs : 
 " Thou 
 Art waiting for one who will come no more." 
 
 So be it, then, if it must be so : 
 
 I am not waiting ; I have ceased to wait. 
 
 I will not cherish a theme of woe 
 
 That is chained upon me by iron fate. 
 
 The ship draws nearer and nearer the shore — 
 O the weary souls that will soon be home ! 
 
 Ah, some true heart beats more and more 
 As the ship plows proudly through the foam. 
 
 It flings into the air the spray 
 
 That glows with a thousand colors bright, 
 Where the evening sunbeams flash and play 
 
 In the splendor of their trailing light. 
 
 But what is that to me ? I feel 
 
 A merciless and proud disdain 
 For others, and their woe and weal, 
 
 And joy and sorrow, grief and pain ! 
 
 Why should I feel, when no one feels 
 
 Or cares for me, or hopes for me. 
 Or thinks of me ? My heart congeals 
 
 Like the changeless field of a frozen sea ! 
 
 And I gaze across the watery plain 
 Where the gloomy western oceans roll, 
 
 And my pulses throng with a high disdain, 
 Like a storm that rushes beyond control. 
 
124 ^^^ ^^<^ SHIPS. 
 
 The ship has touched the land at last — 
 
 Hands clasp glad hands and glad hearts beat. 
 
 Loved ones look back over dangers past, 
 
 And dear are the words that their lips repeat. 
 
 I sit aside and watch the throng, 
 
 And I see that some are so happy there 
 
 That their panting lives are borne along 
 On the tide of bliss like an angel's prayer. 
 
 Come, wanderer, home to her you love. 
 
 You have not learned the future yet. 
 The sun shines beautiful above, 
 
 But the night will come when the sun has set. 
 
 Be happy now. Thou dost not know — 
 
 Thou ne'er hast sailed in the midnight black 
 
 O'er waters strewn with wrecks of woe, 
 With not a star to lead thee back. 
 
 But let that pass. It is not for all 
 
 To know what some must know who kneel 
 
 To plead v/ith Heaven that there may fall 
 A sleep of rest till the heart can heal. 
 
 Must I be made the sport and jest 
 Of him whose shallow life is wound 
 
 About a shallower soul, and drest 
 
 For outward show, and naught profound ? 
 
 Of this no more ! The summer 's past. 
 
 My memory bringeth back in chains 
 What should be free. The die is cast — 
 
 I will forget, though the world disdains ! 
 
THE TWO SHIPS. 1 25 
 
 Should I to a sinking wreck thus cling 
 When I know destruction is the end ? 
 
 No ! I will every memory fling 
 
 To the four wild winds, and the fetters rend 
 
 From off my life, that bind me fast, 
 And smother me, and press, and crush 
 
 Me down beneath the ruined past. 
 
 Beneath the waves that rave and rush ! 
 
 But soft ! 'T is useless thus to rave 
 
 Against the hardness of my fate. 
 *T is vain for me to rashly brave 
 
 Predestined anarchy and hate. 
 
 *T is vain for me to stem the tide 
 
 Which has no coast, or strand, or shore ; 
 
 *T is vain to battle fate with pride — 
 Pride will go down forevermore. 
 
 A stranded wreck has left me lone, 
 
 And has taught my heart to be as steel, 
 
 And to look on grief as it looks on stone, 
 Yet to feel as none other can ever feel. 
 
 But where is the ship from the wide, wide sea ? 
 
 'T is here. And the one that sailed away 
 From the silent land, from the shore and me. 
 
 Is fading now in the dull mist's gray. 
 
 Across the waves my eyes pursue. 
 
 And the storm within my soul is hushed. 
 
 I can feel the breath of something true — 
 Live yet unfettered and uncrushed. 
 
126 THE TWO SHIPS, 
 
 Again calm recollections rise, 
 
 And a soothing rest comes over me 
 
 As I look away to the western skies 
 Where the ship is passing out to sea. 
 
 Ah, I cannot know, what true heart now 
 Sails with that ship away, and turns 
 
 Back toward the shore. Her marble brow 
 Is white and fair ; but her longing yearns, 
 
 Perhaps, for one whose last adieu 
 
 Was said beside me, though unheard ; 
 
 Who promised love forever true. 
 
 With a trust on every whispered word. 
 
 The ship sails on with a regal pride, 
 
 And plows the waves from crest to crest. 
 
 And slowly sinks beneath the tide 
 That bends away in the golden west. 
 
 I 'm left alone. The gleaming^waves 
 Roll far away with crests of light ; 
 
 And the warm, soft south wind gently laves 
 The strand that stretches far and white. 
 
 Mild evening hour ! But lone and drear 
 
 To me ; for I remember yet 
 One falser than a dream — but dear — 
 
 Whom I will not love — cannot forget. 
 
 Is the brain run wild that asks for nought 
 But to be forgotten and left alone ? 
 
 That feels what others have never thought. 
 And flies whence others have never flown ? 
 
THE TWO SHIPS. 12/ 
 
 The future — were it mortal sin 
 
 To set one's faith on the coming years ? 
 
 To turn away from the uiight have been 
 To the neer will be^ that bourne of tears ? 
 
 Is there a sleep that no more will break, 
 Which dims the eyes while the brain throbs still ? 
 
 And are there dreams that rise, and take 
 The reins, and lash and drive the will ? 
 
 Am I thus dulled, and drugged, and driven — 
 
 A dreamer on a phantom shore ? 
 Is that low, sad whisper, " unforgiven ! " 
 
 My chiding fancy, nothing more ? 
 
 Ah, be it so. I hope 't is so. 
 
 I hope no waking e'er will be 
 Prom out that slumbering long ago, 
 
 For what is past is naught to me. 
 
 Ir is nothing to me, proud ship, sail on. 
 
 What matter if some look back with tears, 
 And plead for the days now past and gone, 
 
 And turn and shrink from the coming years ? 
 
 *T is the fate of all. Then why lament ? 
 
 Why cherish still, and dream, and yearn 
 For the past ? It hath at best but lent 
 
 The fagot torch to sear and burn 
 
 The fondest hopes and the dearest themes 
 Which thou wouldst cling to evermore ; 
 
 And it tears away the fairy dreams 
 
 Which were thine idols in years of yore. 
 
128 THE MOANING ROCK, 
 
 I will not remember ! I will turn mine eyes 
 From the mocking waste of the desert sea. 
 
 I will forget, though my spirit cries 
 
 To her who will never come back to me. 
 
 THE MOANING ROCK. \ 
 
 TUST where Los Critas meets the sea ■ 
 
 ^ From Gaviota Pass, ( 
 
 I rested in the morning hours \, 
 
 On turf of ocean grass. i 
 
 Then wild and high against the sky \ 
 
 The mountain summits hung, \ 
 
 Above the roar along the shore 
 
 Where surf a-land was flung. ] 
 
 The mountain cleft, from top to base. 
 
 Asunder yawned, and through 
 The dark abyss Los Critas flowed 
 
 To meet the ocean blue. 
 
 This was the Gaviota Pass, 
 
 As deep and dread as death, 
 Where winds distil their dews, and chill 
 
 The rocks with humid breath. 
 
 A path like which the Mantuan Bard 
 
 Sung led from earth below 
 Through shades of night and gloom and blight 
 
 To everlasting woe. 
 
THE MOANING ROCK. 1 29 
 
 From groves along the bright Ynez 
 
 Of late I came, and past 
 That morn through Gaviota wild 
 
 And reached the sea at last. 
 
 As I had walked between the walls 
 
 Of rock on either side, 
 I heard a whisper over me — 
 
 It whispered once, and died. 
 
 Save that, and nothing more was heard. 
 
 The battlements of stone 
 On left and right as dark as night 
 
 Rose gloomily and lone. 
 
 A thousand feet above they seemed 
 
 To frown, and all but meet 
 Across the chasm. The river flowed 
 
 And murmured at my feet. 
 
 A streamer-breadth of azure sky 
 
 Spanned overhead, as deep 
 As ever bent above the earth 
 
 Where southern summers sleep. 
 
 From up the Pass the sea breeze came 
 
 With odors of the tide, 
 And wandered on like airs of dawn, 
 
 And died, and lived, and died. 
 
 I heard again the voice. It seemed 
 
 No whisper, but a moan 
 From caverned heights the river o'er 
 
 Along the front of stone. 
 
I30 THE MOANING ROCK. 
 
 'T was still again, forever hushed ; 
 
 I heard it nevermore. 
 I passed adown the narrow way, 
 
 And reached the ocean shore. 
 
 The morn was bright with floods of light, 
 And on the turf and flowers 
 
 I lay me down to rest, and dream 
 Away the noontide hours. 
 
 I looked through haze and ocean maze 
 Toward realms beyond the sight, 
 
 And thought how far the vesper star 
 Must trail its tender light 
 
 Before it shines on other shores, 
 
 Or kisses softly there 
 The occidental blooming world 
 
 All mystical and fair. 
 
 Then toward the craggy heights I turned 
 To mark how grand and lone 
 
 Those everlasting summits loomed 
 On high their columned stone. 
 
 Beside me mingling in the sea, 
 
 Los Critas ceased to flow. 
 Its waters mild had met the wild 
 
 And raging surf below. 
 
 The sobbing of the sullen sea 
 
 The sunken reefs among. 
 Came like a vain and low refrain 
 
 When saddest songs are sung. 
 
THE MOANING ROCK, 131 
 
 This brought to memory again 
 
 The Moaning Rock. I knew 
 Its legend lore. A part is false, 
 
 But part is doubly true. 
 
 The story runneth thus : There was, 
 
 A hundred years ago, 
 A band of bandits harbored there, 
 
 And plundered to and fro. 
 
 Full many and many a deed of death 
 
 They did on shore and plain ; 
 And many and many a cursed crime 
 
 Was done for hate and gain. 
 
 They ever dared, and never spared. 
 
 Nor mercy ever knew ; 
 They dreamt of gold, and gold, and gold, 
 
 And pillaged far, and slew ; 
 
 Until their band had filled the land 
 
 With rumors and with fear ; 
 For no one knew at what dark hour 
 
 They might be hovering near. 
 
 'T was vain to seek them on the plain 
 
 With force arrayed for fight ; 
 For they would vanish like a flash, 
 
 And save themselves in flight. 
 
 'T was death to follow in pursuit, 
 
 For, in their rocky glen, 
 One hidden bandit by the path 
 
 Could slaughter fifty men. 
 
132 THE MOANING ROCK, 
 
 \ 
 
 But once, when autumn winds were raw, 1 
 
 And mists were hanging low j 
 
 Along each rocky precipice, i 
 
 As bleak and white as snow, 
 
 They heard a dismal voice that seemed 
 
 Above them moaning, ^^ Death*' — 
 It was the Moaning Rock. They stood , 
 
 Aghast with bated breath. 
 
 The voice of woe was sobbing low. ] 
 
 Their guilt increased their dread. \ 
 
 They said it was the souls returned ] 
 
 From all their murdered dead. \ 
 
 1 
 
 Each swarthy cheek and brow and face | 
 
 Was changed to ghastly white — I 
 
 A breeze passed by — the moan again — ; 
 
 They wheeled in headlong flight. 
 
 With rush and strife they fled for life ' 
 
 Or death, the legend says ; 
 
 Nor halted till they were beyond i 
 
 Jonata and Ynez. | 
 
 Nor halted even then, but crossed 
 Arroyo Grande's source, 
 
 And through Cafiade Del Osos 
 They shaped their flying course. 
 
 They passed the Huer-Huero lone. 
 
 That tideless river bed, 
 And through the depths of Avernal 
 
 In terror still they fled. 
 
THE MOANING ROCK, I33 
 
 Till in the wastes beyond the hills 
 
 Where barren deserb burn, 
 They hid themselves among the dunes 
 
 That drift along the Kern. 
 
 They fled as those who fly from fear 
 
 And know not whence they fly. 
 They trembled like a traitor doomed 
 
 Who is afraid to die. 
 
 And never after that again 
 
 Dared one of them to tread 
 The path through Gaviota Pass, 
 
 That haunted ground of dead. 
 
 And still, although, a hundred years 
 Have run their course since then, 
 
 The moaning voice may yet be heard, 
 Along the gloomy glen. 
 
 It ceases not in dark of night, 
 
 In morning hours, and low 
 When evening twilight settles down, 
 
 And shadows come and go. 
 
 And those who pass that way yet fear. 
 
 And say that spirits cry. 
 Imploring piteously for aid 
 
 To every passer-by. 
 
 That summer morn I took my way 
 
 Adown the dark ravine 
 Along the river where it flowed 
 
 The mighty walls between. 
 
134 ADIOS. 
 
 And overhead I heard the moan, 
 And paused to make reply ; — 
 
 The hollow rocks were murmuring 
 In the breezes passing by. 
 
 I took my way and paused no more, 
 
 Till by the ocean side 
 I rested where the grass and flowers 
 
 Were waving in their pride. 
 
 While backward from the sea arose 
 The mountains grand and high ; 
 
 Their base was in the ocean waves, 
 Their summits in the sky. 
 
 And all the stories of the past 
 In memory came again ; 
 
 The legend of the Moaning Rock 
 In that abysmal glen. 
 
 ADIOS. 
 
 JVA Y Mabel Saint Clair, 
 ^ '^ *■ With golden hair, 
 
 I have told thee adieu forever, 
 It is all in vain 
 And will bring but pain 
 
 To meet and again dissever. 
 
 We have parted now, 
 And I and thou 
 Asunder far are drifting ; 
 
ADIOS, 135 
 
 But I turn my eyes 
 To the future skies 
 Where the clouds and mists are lifting. 
 
 There is calm at last. 
 
 For the storm is past, 
 The storm of bitter sorrow ; 
 
 Of passion-strife 
 
 And a blighted life 
 With all that pride can borrow ; 
 
 With all of woe 
 
 That pride can know, 
 And hopes that have been blighted ; 
 
 With all the cost 
 
 Of love that 's lost, 
 And spurned, and unrequited. 
 
 But the storm that crushed 
 
 And raved and rushed, 
 Has passed away and left me 
 
 To stem the tide 
 
 Of my ruined pride, 
 And of all beside bereft me. 
 
 But the calm has cast 
 
 Its peace at last 
 Like a song of rest above me, 
 
 And why lament 
 
 With a discontent, > ^ 
 
 Though none are left to love me ! 
 
136 A BIOS. 
 
 For should I repine 
 
 At this fate of mine, 
 And turn away from the morrow, 
 
 To brood on grief 
 
 And refuse relief, 
 And cling to the shades of sorrow? 
 
 For the south wind oft 
 
 With its whisper soft 
 Will come as I am drifting ; 
 
 While the sky above 
 
 Looks down with love 
 Where the mists are rising, rifting. 
 
 I can proudly cast 
 
 To the storm the past. 
 And the storm will bear it ever 
 
 With a rush and sweep 
 
 Across the deep 
 To the Phantom Shores of Never. 
 
 I will drift away 
 
 Through the mystic day, 
 I will drift and drift forever. 
 
 And will look no more 
 
 To the sinking shore, 
 To the Phantom Shore of Never. 
 
 I will drift along 
 Through the summer song 
 To the sea where the sun is setting ; 
 
A BIOS. 137 
 
 While the winds will play 
 O'er the fairy way, 
 I will banish all dull regretting. 
 
 Then, Mabel Saint Clair 
 
 With golden hair. 
 Adieu ! It is better boldly 
 
 To bid good-bye 
 
 With a friendship sigh, 
 Than to treat each other coldly. 
 
 We now can part. 
 
 And no one's heart 
 Will be forever broken ; 
 
 We can both forget 
 
 Whatever yet 
 Of loving words were spoken. 
 
 *T is the best for thee 
 
 And the best for me 
 That now our paths should sever ; 
 
 And over the tide 
 
 Of unyielding pride 
 We will drift apart forever 
 
138 SAN JOAQUIN, 
 
 SAN JOAQUIN. 
 
 r^ ENTLE river, softly flowing, bear to sea thy 
 
 ^-^ sands of gold ; 
 
 Wend thy way through waving meadows where the 
 
 fairest flowers unfold ; 
 Whisper sweetly, gently murmur all along thy 
 
 beauteous way ; 
 Lisp thy music to the mellow gloaming of the 
 
 golden day. 
 No rude storms shall e'er betide thee ; chilling 
 
 wind shall ne'er be near ; 
 Sempiternal spring shall hide thee from the frown 
 
 of winter drear ; 
 Gorgeous groves shall bend above thee, and the 
 
 larks their songs will sing ; 
 From their truest hearts they love thee as they 
 
 love the rapturous spring. 
 
 thou fancy's fairest river ! Where thy crystal 
 
 waters glide 
 
 Through an Eden and an Aidenn and an El Dora- 
 do wide, 
 
 Let me linger, for the stillness settles o'er me soft 
 and slow, 
 
 And a train of recollections bear me back to long 
 ago. 
 
 San Joaquin ! How like that river where so oft at 
 eventide 
 
 1 have strolled in dream ideal when a gleam was on 
 
 the tide, 
 
SAN JOAQUIN. 139 
 
 When the evening sun was setting, and the splen- 
 dor caught the trees, 
 
 Rustling restless, calmly quaking in the pulses of 
 the breeze ; 
 
 Stirring as the spirit stirreth when a wafting from 
 away 
 
 Steals along with beauteous sadness, but to pass 
 and die for aye ; 
 
 But to pass in silent yearning softer than the sum- 
 mer's breath, 
 
 Onward to the after-stillness listening through the 
 dawn of death. 
 
 Dream of beauty ! Deeper dreaming ! For her 
 
 hand in mine was laid, 
 And her name the zephyrs whispered as we lingered 
 
 in the shade. 
 All my wayward, longing spirit panting to be borne 
 
 away 
 Out beyond the Mystic Islands and the portals of 
 
 the day, 
 Then was lulled and tamed, and kindness soothed 
 
 me to a calm repose ; 
 But she knew it not, and happy be she if she never 
 
 knows. 
 Happier still, if never, never comes the memory of 
 
 the past 
 With its phantoms and its shadows and its sorrows 
 
 overcast ; 
 Happier if the blighted summer kindle not a bitter 
 
 strife 
 In the current of existence flowing to a purer life ; 
 
I40 SAN JOAQUIN, 
 
 Happier if the solemn autumn live not in the after 
 
 spring, 
 Brushing with its spectre pinions hopes that fly on 
 
 newer wing ; 
 Happier — cursed boon ! — but happier if the past 
 
 she can forget — 
 If she ever knew it — laden with the dulness of 
 
 regret. 
 
 San Joaquin ! A weary truant sees in thee a pulse- 
 less deep, 
 Where the mirrored sky and mountains, trees, and 
 
 clouds of summer sleep. 
 O how peacefully they 're resting ! How the azure 
 
 and the blue 
 Of the sky and of the mountains there are pictured 
 
 to the view ! 
 How the verdant trees are imaged, and the clouds 
 
 are floating high. 
 And the whiteness is a lightness to the deepness of 
 
 the sky ! 
 But the river, dull and soulless, pictures and does 
 
 nothing more ; 
 What is painted in the water is the shadow of the 
 
 shore. 
 
 River, flowing, gently flowing, 'neath thy arbors 
 
 dark and green. 
 Bright and flashing crystal river, still and placid 
 
 San Joaquin, 
 Thou remindest me — but pardon, for it is an idle 
 
 dream — 
 
SAN JOAQUIN. 141 
 
 Of the silent soul of human, like thy deep and 
 
 waveless stream. 
 Some there are whose still existence pictures what 
 
 is never said ; 
 Thrills that flash along their being thus are smoth- 
 ered till they 're dead. 
 Hearts that beat with love have listened but a 
 
 whispered word to hear ; 
 But the word was never spoken, and — the future 
 
 all was drear. 
 All the forms deep in the river are to vision only 
 
 known ; 
 Not a whisper tells their presence, not a lisp or 
 
 monotone. — 
 But the theme is too mysterious ; and the likeness 
 
 of the two. 
 Human thoughts and voiceless river, after all is 
 
 nothing true. 
 One is soul and one is soulless. One is life and 
 
 one is death. 
 One is language of the vision ; one of words no 
 
 mortal saith. 
 
 Why should I distort a meaning ? Why should I 
 thus liken all 
 
 To myself — my sullen nature ? Never ! I will dis- 
 enthrall 
 
 What is pure and fair and gentle from the darkness 
 and the gloom 
 
 That surrounds my path forever, though 1 walk the 
 fields of bloom. 
 
142 SAN JOAQUIN. 
 
 Wave, thou vales of life, in gladness ! Wave in 
 
 beauty and in bliss ! 
 In the fiercest of my passions I will not degrade to 
 
 this— 
 I will not in vengeful hatred aim to drag all beauty 
 
 down 
 That it may be servile minion to my anger and my 
 
 frown. 
 Though the world hath not befriended, though it 
 
 hath its sorrow lent 
 To my life, and when I pleaded for the light, hath 
 
 shadows sent. 
 Yet I will not dash defiance in its false, deceitful 
 
 face ; 
 But through all the tumult throngings I will keep 
 
 my steady place. 
 What to me is man and nations ! What to me is all 
 
 the throng 
 Of creation's baser beings swept in wretchedness 
 
 along ! 
 What is it to me if never they should see, or feel, or 
 
 know 
 That I am, or was, or shall be ! I care not if it is 
 
 so. 
 I can stem existence. I can stem the tide of life, 
 
 and fling 
 Taunts to him who offers solace — who insults with 
 
 such a thing ! 
 Human hate can never crush me ! I can hold a 
 
 higher part 
 Than the common herd that tramples cattle-like the 
 
 common mart. 
 
SAN JOAQUIN. 143 
 
 I can breathe the purer current of the purer upper 
 
 air, 
 And despise the baser passions crowding 'neath me 
 
 everywhere. 
 I am to myself companion — I was driven thus to be ; 
 For the world has always hated me, was never kind 
 
 to me. 
 When I sought to move in common with the mighty 
 
 age of life 
 And be of them and among them in their labor and 
 
 their strife, 
 They have turned to trample on me, to deride me, 
 
 and to scorn — 
 They the weakest of the weakest that on earth were 
 
 ever born ! 
 So I rose in my rebellion, I who bow to nothing 
 
 higher. 
 Save unto the God that giveth me my flood of pas- 
 sion fire ! 
 Must I sink myself, to grovel with the low and with 
 
 the base, 
 With the grazing herds that glory in the name of 
 
 human race ! 
 Must I sink, to make them better — was it set a task 
 
 of mine 
 To go down to degradation, casting jewels unto 
 
 swine ! 
 
 Soft — I go too far. But anger kindled in me when 
 
 I felt 
 That they scorned me — for I never yet to mortal 
 
 man have knelt. 
 
1 44 ^^-"^ JO A Q UIN. 
 
 Heaven gave me as my portion nature that can 
 
 never kneel — 
 True to truth and kind to kindness, but to scorn as 
 
 fierce as steel. 
 Unto those who have despised me, *t is not me to 
 
 plead and weep ; 
 But I turn and dash upon them hate a million times 
 
 as deep. 
 And if thus I crush them, pity none for them I ever 
 
 know, 
 I can gloat in satisfaction on their ruin and their 
 
 woe — 
 If they hate me. But if kindness has been shown 
 
 me, I can turn 
 To the one who hath befriended, feeling all my 
 
 being burn 
 With a love that is eternal. That far world when 
 
 this is o'er 
 Will not hold a love supremer, deep, and true 
 
 forevermore. 
 So then in my hate and anger I may speak of all 
 
 the world. 
 Meaning almost all. And 'gainst them bitter ha- 
 tred I have hurled. 
 But anathemas are sweeping, and I fain that they 
 
 would spare 
 One from out the race of human, loved, and beau- 
 teous, and fair ; 
 One who in that happy summer, by that shaded 
 
 river-side, 
 Wandered with me where the gleaming of the sun 
 
 of evening died ; 
 
SAN JOAQUIN. 145 
 
 One who in her angel kindness hath been more than 
 friend to me, 
 
 True, and trusting, and confiding — in my gloom I 
 turn to thee. 
 
 Thou who never scorned or hated, thou who never 
 turned away. 
 
 Wearied hearing my complaining, fretting though 
 I was for aye. 
 
 Unto thee in this my sorrow would I turn — I turn 
 to thee 
 
 Knowing that thy heart is beating still with sym- 
 pathy for me. 
 
 Never can despair be victor over him who feels the 
 power 
 
 Of a woman's love and kindness, though the tem- 
 pest-night shall lower. 
 
 Through the gloom her promise cometh, and the 
 storm will cease awhile. 
 
 Lighted by the tranquil beauty and the gladness of 
 her smile. 
 
 Thou whose smile hath ever followed me in dark- 
 ness and in blight, 
 
 Art thou dreaming of me ? I am lost in tempests 
 and in night. 
 
 I have thought myself forsaken, and in anger I have 
 curst 
 
 Human kind, and from them madly turned away, 
 all links to burst, 
 
 All the fetters burst that bind me to my kindred 
 mortal race. 
 
 Then I Ve turned again in vengeance back to smite 
 them in the face. 
 
146 SAN JOAQUIN. 
 
 But for thee I have relented — I have let my anger 
 
 die — 
 I will smother my resentment — for thy sake I pass 
 
 it by. 
 
 San Joaquin, the storm is over. It has dashed me 
 
 in its wrath. 
 It has strewn its wrecks about me, and blockaded 
 
 every path ; 
 And at one wild burst of billows I believed that all 
 
 was o'er. 
 That it was in vain to battle for existence any 
 
 more. 
 But that gentle guiding angel came, and in the 
 
 darkest hour 
 Led me from the wild tornado that was dashing in 
 
 its power 
 Over me ; while I upbraided, taunted still, and 
 
 fiercely hurled 
 My anathemas of vengeance 'gainst the raging, 
 
 surging world. 
 But I soon had sunk exhausted in the wildness of 
 
 the tide, 
 Going down while blindly clinging to the wreck of 
 
 ruined pride. 
 But she came and led me safely from the madness 
 
 of the blast, 
 Up again where light of beauty round about my 
 
 way was cast. 
 
 San Joaquin, and hast thou wearied with my pas- 
 sion and my scorn ? 
 
SAN JOAQUIN. 147 
 
 Hast thou wished that night would hush me, and 
 
 that there would be no morn ? 
 Stream of happiness and mildness ! How thy 
 
 peaceful waters rest, 
 Thou the brightest and the fairest of the rivers of 
 
 the West ! 
 I have mused and dwelt beside thee till my thoughts 
 
 are not my own ; 
 They, like me, alas, are wayward, and to distant 
 
 climes have flown. 
 
 And in other times and places I have been while 
 
 here I am. 
 Till my feelings and emotions have been lulled into 
 
 a calm. 
 Peaceful calm to one aweary, when the memory 
 
 feels repose, 
 Wrapped in soothing recollection's blandest breeze 
 
 of bliss that blows ! 
 
 San Joaquin, the night is drearer, though anear the 
 
 dawning day ; 
 Waves that whisper, fondly name her, and my 
 
 thoughts are far away. 
 Whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper, while the stars 
 
 their vigil keep, 
 And my memory drinks nepenthe and is softly 
 
 lulled to sleep. 
 
148 NACIMIENTO, 
 
 NACIMIENTO. 
 
 nPHE story in the flight of years will pass 
 ^ Forevermore away, till men deny 
 That such has ever been. And weeds and grass 
 
 Will grow more rank where now the ruins lie 
 On Paso Robles Plain. No voice, alas, 
 
 Will come from out that silence to reply, 
 Where broken walls and sculptured architraves 
 Are strewn about, like waste Chaldea's graves. 
 
 And didst thou never come that desert through ? 
 
 For it is all a barren desert now. 
 And curst with curses more than Egypt knew 
 
 When frowned upon by God Almighty's brow. 
 Didst thou across that plain thy way pursue ? 
 
 Of that lone solitude what thinkest thou ? 
 Believest thou that Heaven will curse a land 
 In vengeance for the crimes of human hand ? 
 
 What is the bourne of vengeance from on high ? 
 
 Where is the refuge when the die is cast. 
 And unto Heaven is flung the proud defy ? 
 
 Look back through ancient years and see the 
 past, 
 Where Sodom for her sins was doomed to die, 
 
 And Land of Nile in darkness stood aghast 
 
NA CIMIENTO, 1 49 
 
 When Amram's son was on the troubled coast, 
 And wild the sea's red waves rolled o'er the host. 
 
 Where now is Tyre, whose pride in ancient times 
 Bent not in love or prayer the suppliant knee ; 
 
 Who sent her silver sails to nameless climes, 
 And spread her commerce over land and sea ? 
 
 Though high and proud, she perished for her crimes, 
 And from her chains no wealth could set her free ; 
 
 And nets of fishermen along the shore 
 
 Remain alone to tell of powers of yore. 
 
 Think then of this, of all these lands of old, 
 With all their old iniquities, and know 
 
 That vengeance hath pursued with footsteps bold 
 The criminals and crimes of long ago. 
 
 In memory read again the history told 
 Of powers in destruction levelled low, 
 
 Nor disbelieve that vengeance follows fast, 
 
 And doom, though long delayed, will come at last. 
 
 Athwart that drear and deathlike desert shore, 
 That solitude of Paso Robles Plains, 
 
 A waft of silence tells that all is o'er ; 
 
 That life has wasted in the tyrant's chains ; 
 
 That beauty all hath perished evermore 
 And in its stead a desolation reigns — 
 
 If thou hast passed that way thou felt it so : 
 
 About thee thou hast seen the gleam of woe. 
 
 So, came ye never by that ancient heap 
 
 Of broken walls and wrecks of gloomy aisles, 
 
150 NA CI MIEN TO. 
 
 And arches warped, through which in anger sweep 
 The storms that rage around the crumbling piles 
 
 Of masonry ? Save this, a silence deep 
 Is there forever ; and a sadness smiles. 
 
 But 't is the smile that comes with lone despair 
 
 When hopes are hushed in ruin everywhere. 
 
 It was the Temple of the San Antone 
 Hard by Salinas, to the westward still 
 
 Of that sad river ; and it stands alone 
 A fearful ruin now. Yea, not a thrill 
 
 Of life is anywhere ; and whence have flown 
 Its prophets over plain and eastern hill ; 
 
 And ere the dawning of our modern day 
 
 The race from off the earth had passed away. 
 
 The Temple stands, though not as in the eld ; 
 
 It stands as Nineveh or Babylon stands. 
 To earth its proudest walls and towers are felled ; 
 
 They lie half-buried in the drifting sands. 
 Where once the strains of sacred music swelled, 
 
 While priests were praying with uplifted hands, 
 Are now but catacombs of mist and gloom, 
 A sepulchre, a violated tomb. 
 
 The plains are dead, are dead, if death can be 
 For things inanimate. Their life hath fled ; 
 
 And nothing there the poet now can see, 
 Except the awfulness of what is dead. 
 
 The branch and bough of shrubbery and tree, 
 Which should be green, are withering instead ; 
 
 And winds among them pass with dismal moan. 
 
 And he who listens feeleth more alone. 
 
NACIMIENTO. 151 
 
 Is this a curse ? It was not always lost 
 In desolation thus. There was a time 
 
 When o'er the valley, paths at random crossed ; 
 And tribes of men were dwelling in this clime 
 
 Full happily, with earnest life engrossed, 
 Unknowing how the penalty for crime 
 
 Would hurry all to exile far away 
 
 Where eastern hills first touch the dawn of day. 
 
 There was a priest who in the Temple dwelt 
 And prayed for all, and they his words obeyed. 
 
 When he had bidden, they had come and knelt, 
 And humbly listened while for them he prayed. 
 
 His words were low and fervent, and would melt 
 The hardest hearts, and those in most degrade ; 
 
 And when to Heaven he would implore for grace. 
 
 They said that light divine was on his face. 
 
 But he was false. In his revolting soul 
 He plotted crime of blackness like a night. 
 
 When he had prayed, 't was but to gain control. 
 And not to guide to paths of truth and right. 
 
 'T was wealth and power, to him the only goal 
 That he had ever dreamed of. To his sight 
 
 Were visions evermore of wealth untold. 
 
 He held a soul as naught when priced with gold. 
 
 Thrice and a thousand times let men despise 
 Those who the righteous cause of God profane ; 
 
 Who raise to heaven their hypocritic eyes, 
 
 While in their hearts is naught but worldly gain. 
 
 Their very prayers are worse than pagan lies, 
 And fraught with poison and with deadly bane — 
 
152 NACIMIENTO. 
 
 May Heaven in kindness and in mercy send 
 Deliverance from such, from such defend ! 
 
 Why should ye marvel that the plains were curst, 
 Those plains of Paso Robles ; and a waste 
 
 Made from the flowery valleys ; and a thirst 
 Of desert death sent down in ruthless haste ? 
 
 If not, then wrath of vengeance ne'er should burst 
 On human kind, or on a land disgraced ; 
 
 There is a justice that the world must feel. 
 
 And they who will not pray at least must kneel. 
 
 In truth 't is said, these wastes were once aglow 
 With flowers blooming from the sloping crest 
 
 Of hills, and in the valleys down below. 
 
 Across the prairie pastures toward the west, 
 
 And everywhere about where flowers could grow, 
 And all was clad the brightest and the best 
 
 That nature in her luxury could give. 
 
 To teach mankind to love as well as live. 
 
 Nor were these hills the homes of savage men. 
 
 Far from it. Here the saving truth was spread 
 That man, though lost in sin, may live again 
 
 By grace of Him who judgeth quick and dead. 
 Nor were those rocks afar the roaring den 
 
 Of mountain beasts, but flocks and herds were 
 led 
 To crop the herbage rank ; and kindest care 
 Was given and was looked for everywhere. 
 
 No storm of winter, pitiless and cold, 
 E'er blew upon the hungry or the weak ; 
 
NA CI MIEN TO, 1 5 3 
 
 But safely sheltered in securest fold, 
 
 They knew not when the winds were blowing 
 bleak. 
 From that far hill, where oaks were growing old, 
 
 To hills on other hand, thou well might seek, 
 And ever seek in vain, for cruel hands 
 In olden days through all these flowery lands. 
 
 Not all in vain. For where thou thinkest not 
 To find a monster, there thou shouldst beware, 
 
 For thou shalt find him. Skilled in every plot 
 Of pillage, plunder, ruin, and despair 
 
 Was he, the priest who held the sacred lot 
 To pray for men. But he would do and dare 
 
 Though burning thunder hung above his head. 
 
 He neither feared the living nor the dead. 
 
 'T was evermore his purpose and his plan 
 
 To heap his coffers till they groaned with gold : 
 
 Nor cared he for the soul of child or man. 
 If he of wealth could get but firmer hold. 
 
 His thoughts and dreams to such forever ran ; 
 And in his avarice he grew more bold. 
 
 And if from out his heart he ever prayed 
 
 'T was that the way to wealth be clearer made. 
 
 There is no God to answer such a plea. 
 Except to smite the face of him who prays. 
 
 And seal the last and merciless decree 
 
 That leaves him to pursue his downward ways, 
 
 To plunge him headlong in the burning sea — 
 His conscience bared to meet the scorching rays 
 
154 ^A CIMIEN TO. 
 
 Of endless anger, like a quenchless fire, 
 Where time intensifies the flames of ire. 
 
 'T was in that time, near where the Temple stood, 
 A maiden dwelt. She was an only child. 
 
 And heir of all the prairies from the wood 
 By Nacimiento River to the wild 
 
 Of eastern hills — plantations fair and good, 
 Whereon expanding fields of flowers smiled, 
 
 Even in the winter days ; nor came there blight 
 
 Of frosts to chase away the summer light. 
 
 She never knew her mother. By a plain 
 Low bordering on a river 'neath the west. 
 
 Where waft the winds and sigh o'er dreamy 
 Spain, 
 
 Her mother slept the sleep of endless rest. 
 
 Above her grave the softly swelling strain 
 Of music floats, like orisons of blest ; 
 
 The birds are singing anthemed praise of song 
 
 Through all the summer beautiful and long. 
 
 But she remembered not, the orphan child ; 
 
 For she had never known. She never knew 
 How over her a mother once had smiled 
 
 And prayed with humble faith, and deep and 
 true. 
 That God would e'er be merciful and mild 
 
 In all His judgments, and would ever strew 
 The paths of life with kindness and with love, 
 And send his care and solace from above. 
 
NA CI MIEN TO, I 5 5 
 
 She scarce remembered Spain. Her father fled 
 From peril. And on the Pacific shore 
 
 He sought a home ; and wealth around him spread 
 In bountiful possessions more and more. 
 
 His flocks and herds afar o'er pastures fed. 
 His cottage stood anear the Temple door. 
 
 And he had taught his child to kneel and pray 
 
 Before the Temple shrine each dawning day. 
 
 Thus passed along the train of childhood hours, 
 And she was happy as the days were bright. 
 
 She trained with careful hands the climbing bowers 
 That clustered o'er the windows in the light. 
 
 Her garden walks were fringed along with flowers 
 That gleamed and flashed upon the dazzled sight. 
 
 She knew the names of all ; and in her care 
 
 She tended all with kindness everywhere. 
 
 She grew in years and grew in loveliness ; 
 
 And those who knew her held her more divine 
 Than mortal — than the angels scarcely less — 
 
 And, graced with pride and beauty and refine, 
 A stranger seeing her might truly guess 
 
 That she descended from a noble line, 
 So beautiful in bearing and in form, 
 With sympathy and love forever warm. 
 
 Years wrought their change in other lands, as well 
 As in the plan and purpose of her own. 
 
 On Spain's devoted shore disasters fell — 
 The king a fugitive without a throne. 
 
 The Man of Destiny with magic spell 
 Above the sinking nations towered alone. 
 
156 NACIMIENTO, 
 
 The old was past away, and all was new. 
 The drift of tides, no mortal could pursue. 
 
 Her father left her and returned to Spain, 
 To seek if something might not yet be saved 
 
 Of wealth that once was his ; since now the reign 
 Of tyrants was no more — a land enslaved 
 
 Had torn its fetters off, and with disdain 
 
 Looked back on degradation — proudly braved 
 
 The elements of anarchy and strife. 
 
 And hailed the coming of its newer life. 
 
 And she was left alone. But kindest care 
 Was promised by the priest. Yet not alone ; 
 
 Her friends were true and tried, and everywhere 
 Were those who loved her as they loved their 
 own. 
 
 The gardens round about were rich and rare, 
 And blooming forests waving toward Jolon 
 
 Entranced the landscape, and a beauty gave, 
 
 And undulations rolled like many a wave. 
 
 The springtime and the summer came and past • 
 And she was waiting for the ship's return 
 
 To bring her father home. The shadows cast, 
 Forboded winter's coming. Fain to burn 
 
 A few days more, the brightest and the last 
 Of autumn days in sunshine paused to yearn 
 
 In their departing, for the happier yore — 
 
 The hours of gladness gone forevermore. 
 
 He came no more. A rumor like a blight 
 
 Came back and said that he would come no more. 
 
NACIMIENTO. 1 57 
 
 For he had perished in the ghastly fight, 
 Amid the tumult and the rush and roar 
 
 Of Zoragoza, where, like plunge of night, 
 
 Whole nations sank in death and all was o'er ; 
 
 And triumph came upon the wings of death. 
 
 And sinking kingdoms gasped for dying breath. 
 
 Indeed alone ! And none in all the earth, 
 It seemed to her was left. In sad despair 
 
 Her thoughts went back unto her land of birth ; 
 But none, alas, were waiting for her there ! 
 
 The world now held no solace and no mirth. 
 And no surcease of sorrow and of care. 
 
 She was alone, in all the world, alone ! 
 
 And every hope was crushed and every promise 
 flown. 
 
 " Thy cheek is pale, wherefore so pale to-day ? " 
 The priest would ask her, and her wordless sigh 
 
 Would tell of sorrow more than words could say ; 
 And to her grief the priest would lend reply : 
 
 " 'T were better now to kneel and humbly pray ; 
 The tempest that betides thee will pass by. 
 
 Then lift in prayer to heaven thy trusting face. 
 
 And God will grant to thee sustaining grace." 
 
 She prayed. She knelt and prayed with fervent 
 heart, 
 
 And all her soul was wrapped in silent prayer. 
 And her petition was : " My trust Thou art ; 
 
 Be merciful to me in my despair ; 
 And guide my erring feet lest they depart 
 
 From duty's paths. Be with me everywhere. 
 
158 NACIMIENTO. 
 
 For I am left alone, and tempest-tost ; 
 Without Thy care I am forever lost." 
 
 One word of silent prayer in earnest trust 
 
 Is worth eternity of soulless form, 
 And words without devotion. From the dust 
 
 A soul can be uplifted to the warm 
 And peaceful light of truth. We cannot thrust 
 
 Ourselves to heaven, nor stop the raging storm. 
 Another Hand must guide us, and will guide. 
 A rest will come at last, though storms betide. 
 
 The orphan knelt in prayer. When she arose 
 She felt a calmer trust. " 'T is not in vain 
 
 This prayer of thine. Forever unto those 
 Who pray believing, cometh a refrain 
 
 Of blessedness from Heaven ; and the woes 
 That so oppressed us can no longer chain ; 
 
 And we are free. Grace cometh from on high 
 
 To those who ask it, pleading lest they die." 
 
 So spake the priest, and she his words believed. 
 
 And truly did he speak, though darkest crime 
 Was howling in his soul. But ne'er deceived, 
 
 She trusted with an earnestness sublime. 
 And felt that much had been by prayer achieved, 
 
 And much was yet in store for future time. 
 Those who themselves are true are last to think 
 How near their feet may tread a hidden brink. 
 
 Gold, gold, 't was still of gold, and gold. 
 And gold forever that the visions came 
 
NACIMIENTO. 1 59 
 
 Across his dreaming. Sins of depth untold 
 He lief would do, nor feel a blush of shame, 
 
 If his reward was wealth. His heart was cold 
 As Iceland's cliffs, his blood as hot as flame ; 
 
 One chilled by avarice, by passion fired 
 
 The other, and together they conspired. 
 
 Then marvel not if the avenging rod 
 Smote sorely on his unprotected head. 
 
 For know ye this : There is in heaven a God 
 Whose vengeance falleth terrible and dread. 
 
 'T were better lot to be a soulless clod 
 
 Than man denied by Heaven. The earth we 
 tread 
 
 Is to be envied. For the gulf is deep. 
 
 The night is dark, and blinding tempests sweep. 
 
 '■'■ Thy father's soul is lost. Alone by prayer 
 'T is possible that yet it may be well. 
 
 'T is possible to conquer dark despair, 
 And save a spirit from a yawning hell." 
 
 So spoke the priest. " Beside the altar there 
 Kneel down and pray." She knelt. The lamp- 
 light fell 
 
 But dimly in the Temple, vaguely shone. 
 
 The night was deeply dark. They were alone. 
 
 She prayed the prayer which from her earliest years 
 She e'er had prayed when storms had filled the 
 skies ; 
 
 When griefs oppressed, and loneliness and fears, 
 And restlessness would in her soul arise. 
 
1 6o NA CIMIEN TO. 
 
 She prayed in earnestness. The blinding tears 
 
 Brought something of relief, and filled her eyes. 
 It was the prayer the priest had taught her ; now 
 She breathed it fervently with burning brow. 
 
 Strike ! Heaven ! Too late. The deed is done. 
 And low 
 
 The child is dying by the altar shrine. 
 She sank without a moan beneath a blow, 
 
 Andall was over. Candles dimly shine 
 With ghostly gleam upon the scene of woe. 
 
 And she was dead. Those features half divine 
 Were calm and beautiful, though still in death. 
 None fairer ever breathed with mortal breath. 
 
 The deed was done. And done for cursed gold. 
 That bright damnation which has ever curst 
 
 The race of men with tragedies untold. 
 
 Till what hath started well hath ended worst. 
 
 The priest stood silent, and, with features cold. 
 Looked calmly on. For this was not the first 
 
 Of awful crimes that he had looked upon, 
 
 In other nights which now were past and gone. 
 
 The fields and prairies rolling fair and far 
 
 He hoped to make his own. The child was dead. 
 
 No one would claim them now. Her kindred are 
 No longer on the earth ; and in their stead 
 
 He now would hold. No law there was to bar 
 Him from the heritage. He did not dread 
 
 Earth's mutiny ; for what he 'd wished so long 
 
 Was his at last with title sure and strong. 
 
NACIMIENTO, l6l 
 
 It was the hour of midnight deep and lone. 
 
 The Temple door was closed. The world was 
 still, 
 Save ever and anon the sobbing moan 
 
 Of winds that wandered onward with a chill, 
 And whispered round the gloomy walls of stone, 
 
 And passed away, and came again, until 
 Their murmurs were incessant, sad, and low, 
 Like spirits sobbing in a voice of woe. 
 
 Like Moloch standing in the gloom of hell 
 And gloating on his ruin and his hate ; 
 
 So stood the priest where dimly, weirdly fell 
 The lamplight round the altar's silver gate. 
 
 None knew the deed, and none could ever tell. 
 The stormy night was deep and dark and late, 
 
 And all the world was hushed. He was alone. 
 
 None knew the deed. It never could be known. 
 
 If Heaven held no vengeance in its store 
 For such as thee, thou priest, it might be so. 
 
 Thou art deceived. Deceive thyself no more. 
 The noonday light will look on all we know. 
 
 'T were easier to hide the ocean's roar, 
 
 Or smother down the winds that rage and blow, 
 
 Than to conceal a crime as black as thine — 
 
 The light through every gloom at last will shine. 
 
 But, hardened in his heart like Egypt's king, 
 
 The priest feared nothing. He had planned it all. 
 
 Through every minor and minutest thing ; 
 And nothing more was left that could befall. 
 
1 62 NA CI MIEN TO, 
 
 He felt not conscience lash, remorse's sting. 
 
 He heard no voices in his nature call 
 For mercy — even for the dead. The door 
 Of human love was barred forevermore. 
 
 With noiseless work — all things had been pre- 
 pared — 
 
 He pried the pulpit from the floor, and drew 
 The planks aside, — about him fiercely glared, — 
 
 Then, to the pit beneath, the corse he threw. 
 To make concealment certain naught was spared. 
 
 He fitted down the floor in order true. 
 The pulpit sat again within its place, 
 Till of what had been done there was no trace. 
 
 And finished now. He stood and long surveyed 
 With brutal visage. Finished what begun. 
 
 About him fell the lamplight and the shade. 
 
 And even the shadows seemed to shrink and 
 shun 
 
 From that dread midnight deed. But he had 
 made 
 His plans, and all were perfect. He had done 
 
 The deed at last. He stood awhile to gloat : 
 
 A guilty conscience now no longer smote. 
 
 The morning dawned on Paso Robles shore. 
 
 " Where is the child ? " was questioned every- 
 where. 
 They missed her ; and they questioned more and 
 more, 
 With dark misgivings and with anxious care. 
 
NA CI MI EN TO. 1 63 
 
 They sought the meadows through, the mountains 
 o'er. 
 Anxiety was deepened to despair. 
 On hill and mountain they had called her name, 
 And in the valley, but no answer came. 
 
 *' The child, O where ! " An echo answered 
 *' where ! " 
 
 To those who called ; and all again was still. 
 " Some savage beast has dragged her to his lair, 
 
 And she is dead and mangled ! " and a chill 
 Of stony horror more than man could bear 
 
 Rent through them as they spoke. From hill to 
 hill 
 They hurried, scarcely knowing where they went ; 
 And far and near swift messengers were sent. 
 
 The country all from Nacimiento strand 
 
 To Margarita joined in the alarms. 
 Through every copse and forest of the land 
 
 Searched troops of men in haste, with horse and 
 arms. 
 They beat along the jungles, traced the sand 
 
 Along the river banks, and o'er the farms 
 From mountain unto mountain. But in vain. 
 No trace of her was found on hill or plain. 
 
 The priest was foremost in the search, and went 
 Where forests were the densest, and he led 
 
 The bravest bands of men, and ever sent 
 The bravest of them, all where panthers fled, 
 
164 NACJMIENTO. 
 
 To search the cause — what all this gathering meant 
 
 Of savage beasts. Or else he went instead, 
 Close followed by the rest the caves among, 
 Which with the dint and clang forever rung. 
 
 The night came down, and all had been in vain. 
 
 No traces of the child were found ; and none 
 Knew whence again to turn o'er hill and plain. 
 
 Or what upon the morrow best were done. 
 With hearts that sadly beat with grief and pain 
 
 They lay them down to wait the rising sun. 
 The priest into the Temple went to pray 
 That God would still be merciful for aye. 
 
 They sought upon the morrow till the night. 
 And weary and despairing came they back, 
 
 And gave her up as lost. Nor on the sight. 
 Nor on the hearing was there trace or track 
 
 To guide or lead them in the path aright. 
 The darkness hovered over deep and black, 
 
 And hid the world ; and winds were sobbing low 
 
 Their nightfall monodies of death and woe. 
 
 Then came the priest and waved his hand to all 
 And bade them follow him. They followed him. 
 
 He led them through the Temple's gloomy wall 
 To inner sanctuary dark and dim. 
 
 Where fitful gleams of candles ever fall 
 On images in sculpture old and grim 
 
 From niches in the masonry around. 
 
 From fretted ceilings to the dingy ground. 
 
NACIMIENTO. 165 
 
 They gathered all, and waited in the gloom 
 
 As silent as the spirits of the dead 
 Who wait to hear the whisper of their doom, 
 
 From which, they cannot shrink, though deep 
 and dread. 
 The sanctuary seemed a mighty tomb, 
 
 Like Memphis catacombs whose chambers spread 
 Where sunshine of the summer never fell, 
 And never sounded tone of Sabbath bell. 
 
 The priest arose, and rising bade them kneel. 
 
 They sank upon their knees at his command. 
 " O God," he prayed, " may we Thy presence feel — 
 
 Protect us in the hollow of Thine hand. 
 Unto us now Thy tender love reveal, 
 
 That we Thy judgments just may understand ; 
 And teach us, lest we murmur and lament 
 At this, the chastisement that Thou hast sent. 
 
 " 'T is hard to bear, but Thou for us didst bear 
 All this and more. Forbid that we complain. 
 
 Forbid that we should sink into despair. 
 
 Though weighed upon with anguish and with 
 pain. 
 
 Teach us to feel that Thou art everywhere 
 A God of love and mercy, not disdain ; 
 
 And guide us in the paths of truth and right, 
 
 For we will trust Thee in the storm and night. 
 
 " And God of mercy, infinite and just. 
 In this our sad bereavement stoop to hear 
 
1 66 NACIMIENTO. 
 
 Our humble prayer, for we are naught but dust, 
 Unworthy to approach Thy throne so near. 
 
 Teach us submission — not because we must. 
 But for the sake of Him who loved us dear ; 
 
 And chide us not, if we should erring speak — 
 
 The heart is willing but the flesh is weak. 
 
 " And for the sake of Him who for us died. 
 
 Stretch forth Thy mighty arm in power to save. 
 
 We weep for one, our loved one and our pride : 
 If she has perished, guide us to her grave ; 
 
 And if she lives, us to her rescue guide, 
 For sake of Him who in compassion gave 
 
 His life for us, yet lives again on high, 
 
 Triumphant over death, no more to die " 
 
 He would have further prayed, but answer came 
 More soon than he had thought. While yet he 
 prayed. 
 
 Along the east horizon livid flame 
 
 Of lightning, quivering and rising, played 
 
 From cloud to cloud. They saw. They breathed 
 the name 
 Of heaven's God, all trembling and dismayed. 
 
 They saw the storm, and felt its burning breath. 
 
 The priest gazed eastward, standing pale as death. 
 
 Struck speechless now, across the void he gazed 
 Toward clouds that rolled along the mountain 
 height. 
 
 Where one incessant sheet of lightning blazed 
 With brightness painful to the blinded sight. 
 
NA CIMIENTO. 1 6/ 
 
 All motionless the people stood amazed, 
 
 Rapt in the terrors of the burning night, 
 Which from the east came with unearthly roar 
 Of thunders bellowing along the shore. 
 
 The fitful gleam of candles from the shrine 
 
 Where stood the priest, no more their twilight 
 cast, 
 
 So vivid did the sheeted lightning shine 
 
 Through ponderous windows in their glow aghast. 
 
 Huge clouds along the earth in blazing line 
 Rolled nearer, threatening and thick and fast ; 
 
 Like doom will come in that avenging day 
 
 When earth in flames and fire shall melt away. 
 
 One looked upon the other, knowing not 
 
 If time was at an end, or if the sky 
 Had changed to fire, and fallen seething hot 
 
 Upon the earth that both at once might die. 
 All human hopes and passions were forgot 
 
 In that dread hour. And upward went a cry 
 For mercy — 't was a wild and shrieking prayer 
 Of mingled penitence and dark despair. 
 
 For even now the hurricane had burst 
 
 Against the Temple. Reeled the mighty walls ; 
 
 And he who saw might know not which would first 
 Be overthrown — the Sanctum, or the halls 
 
 Of outer court. " God's vengeance ! We are curst ! " 
 Cried out the priest, like one whom death appalls, 
 
 And from the Temple fled. The heavy door 
 
 That closed behind him, bursted with a roar, 
 
1 68 NACIMIENTO. 
 
 By lightning riven. Then through the rugged rent 
 The thunder made, into the night they rushed ; 
 
 And cries and shrieks for mercy upward went, 
 Lost in the tumult where the tempest crushed 
 
 Through architraves, careened, and warped, and 
 bent, 
 And with the lightning's tinges fiery-flushed ; 
 
 And rocking battlements were overthrown 
 
 In mingled mass of rude and sculptured stone. 
 
 They flung themselves supine upon the ground ; 
 
 For none the mad tornado could withstand. 
 The cyclones and the whirlwinds roared around, 
 
 And through the vales and valleys of the strand. 
 The thunders bellowed in the deep profound 
 
 And sent a quiver through the conscious land ; 
 And flames of lightning lit the depths of night. 
 As though a thousand worlds were blazing bright, 
 
 Then passed away. The morning dawned at last 
 AVith gleam of sadness, but of beauty soft. 
 
 The playful light came stealing, and was cast 
 Across the valleys wide, as whilom oft. 
 
 Against the east the mountain heights were massed 
 And toward the peaceful heavens rose aloft. 
 
 No passing cloud was drifting in the sky 
 
 That arched the earth serenely from on high. 
 
 From fright and fear recovering, returned 
 The natives to behold their ruined Fane. 
 
NACIMIENTO. 169 
 
 They saw the track that lightning brands had 
 burned 
 
 In the wrecked columns scattered o'er the plain. 
 The Holy of the Holies had been spurned 
 
 By whirlwinds infidel in their disdain ; 
 And images of saints were rudely thrown 
 At random through the mass of broken stone. 
 
 They scarcely might discern the place where stood 
 The altar, where the priest so late had prayed 
 
 With voice of earnestness that Heaven should 
 In mercy lend deliverance and aid. 
 
 All that remained was front of ebon-wood 
 In which were gilded panels deeply laid. 
 
 Naught else was found ; and even this was flung 
 
 A furlong off, and in a thicket hung. 
 
 But where the shrine had stood, they came and saw 
 The child, and she was calm and pale and dead. 
 
 They gathered round with sympathy and awe. 
 Her white hand rested on her wounded head. 
 
 They silent stood, like those who scarce will draw 
 A breath, lest they disturb. No word was said, 
 
 But stood they speechless there, unknowing why 
 
 Their hearts were questioning ; but no reply. 
 
 Then they remembered how the priest in prayer 
 Had pled to Him who life and beauty gave, 
 
 And who a refuge is from every care : 
 
 " If she has perished, guide us to her grave." 
 
 The prayer was answered, though it brought despair 
 Upon them like the wrath of ocean wave. 
 
170 NACIMTENTO. ^ \ 
 
 They stood and trembled ; for they felt how dread j 
 
 That vengeance is which striketh for the dead. j 
 
 But where now was the priest ? None there could ^ 
 
 say. j 
 
 No one had seen him since he wildly ran ] 
 
 From out the Temple in the lightning ray '■ 
 
 That lit the darkness when the storm began. i 
 
 Into the night beyond he fled away, j 
 
 With visage wilder far, and ghostlier than \ 
 The fronting of the storm ; and in the night 
 A moment more, and he was lost from sight. 
 
 " No doubt," they spoke, " he perished in the storm, 
 
 And ere the morning dawn his life was o'er. j 
 
 Perchance, beyond the woods his pallid form 1 
 
 Is motionless in death forevermore. 
 
 The sun that shines along the prairies warm ' 
 
 Shines not for him who lieth on the shore, 
 
 Perhaps, of Nacimiento, where the tide 
 
 Will whisper tenderly for him that died." ' 
 
 Just where the altar stood, a grave they made \ 
 
 For her who in her life they loved so well ; 
 
 And to her dreamless rest they gently laid 
 Her down. But over her no funeral knell 
 
 Was rung ; and no one knelt for her and prayed — 
 They knew not how to pray, — but low the well 
 
 Of sobbing voices told how deeply felt 
 
 The loss of her had been, though no one knelt. 
 
 The grave was humble, and unto this day 
 It may be seen, if thou but turn aside 
 
NA CI MIEN TO. 1 7 1 
 
 When thou art passing through that lonely way 
 Where battlements lie scattered far and wide. 
 
 Some broken walls yet standing grim and gray 
 Have long the whirlwinds and the storm defied, 
 
 And still defy, though toppling, rude and old, 
 
 Foundations overgrown with moss and mold. 
 
 And poison weeds grow now where aisles once led 
 Along the sculptured halls ; and down below. 
 
 If thou pass not with care, thou mightest tread 
 Upon the sacred urns of long ago. 
 
 It seemeth the dominion of the dead 
 In desolation and in voiceless woe. 
 
 And wandering there, the dreariness will press 
 
 Upon thee with a weight of sad distress. 
 
 The region seemeth lonely far around. 
 
 On every side the trees are dwarfed and dry. 
 A haze is hanging ever o'er the ground, 
 
 And dull above it bends the sullen sky. 
 Naught may be heard save low and dreamy sound 
 
 Of winds that from the southward wander by, 
 And mingle with the distance faint and far 
 From dawn of day till shines the vesper star. 
 
 They made the grave; then turned away and fled, 
 And felt the land was curst forevermore ; 
 
 Nor looked behind them, but with awe and dread, 
 In their swift flight from Nacimiento's shore. 
 
 They followed paths which o'er the mountains led. 
 And left forever home and land of yore ; 
 
 And builded newer homes beyond the Lake 
 
 Where billows of Tulare gently break. 
 
1/2 
 
 NACIMIENTO, 
 
 The priest fled not with them. A maniac, 
 
 No human thoughts or hopes were left him now. 
 
 He haunted forests deep and dense and black, 
 Where mournful winds wept under branch and 
 bough, 
 
 Along the dreariness of mountain track ; 
 
 While chilled forever was his death-cold brow ; 
 
 And terrified his look, and ghastly white. 
 
 Like one who shrinks in terror and in fright. 
 
 That burst of lightning through the riven wall 
 The night the Temple fell, had set him wild ; 
 
 And since that hour no sound of foot could fall 
 But that he turned, lest it should be the child. 
 
 His dreams were terrible, and might appall 
 
 The demons where the wastes of death are piled 
 
 With spectres, in the land beneath the night. 
 
 Where burning torments lend their baleful light. 
 
 And howling through the jungles of the west 
 From Nacimiento to the San Antone, 
 
 He roamed where savage beasts the plain infest 
 And tunnel deep in pits and caves of stone. 
 
 And there at night he slept a fitful rest. 
 Disturbed forever by his weary moan. 
 
 Nor feared he beast, or man, or God, or death, 
 
 Nor aught of mortal or immortal breath. 
 
 'T was thus for years, and he had been forgot 
 By all that ever knew him. Far away 
 
 Where burn the foothill canons, fierce and hot, 
 In sultry summer, all forgot were they 
 
NACIMIENTO, 1/3 
 
 Whom once he knew. A madman's fearful lot 
 
 Is terrible at best, and cursed for aye, 
 And those who never felt, can never know 
 What maniacs may feel of nameless woe. 
 
 The fleet vaqueros who at seasons rode 
 
 Those broken valleys and those jungles through, 
 
 At times had seen him far from man's abode ; 
 And they on coursers swift would oft pursue. 
 
 And as he ran, like spectre's backward flowed 
 His hair as white as snow. They never knew 
 
 His story, who he was or whence he came, 
 
 His destiny, his purpose, or his name. 
 
 They scarce believed — perhaps, did not believe — 
 That he was human — rather more a ghost — 
 
 When they had seen him in the dusk of eve 
 Come from his hiding-place along the coast. 
 
 And rush across the waste, where mists deceive 
 So that what nearest is seems distant most. 
 
 But they upon his trail would fearless dash, 
 
 Till rocks beneath would clang, and flame, and 
 flash. 
 
 And, though with headlong speed upon his trail 
 The horsemen would give chase, it was in vain. 
 
 Pursuit the swiftest was of no avail ; 
 
 He would elude them, and would safely gain 
 
 The thickets dark. And then with piercing wail, 
 Half triumph, half despair, he 'd plunge amain 
 
 Into the tangled copse and disappear. 
 
 And leave them in misgivings, doubt, and fear. 
 
1 74 NA CI MIEN TO. 
 
 Thus through the land about the rumor went 
 That Paso Robles Plains were haunted ground. 
 
 And fear and superstition credence lent 
 To every story heard the country round, 
 
 Till in that region far no herdsman's tent, 
 Or human habitation, might be found. 
 
 Some southward fled, some east, some northward 
 fled; 
 
 They who fear not the living, fear the dead. 
 
 Full many a summer in its fever-heat 
 
 Had burnt along the valleys, and had passed. 
 
 Full many a winter storm with tempest-beat 
 Its shadows o'er the desert land had cast. 
 
 Full many a wanderer with weary feet 
 
 Had crossed the woodland solitude, aghast 
 
 At all the desolation and the gloom 
 
 Which hung above, like silence o'er a tomb. 
 
 And still the maniac was roaming there, 
 
 Companion of the panthers, and the scream 
 
 Of savage beasts from many a rocky lair 
 
 Where never falleth sunshine's faintest gleam. 
 
 Forevermore he moaned in low despair 
 
 Like one tormented in a smothering dream. 
 
 And, at the hour of evenfall alone. 
 
 He 'd rush and leap from out his den of stone. 
 
 Though years had bent him down, yet tottering age 
 Had not subdued him. He would not repent. 
 
 It may be so, that he who turns the page 
 Of fearless blasphemy with dark intent, 
 
NACIMIENTO. 1 75 
 
 No more can find repentance. Then the rage 
 
 Of deep depravity, like fever sent, 
 May be the burning that will sear the soul 
 With quenchless fire and flame beyond control. 
 
 The fate of him must be a dreadful dark 
 Who hath defied the vengeance of a God. 
 
 From out his soul is blotted every spark 
 Of human feeling. He 's a lifeless clod — 
 
 A wasted hope — a wreck — a stranded bark, — 
 But conscious ever of the threatening rod, 
 
 Which at the last will crush the vital breath, 
 
 And scourge the ruin down to endless death. 
 
 'T were better — if eternity is true — 
 
 That he had never lived, if he must hear 
 
 Behind him evermore the blight pursue 
 
 And rush with mercy none, more near and near. 
 
 'T were better had he perished ere he knew 
 That state of refuge none, and endless fear. 
 
 That deathly gloom where light is never known. 
 
 That dark despair whence every hope hath flown. 
 
 The aged priest stood on the river shore. 
 The shore of Nacimiento, whence the tide 
 
 Had sunken in the channel's thirsty floor, 
 A desert wasted, desolate and wide ; 
 
 And one might think that floods would come no 
 more 
 Adown that mighty course, all parched and dried 
 
 By sultry winds that blow unceasing there 
 
 Along the burning earth and shimmering, air. 
 
1 76 NA CIMIENTO. 
 
 The priest stood motionless in deepest gloom. 
 
 The summer furnace glowed with livid fire. 
 A tempest raged, and winds like rushing doom, 
 
 Swept up the Nacimiento in their ire. 
 Huge drifts of sand were rolling tomb on tomb 
 
 Before the blast, and piling higher and higher, 
 And clouds of dust were driven fiercely by. 
 Till even the sun was blotted from the sky. 
 
 The priest stood there, and looked across the blast ; 
 
 And o'er his face the shadows of despair 
 Like depths of night forever came and past 
 
 With rack and torment more than man could 
 bear. 
 The billowed storm was rolling wild and fast. 
 
 And dimming earth and heaven from the glare 
 Of sun and day, and beating in its blight 
 Along the shadows of the phantom night. 
 
 " Great God ! " with hollow voice at last he spoke, 
 He thought to pray, but praying was denied. 
 
 His tongue refused to speak. His spirit broke 
 In naming God whom he had long defied. 
 
 The terrors of his doom anew awoke ; 
 And in his anguish and despair he cried 
 
 For death to shield him, for he could not live ; — 
 
 His doom was done ; and Heaven would not for- 
 give. 
 
 He prayed to death and all the depths of night. 
 His prayer seemed answered ; but he shrunk 
 away. 
 
NACIMIENTO. 1 7/ 
 
 And toward the realms of truth and upper light 
 He raised his soul and tried again to pray. 
 
 Into his face like some eternal blight 
 
 His prayer was flung unheard. And in dismay 
 
 He turned in supplication back to death, 
 
 That it would smother out his burning breath. 
 
 Hell lavishes its mercies like its fire 
 
 To those who ask them. Prayer is ne'er in vain 
 When made for ruin and for mad desire. 
 
 The answer cometh soon with balm of bane ; 
 And in the nearer rush of din and dire, 
 
 The herald bursts with shriek and yell amain 
 Upon the vision of the one whose prayer 
 Hath called the spectres up from dark despair. 
 
 The priest plunged in the storm, adown the shore, 
 Into the floodless river, where the blast 
 
 Raved round him like a deluge ; and the roar 
 Was like the ocean where the waves are cast 
 
 O'er sunken reefs. Despair had seized him more. 
 He was resolved this day should be his last. 
 
 He meant to perish and receive the worst 
 
 That afterworlds can heap upon the curst. 
 
 His hair and beard, as white as winter snow. 
 Streamed on the storm a moment ere the wave 
 
 Of simoon dust came onward from below, 
 And overwhelmed him in a desert grave, 
 
 Closing forever o'er his earthly woe, 
 And answer to his last petition gave. 
 
 His doom was given. That moment was his last. 
 
 He perished in the storm that hurried past. 
 
178 NACIMIENTO, 
 
 *T was years and years ago, yet wasted all 
 Are plain and prairie from the bluff and hill 
 
 That rise on the horizon like a wall, 
 To eastern borders where Salinas still 
 
 Flows onward, out beyond the Temple wall, 
 Beyond the empty courts where thistles fill 
 
 The spaces of the sanctum and the aisles. 
 
 And cluster thickly round the crumbling piles. 
 
 When thou from Paso Robles toward the mouth 
 Of Nacimiento shalt thy way pursue ; 
 
 When from the Springs of Sulphur in the south 
 Thou pass the Region of the Valleys through, 
 
 Look o'er the land that withers in the drouth. 
 And thou wilt then believe the story true. 
 
 Thou wilt contrast that realm of voiceless gloom 
 
 With what it was when clad in summer bloom. 
 
 The world may doubt the tale, but thou wilt not. 
 
 The world may question. Thou wilt not deny. 
 The fallen architraves may be forgot, 
 
 And in the matted jungle hidden lie ; 
 And over them the summer fierce and hot 
 
 May blow its breath till vines and verdure die. 
 But yet the story of the past will rise 
 Like a mirage against the summer skies. 
 
AFAR, 179 
 
 AFAR. 
 
 T AM lonely to-night, and my thoughts are away 
 ■^ In a land where the springtime is fair, 
 Where the river is sweeping as bright as the day 
 By the home of Mabel Saint Clair. 
 
 I have passed through the shadows of sadness and 
 woe. 
 
 And my days have been gloomy and lone ; 
 I have thought of the bliss of the long, long ago 
 That has vanished away, and none ever can know. 
 
 Like a vision whose brightness has flown. 
 
 I am lonely to-night, and I 'm thinking of thee, 
 
 My beautiful Mabel Saint Clair ; 
 And I think what has been and can nevermore be. 
 
 And beyond are the shades of despair. 
 
 Thou hast strolled by the river this even, I know. 
 
 Where the breezes were gentle and mild, 
 Where the lisp of the river was peaceful and low 
 On the sands of the shore where the ebbing and 
 flow 
 In the light of the eventime smiled. 
 
 Then didst thou remember, or didst thou forget, 
 How, in the days that forever are past, 
 
l80 AFAR. 
 
 How oft at the eve by the river we met, 
 How often the sun o'er mountain has set, 
 And shadows around us were cast ? 
 
 And the stars in their beauty were shining above 
 From the fields of the limitless sky ; 
 
 And the zephyrs came whispering whispers of love 
 As soft as the breath of a sigh. 
 
 My Mabel Saint Clair, 
 
 With golden hair, 
 
 My Mabel as pure as the wafts of the air 
 
 From the far-away mountains of snow ! 
 
 When the evening was mild, and the river was fair. 
 
 We lingered together in happiness there. 
 
 Till the beamings of light 
 
 From the stars of the night 
 
 Quaked in the river below. 
 
 I am lonely to-night, and my dreams are afar. 
 
 They are far, far away from me now. 
 
 Art thou gazing to-night on the sheen of that star 
 
 That quakes as it breaks in the wake of the bar, 
 
 Where the river is gleaming, 
 
 And glowing and flowing ; 
 
 And all the perfuming 
 
 Of roses and lilies. 
 
 Distilling their sweetness, and thrilling and filling 
 
 The air 
 
 With their odors and fragrance 
 
 Are blooming, 
 
 To laden the winds that play o'er the way, 
 
AFAR, l8l 
 
 And to lavish their blisses 
 
 In tenderest kisses 
 
 Upon thy fair brow, 
 
 My beautiful Mabel Saint Clair ? 
 
 Thou wilt sometime remember 
 
 When in the September 
 
 The river is silent, or sweeping, or sleeping, 
 
 And o'er it the branches extending, and bending, 
 
 Are changing to sere 
 
 With the age of the year — 
 
 Then thy memory will range 
 
 Through the ruins of change ; 
 
 And again by the tide 
 
 Thou wilt be at my side, 
 
 When the evening is glowing, 
 
 And breezes are blowing. 
 
 And songs through the silence 
 
 Are coming and going, 
 
 My beautiful Mabel Saint Clair. 
 
 But, alas, it is never. We have parted forever, 
 
 I never shall meet thee or greet thee again. 
 
 It were better for me — 
 
 And 't were better for thee 
 
 To dissever forever and ever from me ; 
 
 'T were the best for us both, and for thee it were 
 
 best. 
 So gentle, confiding, and trusting and true — 
 Adieu to thee now and forever, adieu. 
 My beautiful, beautiful Mabel Saint Clair ! 
 
l82 ADA. 
 
 ADA. ' 
 
 i 
 
 Tl /"HERE the willows shade the clover • 
 
 » ' In the meadows by the rills ; ; 
 
 Where the sunlight flashes over ' 
 
 Verdant valleys, blooming hills ; 
 
 There it is that Ada ever ' 
 
 Lingers when the days are fair, j 
 
 *Mid alfileria blossoms i 
 
 Round about her everywhere ; j 
 
 She the gladdest and the brightest ' 
 
 And the truest and the best, | 
 
 Maiden fairest of the fairest j 
 
 In the country of the West ! ' 
 
 Never fairer, never truer 
 
 Hath on earth a maiden been ; i 
 
 Laughing eyes were never bluer, ; 
 
 Spirit freer ne'er from sin ! 
 
 All that 's best and brightest, fairest, j 
 
 Loveliest and debonair, 1 
 
 All are hers, my bright and beauteous \ 
 
 Ada with the golden hair — | 
 
 All that 's lovely is united j 
 
 In her smile and in her words, I 
 Thoughtful ever, but as merry 
 
 As the singing summer birds. \ 
 
ADA. 183 
 
 What the merit in believing 
 
 That there is a fairy clime 
 Sung by poets, idly weaving 
 
 Fancies into music rhyme ? 
 What the merit in believing 
 
 That along the fairy strand 
 Spirits 'mong the trees and shadows 
 
 Play fantastic hand in hand ? 
 What the merit in forgetting 
 
 Truer life for such a theme, 
 Thinking not of mortal beauty 
 
 In the rapture of our dream ? 
 
 Idle all, invalid dreaming. 
 
 Vain and more than vain to me, 
 All the sunshine and the seeming 
 
 Over fairy clime and sea — 
 For 't is all an idle fancy — 
 
 Ada, thou art ever true. 
 Not a phantom or a fancy 
 
 To depart as fancies do ; 
 But a loving, trusting maiden. 
 
 Young and beautiful and fair. 
 Glad as is the world about thee, 
 
 Smiles and brightness everywhereo 
 
 Others have been false ; but never 
 
 Wilt thou be as others are. 
 Thou wilt be the same forever, 
 
 Though I wander from thee far. 
 Thou I know wilt not forget me 
 
 Though all others shall forget. 
 
1 84 THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO. 
 
 In the past thou wast the truest, ♦, 
 
 Thou wilt be the truest yet. \ 
 
 Thou wilt not forsake me, scorn me, 
 As my friends have done before. 
 
 Thou wilt be the trusting, truest ■ 
 
 Maiden of the Golden Shore. , 
 
 Then, remember me, forgetting 
 
 Not when I am far away ; ^ 
 
 When the sun of eve is setting ' 
 
 And the shadows fleck the way ; , 
 
 When along the fields, and over ; 
 
 Hills the shades of darkness steal ; • 
 
 When the night is hushed, and lowly i 
 
 Thou in humble prayer shalt kneel. ■ 
 
 Then one thought I claim, my truest, j 
 
 Thou the kindest and the best — i 
 
 Thou the fairest of the fairest ' 
 
 In the country of the West. 
 
 THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO. 
 
 JUST beneath the glittering glaciers where eter- 
 nal snows are piled 
 Round the summit of a mountain, rising upward 
 
 fierce and wild ; 
 From a crevice deep and icy underneath the drifted 
 
 snows, 
 Under cliffs and hanging ledges, there a crystal 
 
 fountain flows. 
 And the fountain leaps in gladness down, and 
 
 down, and further down, 
 
THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO. 1 85 
 
 Over floors of shining mica, blended with the 
 
 granite brown ; 
 Playing onward, lightly lisping in the sun's serener 
 
 kiss, 
 Till 't is lost in Nihilvideo's dread and fathomless 
 
 abyss. 
 Where that crystal stream is welling, says the story 
 
 that is told. 
 Once was all a glittering galaxy of sands of shining 
 
 gold; 
 'Mong the rocks and 'mong the eddies, in the 
 
 whirlpool and the spray. 
 Gleamed the golden sands as brightly as the rain- 
 bows of the day — 
 All along the shores of brightness, and the deeper 
 
 shores of brown, 
 Richer set than gems bedecking Syracuse's tyrant's 
 
 crown. 
 
 And the long and silent ages voiceless came and 
 
 passed away, 
 Bringing epicycled changes, spring and summer 
 
 and decay ; 
 Bringing winter's avalanches rushing down the 
 
 mountain side, 
 Bearing ruin all before and spreading downward 
 
 far and wide. 
 And the little brook was dashing still along from 
 
 stone to stone. 
 Lisping to itself, contented in its solitude alone. 
 Human steps had never trodden up the roughness 
 
 of the steep ; 
 
1 86 THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO, 
 
 Human eyes had never seen the crystal waters purl 
 
 and leap ; 
 Human thirst for gain had never pillaged o'er the 
 
 shining sands ; 
 All there rested unmolested in the snowy mountain 
 
 lands. 
 
 But they came at last, the daring men who never 
 turn or yield 
 
 Till all mysteries are laid open and all secrets are 
 revealed. 
 
 Came they then and ransacked over all the moun- 
 tains wild and bleak, 
 
 Found the vein of quartz, and traced it upward 
 toward the angry peak ; 
 
 Traced it over ridge and canon, up the deep and 
 cold ravine, 
 
 Where the dazzling drifts were lying, and no eye 
 had ever seen. 
 
 It was theirs ! The rude despoilers in their ecsta- 
 sies and joys 
 
 Saw the golden sands about them, laughed and 
 clapped their hands like boys. 
 
 They forgot the weary toiling upward from the 
 river tide 
 
 Far beneath them, where the roaring in the distant 
 depths had died. 
 
 Hast thou seen that depth abysmal — human eye 
 
 hath seldom seen — 
 Hast thou seen that yawning canon, Nihilvideo's 
 
 dark ravine 1 
 
THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO. 1 8/ 
 
 Never. Lest thy feet have trodden paths of peril 
 
 and of dread, 
 Leading through the gloomy mountains, by the 
 
 torrent's raving bed ; 
 Underneath the hanging summits, 'gainst the brow 
 
 of cliff and ledge, 
 On the giddy rocks impending o'er the raging 
 
 river's edge. 
 If that pathway thou hast trodden, then perchance 
 
 thou partly know 
 Of the threatening terrors frowning over that abys- 
 mal woe. 
 They who never saw can never know the darkness 
 
 and the gloom 
 Of that deep and twilight canon, yawning like 
 
 creation's tomb. 
 
 O'er the gulf of Nihilvideo they a bridge of ropes 
 
 had spanned, 
 Cleated to the cliffs, projecting o'er the chasm on 
 
 either hand. 
 Looking upward from the river, facing cliffs from 
 
 side to side 
 Seemed to touch almost, asundered scarce a half a 
 
 fathom wide. 
 But to him who on the summit stood, no more they 
 
 seemed to meet, 
 But were parted in their hate sublime four hundred 
 
 yawning feet. 
 Far beneath, the foam was flying like a storm of 
 
 driven snow, 
 
1 88 THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO. 
 
 O'er the rocks that vexed the river down three 
 
 thousand feet below. 
 Like a thread the rope-bridge swayed, and seemed 
 
 no firmer than a thread 
 Stretched from cliff to cliff across the roaring 
 
 river's caiion bed. 
 Only two the tightened cables, and the bridgeway 
 
 was complete, 
 One to cling to with the hands, the other for the 
 
 fearless feet. 
 He who stood beside the river looking upward 
 
 through the shade, 
 Could not see the bridge above him, save it by the 
 
 winds was swayed 
 And the sunlight dazzled on it ; then the thread of 
 
 silver bright 
 Seemed to float across the canon glowing in the 
 
 upper light, 
 Looking like a gossamer upon a dewy summer lawn, 
 Brilliant while the sun is shining in the brightness 
 
 of the dawn. 
 
 Yet across this dreadful bridge the daring miners 
 
 took their way 
 To and from the snowy mountain at the morn and 
 
 close of day. 
 Battlemented walls were fronting, frowning back 
 
 and forth in rage. 
 Seamed and scarred by storms and earthquakes, 
 
 and by deluge and by age. 
 If the one who crossed grew dizzy at the yawning 
 
 depth below, 
 
THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO, 1 89 
 
 He looked upward at the sky, or clouds, or stars, 
 
 or peaks of snow, 
 And passed onward to the rock-crags where the 
 
 feet could find a rest 
 On the column-clustered pillars of the mountains of 
 
 the West. 
 
 In the morning when the sun had lighted up the 
 glacier streaks. 
 
 Eagles swooped from hidden eyries, and went 
 screaming 'mong the peaks. 
 
 Wheeling round and round the summits. They 
 were angry to be first 
 
 Of the monarchs of the mountains where no human 
 ever durst ; 
 
 To be tyrants of the wilderness where cedars 
 dwarfed and old 
 
 In the crevices and cliffs with roots like twisted 
 iron hold — 
 
 Hold with crook'd and cramped defiance in de- 
 crepitude of age, 
 
 Hanging there and mocking tempests in their end- 
 less rush and rage. 
 
 When the eagles found the bridge suspended there 
 
 from wall to wall. 
 They flew rushing, screaming round it with their 
 
 hoarsely demon call. 
 Rising high above and plunging down in gyratory 
 
 curve. 
 Fierce and furious to find that human had such 
 
 skill and nerve ; 
 
190 THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO. 
 
 Beating with their wings the bridge, and battling 
 
 with a hate and wrath, 
 Like the jungle lion tears the snares found set 
 
 along its path. 
 
 It was autumn. It was twilight. Sunken was the 
 evening sun, 
 
 And the weary miners rested. Labor for the day- 
 was done. 
 
 Darkness settled down around them, and the sky 
 was blue above ; 
 
 And the moon was softly shining with a light of 
 peace and love ; 
 
 Stars were beaming pale and tranquil over silent 
 rocks that threw 
 
 Shadows down along the mountain where the 
 ancient cedars grew. 
 
 It was twilight. And the miners in the shade of 
 
 cliff and ridge. 
 Rested ere they sought their camps beyond the 
 
 giddy, swaying bridge. 
 Suddenly the flash of pistols broke from every 
 
 bowlder shade. 
 And the miners fell unconscious — in eternal death 
 
 were laid. 
 All but one. He headlong downward o'er a high 
 
 and rocky wall 
 Flung himself. A clump of tangled manzanita 
 
 broke the fall ; 
 And he lay concealed, and listened as the robbers 
 
 downward rushed. 
 
THE BRIDGE OF NIHILVIDEO, I9I 
 
 To secure the spoils and plunder, with their savage 
 victory flushed. 
 
 Then he knew the voice of Basques, and the story- 
 all was told : 
 
 They were bandits from Penoche pillaging the 
 mines for gold. 
 
 Paused they but a moment viewing that the dead 
 were dead indeed, 
 
 Then rushed down the winding pathway toward 
 the camp with hurried speed. 
 
 And he heard them, and their words were, borne 
 upon the air afar : 
 
 " Est a bueno I Esta biceno ! Bueno tiempo de senar ./ " * 
 
 Up he sprang with gleaming dagger in that desper- 
 ate design. 
 Followed them adown the pathway under bough of 
 
 fir and pine, 
 Like a panther on their footsteps, under brow of 
 
 cliff and ridge, 
 And came up while they were crossing o'er the 
 
 creaking, swinging bridge. 
 In his hate he looked out at them. Not a word he 
 
 breathed or spoke ; 
 But he with his trenchant dagger slashed the cables, 
 
 and they broke ! 
 With a yell like tortured demons in the world of 
 
 death and night, 
 
 * This line, in the western dialect of the Spanish, may be 
 liberally translated : "All well ! All well ! A splendid time 
 for supper ! " 
 
192 DREAM ON, 
 
 All went down with fearful cursings, and in mists 
 were lost from sight. 
 
 Plunged they down the dark abyss into the awful 
 depth below ; 
 
 Echoes answered back the dreadful groans of hor- 
 ror and of woe. 
 
 Echoes ceased, and all was over ; and the gulf be- 
 neath was dark ; 
 
 And the rocks that loomed above it hung in silence 
 still and stark 
 
 O'er the yawning chasm ; and far away there came 
 a murmured moan 
 
 Up the steep — it was the river chafing 'gainst its 
 walls of stone. 
 
 Then the night wind whispered softly. Moonbeams 
 fell with gentle kiss 
 
 On the wild cliffs frowning over Nihilvideo's dark 
 abyss. 
 
 DREAM ON. 
 
 f~^ LAD dreams and beautiful 
 ^^ Play round thee now. 
 Garlands of happiness 
 Crown thy young brow. 
 While the moonbeam softly falls 
 Calmly in the silent halls, 
 Gleaming golden on the walls, 
 Sleep, Ada May ! 
 
 Dream dreams of crystal streams 
 All the long night. 
 
INANIS. 193 
 
 Till comes in peacefulness 
 
 Still morning light. 
 Dream not of care and pain, 
 Dream not of sorrow's reign, 
 Gladness shall never wane, 
 
 Sweet Ada May. 
 
 Light wafts of fairy wings 
 
 Fan thee to sleep, 
 Forms from the shadowland 
 
 Vigil shall keep. 
 Softer moonbeams never fell, 
 Lowest whispers seem to tell 
 Love forever true and well, 
 
 Sweet Ada May. 
 
 Peacefully and tenderly 
 
 Dreams hover o'er ; 
 Breathing blessings silently 
 
 Forevermore. 
 Wake not till morning bright 
 Bathes thy brow of marble white 
 In a gorgeous glow of light, 
 
 Sweet Ada May. 
 
 INANIS. 
 
 LIGHTLY, softly o'er the mists of morning 
 Gleams the sunlight on the silent air ; 
 And I know the winds that wander round thee 
 Play more gladsomely when thou art there. 
 
194 INANIS, 
 
 And my memories are thronging to thee 
 
 In that land where flowers are blooming fair. 
 
 Peace forevermore caress and bless thee 
 Tenderly, my loved and lost Saint Clair. 
 
 Thou hast been too kind to e'er forget me ; 
 
 Thou hast been more true than all the rest. 
 Art thou lost from me, and lost forever ? 
 
 Then why tell me all is for the best ? 
 Why have I been banished and forsaken, 
 
 Why exiled from realms of beauty blest ? 
 Lost ! But not forever and forever, 
 
 Sweet Saint Clair, bright angel of the West ! 
 
 When thou 'rt waiting in the vesper gloaming 
 
 By thine own deep river far away, 
 Thou wilt then remember and remember 
 
 Till thy musings blend with close of day. 
 Ah, I see thee yet, as true and trusting 
 
 As an angel kneeling down to pray ; 
 Think not that 't is meant to grieve or chide thee, 
 
 These impatient words that I may say. 
 
 Days are drearer now than when we parted 
 
 Where that western river's waters flow ; 
 For thou hast been more unkind and cruel 
 
 Than thou wouldst be if thou couldst but know 
 How the every word which thou hast spoken 
 
 Comes again in echoes lone and low 
 Through the gloom around my pathway ever. 
 
 Whispering to me everywhere I go. 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. I95 
 
 Fare thee well ! May roses and white lilies 
 
 Bloom in beauty for thee everywhere, 
 May each morning dawn for thee in splendor, 
 
 Bringing peace and solace from thy care. 
 'T were not well that thou shouldst know how often 
 
 I have wished for thee a brighter share 
 Of this world than is to mortals given — 
 
 Fare thee well, my loved and lost Saint Clair. 
 
 THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. 
 
 A ND hast thou never stood upon the crest 
 '**• Of that bleak mountain, where eternal snow 
 Drifts *mong the rocks ? Behind thee, toward the 
 west, 
 Two rivers down their gloomy gorges flow 
 And reach the valley, far away and low 
 Beneath the clouds that gather, and divide, 
 
 And melt away, and go, and come, and go ; 
 While near thee, round about on every side, 
 Peaks rise into the heavens with stern and awful 
 pride. 
 
 Stand there, and to the eastward turn thine eyes ; 
 
 On the horizon's verge thou wilt behold 
 A chain of mountain peaks that pierce the skies, 
 
 So far away that every rugged mold 
 
 Is melted into vagueness. Drear and old 
 Although they be, thou wilt in rapture cry : 
 
 '' That is the El Dorado realm of gold 
 Burst in at last on vision, and there lie 
 The lands Utopia between the earth and sky ! " 
 
196 THK EARTHQUAKE'S PATH, 
 
 More near, between thee and that mountain chain, 
 To north and south monotonous expands 
 
 A lifeless solitude, a dreary plain 
 
 Of rocks half buried in the drifting sands 
 Borne on the winds that blow from burning lands 
 
 Beyond Majave ; and there comes no air 
 Of springtime now ; and never mortal hands 
 
 Shall raise by toil a span of beauty there ; 
 
 For death hath conquered it, and death is every- 
 where. 
 
 Adown this desolation winds afar 
 
 The channel of a river — long ago 
 A tideless path. O'er cataract and bar 
 
 The floods no longer leap, and dash, and flow ; 
 
 Dry now, forevermore it will be so. 
 The torrents of the winter ne'er again 
 
 Shall rush in rage ; and nevermore shall glow 
 The sunshine on bright waters. Cursed then 
 And cursed ever by anathemas of men ! 
 
 From mountain unto mountain through this plain 
 A rent abysmal runs ; thou mightest trace 
 
 Its course from where thou standest, like a lane 
 As far as eye can see, unto the base 
 Of hills beyond the valley, where the face 
 
 Of cliffs rise up amain. This is the road 
 The earthquake made in its destroying race 
 
 When it had bursted from its deep abode 
 
 In nether fire, and fled its continental load. 
 
 That plain before thee was not always dead. 
 That river channel was not always dry. 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE S PATH. 1 97 
 
 That path made by the earthquake when it fled 
 Has not been there forever. On the sky 
 That false mirage hath not uplifted high 
 
 Its phantom shores forever. And the dust 
 Hath not forever thus been drifting by 
 
 Along the desert's harsh and grating crust, 
 
 Eating away the rocks by erosion and by rust. 
 
 Far in the morning of the infant world, 
 
 This plain, which now is dead, was gay with 
 flowers. 
 Meandering brooks along its prairies purled, 
 
 And whispered through the shade of blooming 
 
 bowers. 
 The golden vision of the springtime hours 
 Flowed like an ocean far on every side, 
 
 And seemed to wash against the mountain 
 towers ; 
 And tenderly the southern winds replied 
 Along the flowing billows of the beauteous tide. 
 
 Along the restless river's either bank 
 
 The verdure stirred in summer's balmy breeze. 
 Then graceful deer came down the shore and 
 drank, 
 
 And blue quails sported underneath the trees. 
 
 Might then be heard the drowsy hum of bees 
 'Mong flowers innumerable, which far along 
 
 Waved o'er the plains that rose and fell like seas 
 Of blooming billows. Deep the swelling song 
 Of birds with ca*rol lays, now low, now full and 
 strong. 
 
198 THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. 
 
 The river's crystal flood passed idly by 
 
 As pure as the ethereal realms of air ; 
 And deep below it bent an azure sky 
 
 Like that which bent above, as bright and fair. 
 
 And flowers and tree^ were likewise pictured 
 there, 
 And, further back, the mountains' ponderous piles 
 
 Blent with the panorama. Everywhere 
 Were haloed clouds that passed like painted isles 
 O'er mountain chains that stretched away a hun- 
 dred miles. 
 
 Serenely fair and beautifully grand 
 
 Was all that valley then. The far-off chain 
 
 Of snowy hills looked down upon the land ; 
 And peaks the farthest off were seen as plain 
 As those most near. For distance laid no stain 
 
 Or dimness on that scene. An Eden's shore. 
 Though grand with many a myriad verdant fane 
 
 As sung by bards of eld in sacred lore, 
 
 Was not more beautiful, nor deeper brightness wore. 
 
 This was the Mono Valley in that age 
 Of youth, before the fell destroyer came. 
 
 It might have seemed an angel's heritage — 
 But loveliness is vanished ; and the name 
 Is all that now remains of former fame. 
 
 It hath been stricken by an awful blight 
 
 Which seared its virtue into changeless shame 
 
 And overwhelmed the sunshine's holy light 
 
 With tides of gloom that came like shadows of 
 the night. 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH 1 99 
 
 'T was fair — the springtime breathed with blandest 
 breath — 
 'T was o'er — a stillness fell — the groves were 
 still— 
 A silence like a withering wave of death 
 
 Swept through the valley-plain from hill to hill ! 
 Doom followed on and stamped his iron will 
 On all that fair creation. Hushed and deep 
 Was nature's terror ; and a deathlike chill 
 Passed in the wake of silence, like the sweep 
 Of some tyrannic hand when conquered nations 
 weep. 
 
 The valley seemed to shrink with fear and dread. 
 It quivered, trembled, then was calmed and 
 hushed ; 
 Then shook again, and swift the quivering fled 
 To eastward wave on wave — then paused — then 
 
 rushed 
 Again. The plain, with spirits awed and crushed, 
 Shook like a coward. Changed was all the scene. 
 
 All beauty from the face of earth was brushed. 
 A ghastly pallor blotted out the sheen 
 Of sunshine and of bloom, and fields of living 
 green. 
 
 A hollow moan like ocean's distant roar 
 
 Was heard far off, and seemed the dying groan 
 
 Of some vast monster crushed forevermore 
 Beneath the promontoried heights of stone. 
 Naught else was heard save that and that alone ; 
 
200 THE EA R THQ UAKE'S PA TIL 
 
 But the vast mountains heaved, and sank, and 
 
 rose, 
 With heaviness again ; then overthrown 
 Again, they sank and shook with awful throes. 
 Then rose again and sank, and cringed with dying 
 
 woes. 
 
 At once there spouted upward flames that broke 
 From riven mountains, bursted from below 
 
 Unto their very summits. Columned smoke 
 
 Was hurled against the sky ; while peaks of snow 
 Were mixed with flames in red and horrid glow 
 
 Above the clouds, the whiteness and the fire 
 Together mingling in stupendous woe. 
 
 The flames e'er mounting higher and higher and 
 higher. 
 
 Enwrapping in their wrath creation's funeral pyre. 
 
 Then shook the plain like billows on the sea — 
 Like islands in the ocean undermined 
 
 And drifting off through storms in raging glee 
 Unto the unknown waters undefined — 
 Shook then the plain on-driven in a blind 
 
 And furious blast ; and evermore amain 
 
 The valley rose and sank with hideous grind 
 
 Of rocks beneath the world, where racking pain 
 
 Tormented depths of earth with tyrant wrath and 
 reign. 
 
 Then from the mountain ran the deep abyss 
 
 Across the valley eastward, hurling high 
 The rending rocks that seethed with sulphur hiss. 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. 201 
 
 And roared and flamed along the blackening sky. 
 
 The rent ran east, as straight as arrows fly, 
 From mountain unto mountain, plowing deep 
 
 The valley as it went, and rushing by 
 With reckless fury ; and into the deep 
 Of eastern hills beyond it buried with a leap. 
 
 The earthquake had passed o'er the plain and left 
 Its pathway as it went. Its fury passed 
 
 From west to east and tore the mighty cleft 
 To mark its journey. All its rage was massed 
 To burst the mountains of the east, and cast 
 
 Among them all its fires. Then cliffs were hurled 
 Flaming into the clouds, and peaks aghast 
 
 Stood trembling ; while about like leaves were 
 hurled 
 
 Whole chains of mountain domes — the ruins of a 
 world. 
 
 And ever and anon the withering fires 
 
 Rolled flames from earth to heaven, and awoke 
 
 The thunders of the centuries ; and spires 
 Of livid heat from out the craters broke. 
 Mixed with ten thousand hills of billowed 
 smoke ; 
 
 Till glaciers, clouds, and flames were blended all 
 The orient heavens under, like a cloak — 
 
 A shroud of blackness — stretching as a pall 
 
 On the horizon's verge — a flaming, fiery wall. 
 
 Then all the valley and the peaks of snow 
 On either side afar were hid from view 
 
202 THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. 
 
 In smoke that from the heavens settled low, 
 Concealing all the fields of azure blue, 
 And darkening on the earth which vaguer grew. 
 
 Until in midnight darkness sank from sight 
 The agony of elements, and threw 
 
 A mantle o'er its suffering. The light 
 
 Was past away, and morn was changed into the 
 night. 
 
 A stillness came. The fires had sunk to rest 
 
 Into the yawning earth and ceased to roar 
 Along the reeling mountains of the west. 
 
 And rocks were heard to grate and grind no 
 more 
 
 Below the world. The earthquake storm was o'er, 
 And nature had grown calm. Then slowly rose 
 
 The smoke and cleared away from all the shore — 
 Rose slowly up, as loathing to disclose 
 The valley's ruined fields and desolation's woes. 
 
 When clouds had cleared away and light returned. 
 The plain extended as a blasted heath. 
 
 The conflagration had swept o'er and burned 
 All life away. Still hung in many a wreath 
 The smoke about the snowy domes. Beneath, 
 
 A blackened waste was all. The gaping chasm 
 Across the valley ran like jagged teeth 
 
 And yawning jaws, distended in a spasm 
 
 Of rage to mold the earth in that Plutonic plasm. 
 
 That river beautiful, the Mono bright. 
 No longer flowed along its flowery way. 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. 203 
 
 Its banks were withered by the deadly blight, 
 And all its shores were shrunk to shrivelled clay. 
 Its waters were dried up ; and ashes lay 
 
 Where once had sparkled down the crystal stream, 
 In gladness dancing through the light of day ; 
 
 And all was limned in lurid, lonely gleam 
 
 Like drear, unfriendly shores as pictured in a dream. 
 
 The verdure and the flowers had ceased to be ; 
 
 Yet stood about in dread and gloomy pride 
 The branchless trunks of trees — though many a tree 
 
 Had fallen in the storm — yet some defied 
 
 The elements and stood — although had died 
 All verdure and all beauty ever there. 
 
 The waste extended out on every side 
 As far as eye could reach, and everywhere 
 One panorama vast of ruin and despair. 
 
 Then stand with me upon the mountain crest 
 'Mid century snows, and toward the east behold 
 
 The Mono Valley far below, and dressed 
 In the same ruin that the earthquake rolled 
 Across it in the ancient times and old. 
 
 Thou art above the cedars and the pines. 
 
 The wind about thee bloweth bleak and cold, 
 
 Although 't is summer-time and brightly shines 
 
 The sun on sparkling snow like shores of crystal 
 mines. 
 
 But heed this not ; 't is splendid to be here 
 
 And feel that all the world is 'neath thy feet ; 
 The sky above thee bending pure and clear, 
 
204 ^^-^ EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. \ 
 
 And at thy side the earth and heavens meet. \ 
 
 Thou art alone with me in this retreat, 
 
 Which is not loneliness, though high above \ 
 
 The summer's sweltering noons and torrid heat. \ 
 
 We are alone ; and not the tireless dove J 
 
 Can soar to us or bring its soothing coo of love. i 
 
 ■j 
 
 We are alone. Think not there is no throng 
 
 To storm along thy pulses as we stand j 
 
 Beyond the gaze of human, and the song, \ 
 
 And words, and jargons, and the waving hand ' 
 
 Of soulless multitudes who crowd the strand , 
 
 Along life's lower plains, and unaware \ 
 
 What beauty is above them where expand i 
 
 The purer worlds. — Think not, for we can share \ 
 
 The spirit of creation round us everywhere. ; 
 
 The Mono Valley reaches like a dream 
 
 Before us, down immeasurably below. 
 We trace the journey of its ancient stream 
 
 Whose waters ceased their flowing long ago. ! 
 
 That mighty chasm whose depth we cannot know , 
 
 We yet can trace until it shuns the eye 
 
 Beneath the far-off eastern hills of snow ; 
 
 Whose summits pinnacled arise on high, I 
 
 And pierce with dazzling white the azure of the sky. 
 
 Mark well along the valley how the path i 
 
 The earthquake made yet scars the glimmering ( 
 
 plain, ] 
 
 And lines the flight of subterranean wrath, j 
 
 Running afar a treacherous, sunken lane, ! 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH, 205 
 
 A deep, a geological Ohain 
 Across a waste and desert Waterloo, 
 
 Where all the valley's loveliness was slain. 
 And beaten back, and burnt ; and all that grew 
 Was trampled down by that which tortured as it 
 slew. 
 
 But what is all of that to thee and me ? 
 
 'T is naught to us if still the plain is dead. 
 Upon the mountain height we stand to see 
 
 On our one hand the wasted prairie spread, 
 
 And on the other, far along the thread 
 Of silver rivers toward the sinking west, 
 
 Are pasture lands where herds and flocks are 
 led. 
 And where, at noon, in groves they sleep and rest — 
 A land of loveliness, a land of beauty blest. 
 
 Down toward the west is this, but far away ; 
 
 So far that vision nothing can discern. 
 Save plains outspreading in the light of day. 
 
 And the slight silver threads where rivers turn. 
 
 One toward the Golden Gate, one south toward 
 Kern 
 And meets Tulare's Lake, whose waters flow 
 
 In restless waves o'er sandy shores that burn 
 With arid heat — the lake in light aglow, 
 A hundred miles away, ten thousand feet below. 
 
 Drear Mono Valley ! Death is on thy brow ! 
 
 Fair Joaquin Valley, like a paradise ! 
 Drear Mono, life with thee is over now 1 
 
206 THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. 
 
 Fair Joaquin, blooming under summer skies ! 
 
 To thee afar away I turn mine eyes 
 And call thee Beautiful, and stretch my hand 
 
 Down toward thee, feeling pride and passion rise 
 Through all my nature ; and I feel the band 
 That binds me unto thee, thou dreamer's dreaming 
 land! 
 
 But, Mono, tenderness for thee I feel ; 
 
 I feel a sympathy for thy distress. 
 Fain would I turn away the cursed seal 
 
 That binds thee to thy doom of dreariness. 
 
 Thou once wert fair and proud in gorgeous 
 dress 
 Of foliage and roses, ere the flame 
 
 Of doom destroyed. I cannot curse or bless — 
 I will not curse thy misery and shame ; 
 I cannot bless — thy name is but an empty name. 
 
 A name, though beautiful, is naught to me 
 
 Unless it meaneth something more than dust. 
 No gentleness and truth can ever be 
 
 Without a soul of kindness, love, and trust. 
 
 Thy plains are dead and drear, a grating crust 
 Of tasteless salt. Then get thee to thy own. 
 
 And nevermore into my presence thrust 
 Thy rude deformities — remain alone 
 In thy despair, and mourn thy beauty that is flown. 
 
 Ye winds that blow eternally and blow 
 
 Forevermore along the treeless heights 
 Of pinnacles and domes where ice and snow 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. 20/ 
 
 Have drifted through a thousand years of nights, 
 I come to dwell with ye and your delights 
 Awhile, for there is something in the wild 
 
 And curbless winds that softens and requites 
 My nature's sullen elements, beguiled 
 By erring vistas which have tempted and reviled. 
 
 I came to ye, ye winds whose wings along 
 
 The crags of ice a-rushing I can hear 
 Above me and around me, brave and strong, 
 
 And far away, and nearer and more near. 
 
 I feel akin to ye. Ye are not drear. 
 And I can linger here for days alone ; 
 
 Yea, linger till the days shall round the year. 
 And mix my waywardness with all your own. 
 And feel how trust and truth have ever stronger 
 grown. 
 
 In solitude there comes a soothing calm 
 
 That buries memory of things that were, 
 And o'er our errors settles like a balm 
 
 To heal the soul that suffers in despair. 
 
 The heart's complaining, whispering but of care. 
 Is lulled to sleep ; and holier thoughts arise 
 
 And unto higher plains our spirits bear. 
 And bring a slumber over weary eyes. 
 And give us peace awhile that comes from paradise. 
 
 But what is peace to me ! I scorn at peace ! 
 
 When I am left alone in solitude 
 The chidings of my memory never cease 
 
 Upbraiding me for phantoms I 've pursued. 
 
208 THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH. 
 
 For I have erred ; and nothing but to brood 
 In sullen spite will bear me through the storm, 
 
 Still urging me to darker, darker mood. 
 While all my nature marshals into form 
 My cold, eternal hate, my love that still is warm. 
 
 Still warm, although betrayed and spurned to 
 earth — 
 
 'T were better had I turned about and curst 
 That falsest of all false ! There was no worth — 
 
 There was no any thing that 's good — the worst 
 
 Of all my enemies— she was the first 
 To leave me in the hour of need — conspire 
 
 To work my overthrow, till like a thirst 
 That knows no quenching, burns the smothered fire 
 Within my soul — I '11 fling to earth my gentle lyre — 
 
 I '11 join with earthquakes and the tumult wild. 
 That fierce confusion which will stifle care. 
 
 I cry peccavtjnus that I have smiled 
 
 For one so false, so fleeting, and so fair — 
 I '11 fling away the past with its despair, 
 
 Back to its chaos ; and then I will turn 
 From all my aberrations, and will there 
 
 Build up again. For I at least can learn 
 
 From what has been, what themes will soothe and 
 what will burn. 
 
 But why thus rave and bluster with the world 
 And with its tyranny ? 'T is worse than vain. 
 
 It can o'erpower me, for it hath hurled 
 Me down already, manacle and chain 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH, 209 
 
 Hath fettered on me till the burning pain 
 Is racking ; and I have nowhere to flee. 
 
 Why should I not rebel ! Why not disdain 
 Submission while a hope I yet can see — 
 I '11 tear my fetters off — I can, I will be free ! 
 
 Yea, free ; though burnt and riven like that plain 
 
 Before me as I stand — be free — once more — 
 Though passions have consumed me as the reign 
 
 Of earthquake fires consumed the Mono shore. 
 
 Its blasted ruins nothing can restore. 
 Deep trenches through my nature mark the rage 
 
 Of my ambition. But the storm is o'er ; 
 And I, although a youth, am bent with age 
 And enter thus upon my fated heritage. 
 
 A heritage of deep, unbending pride 
 
 That kneels to nothing, and would sooner die 
 
 Than ask forgiveness ; and when once denied 
 Asks nothing ever after, nor reply 
 Deigns give to one who ever durst deny 
 
 A favor asked. To such a soul I 'm chained ; 
 And all my destiny is to defy 
 
 The will and wish of others who have feigned 
 
 To be my friends, then turned, betrayed me and 
 disdained. 
 
 But soft ! Perhaps all yet may not be lost ; 
 And love may not be all in ruins yet. 
 
 I have been turned adrift, and tempest-tost. 
 And I have seen my brightest summers set, 
 But there is something I cannot forget 
 
2 1 THE EA R THQ UAKE S PA TH. 
 
 Comes whispering down my memory. I feel 
 A flush from out the past where I have met 
 My life's one idol, and my musings steal 
 Back through the shadow shores that all the past 
 reveal. 
 
 Passions ! Nature ! Tempests ! Mingled all ! 
 I am the prey of all. I cannot turn 
 
 To heaven or earth, but that a voice will call 
 And chide me or upbraid me, curse or spurn, 
 Or wake my recollections till they yearn 
 
 For hours which are no more,— the youthful years, 
 When hope was bright because it yet must learn 
 
 The cost of wisdom and the price of fears, 
 
 And what the world is like when seen through 
 blinding tears. 
 
 1 wake from dreams. I on the mountain stand 
 'Mid snows eternal. 'T is the evening hours. 
 
 The Mono Valley's drear and wasted land 
 
 Lies to the east, scarred by the earthquake 
 
 powers ; 
 To west Madera's boundless fields of flowers 
 Roll off to vision's bourne. I am alone 
 
 Amid the mountains wild, and snowy towers. 
 And they have claimed my nature for their own — 
 Too true ! I am of ice, and fire, and storm, and 
 stone ! 
 
 Like fire and storm, I cannot bear control, 
 
 My curbless passions, love, and scorn, and hate, 
 
 Rush like tornadoes round my stranded soul 
 And bear me onward to impending fate. 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE'S PATH, 211 
 
 But, motionless as stone, I stand and wait. 
 Nor kneel, nor ask for peace, nor plead ; nor cry, 
 
 " It is enough ! I yield ! Your wrath abate ! " — 
 Yea, sooner than to yield, I '11 stand and die, 
 And to the last will hate and to the last defy. 
 
 But, peace ! Why will I to the last contend 
 With foes unworthy me ? It is not well 
 
 That I, a man, should stoop and condescend 
 To lower levels, merely to rebel 
 Against what there I find. I will not dwell 
 
 In such indignity. I '11 take my way 
 
 Down from this summit, over cliff and fell ; 
 
 For night forbids that I should longer stay 
 
 On this bleak mountain height. Low sinks the sun 
 of day. 
 
 I wake as from a sleep. The eve declines. 
 
 And, as my life warms through my being, I 
 Search out my path, descend where ancient pines 
 
 Grow far beneath ; and glades and meadows lie 
 
 Around the river source. Then I descry 
 The snowy summits where I stood of late 
 
 Rise o'er me gloomy, terrible on high. 
 Embattled in their everlasting hate. 
 Tremendous in their power of all that 's grand and 
 great. 
 
212 MABEL ST, CLAIR. 
 
 MABEL SAINT CLAIR. 
 
 IN the far-off summer land of light, 
 Where the winds are soft and fair, 
 Where the dewdrops cluster on lilies white, 
 With a peaceful rest in the silent night, 
 Is the home of Mabel Saint Clair. 
 
 'T is a summer shore and a crystal strand. 
 
 And the whispering river flows, 
 And the waves are washing the silver sand, 
 And the orange groves afar expand 
 Like the dreams that are dreamed in fairy land 
 
 And only the dreamer knows. 
 
 Is the home still there of my Mabel Saint Clair 
 
 As in days that are passed away ? 
 Is her sweet song heard when the morning fair 
 Is flushing with splendor everywhere ? 
 Do the winds that come and the whispering air 
 Breathe gently and tenderly, " Mabel Saint Clair,"- 
 
 Sweet Mabel, my lost for aye ? 
 
 Ah, far, far away, far away is she now. 
 
 And we have parted to meet nevermore, 
 But still at the eventime roses will bow. 
 When the breeze from Yo Semite kisses her brow 
 As she lingers alone by the shore. 
 
MABEL ST. CLAIR. 213 
 
 She '11 remember me then, I know, when the gleam 
 
 Of the stars shall come down from the sky, 
 And shall fall on the river's unmurmuring stream. 
 On the shore with its shadows that slumber and 
 dream. 
 And are stirred by the breath of a sigh. 
 
 'T is a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful shore, 
 
 And again I seem to be there. 
 Where the cold and the drear of the winter is o'er, 
 And the tempests are gone with their rushing and 
 
 roar, 
 And the bright flowers bend with their bloom 
 evermore 
 At the feet of Mabel Saint Clair. 
 
 Then, Mabel, remember — I will not forget, 
 
 Though my memory bringeth but pain. 
 Thy parting adieu was the tenderest yet — 
 For the last time on earth we have parted and met — 
 The suns that were brightest forever have set — 
 It is vain — it is vain — it is vain ! 
 
 It is vain — it is vain. We have parted forever. 
 
 And deserts between us are barren and dreary. 
 Eternity's cycles can never dissever. 
 Or drive us asunder — a-drifting — no, never — 
 Though driven and tempted and hopeless and 
 weary. 
 
214 ^-^^ RING, 
 
 THE RING. 
 
 T^HE ring you gave me for a while, 
 ^ I 've kept and still am keeping ; 
 It bids me think of you by day, 
 And dream of you while sleeping. 
 
 And this is really, truly nice, 
 
 As nice as it can be ; 
 I like the ring, indeed I do, 
 
 Because you gave it me. 
 
 But then — ah, here 's the saddest part — 
 
 I must return the ring ; 
 You said that I must bring it back 
 
 On the first day of spring. 
 
 I said I would, and so I will, 
 
 Just as I said, I '11 do ; 
 I '11 bring the ring at first of spring 
 
 And give it back to you. 
 
 But, there 's a question I would ask ; 
 
 As sure as sky is blue. 
 The ring 's so tight 't will not come off — 
 
 Now, what are you to do ? 
 
ELESIE DEL QUA MA DA. 21$ 
 
 The ring is yours, and spring is here, 
 
 But I can't understand 
 How you can ever get that ring, 
 
 Unless you take my hand. 
 
 ELESIE DEL QUAMADA. 
 
 W 
 
 ^HERE the trees are green, 
 By the river side 
 And the ocean's waves are near and drear. 
 Is a lovely scene, 
 And a dream of pride, 
 For the sky above is ever clear. 
 
 In that grove of trees 
 
 A maiden dwells. 
 Hard by Quamada's playful tide ; 
 
 And the ocean breeze. 
 
 Like a chime of bells. 
 Comes over the water waste and wide. 
 
 When thou shalt pass 
 
 That summer dream, 
 Elesie del Quamada's home, 
 
 Where the blooming grass 
 
 And the morning gleam 
 Shall tempt thee there to cease to roam. 
 
 Remember well 
 That I was there. 
 And on that shore of shell and sand, 
 
2l6 ELESIE DEL QUA MAD A. 
 
 The debonair 
 And proud and fair 
 Elesie led me by the hand. 
 
 Five blooming years 
 
 Had passed away 
 Since first she saw the world of flowers. 
 
 Too glad for tears, 
 
 Too proud for play, 
 She watched the sea the summer hours. 
 
 She led me down 
 
 Where the waves were wild. 
 And told me of the rocks and trees, 
 
 And the bowlder's brown. 
 
 Together piled 
 Along the ledges, reefs, and keys. 
 
 The suns of France 
 
 And the suns of Spain 
 Had kissed her brow, though yet so young 
 
 And from the glance 
 
 And the proud disdain 
 Of her night-dark eyes her soul was flung. 
 
 Her home was far 
 
 From the passing throng 
 On a dreary coast, almost unknown, 
 
 And over the bar 
 
 The waves' hoarse song 
 Was ever rising drear and lone. 
 
ELESIE DEL QUA MAD A, 21/ 
 
 A few green trees 
 
 By the river side 
 Bent over the cottage where she dwelt, 
 
 And in the breeze 
 
 From the ocean wide 
 They waved when the breath of air they felt. 
 
 I lingered there 
 
 In the morning hours, 
 And with her strolled beside the sea. 
 
 For the day was fair, 
 
 And the few wild flowers 
 That bloom, were blooming on the lea. 
 
 Then I passed away, 
 
 And she said adieu. 
 With ail reiwir and d dios ; 
 
 And the sun of day 
 
 Sank in the blue 
 Of waves, and the night air hovered close, 
 
 'T was long ago. 
 
 But often yet 
 I think how lonely she must be 
 
 Where the billows flow 
 
 Like a sad regret 
 From the ancient sorrow of the sea. 
 
 And the darker night 
 With deeper gloom 
 Makes all the ocean lonelier seem, 
 Till the morning light 
 
2l8 KAWEAH. 
 
 On the shores of bloom 
 Is flashing bright 
 With a deeper gleam, 
 And the ocean's might, 
 And the playful stream 
 Flow ever like a changing dream. 
 
 KAWEAH. 
 
 ly'NOW ye where the dark Kaweah dashes 
 *^ through abysses deep ; 
 Where no flower was ever blooming, and no wil- 
 lows ever weep ? 
 Where the rocks and crags impending rise like 
 
 ruined cities rise, 
 Desolate and cold and lifeless from the desert to 
 
 the skies ? 
 Not a sound of human whisper breaks that solitude 
 
 of woe, 
 Where the flapping wings of eagles on the stillness 
 
 come and go. 
 And the shades like famished spectres glide from 
 
 rock to rock in gloom, 
 And aloft in clouds and tempests high the frowning 
 
 mountains loom. 
 
 Death ! It is the dread dominion where there 
 
 nothing is but death. 
 Nature there created monsters but denied them 
 
 living breath, 
 
KAWEAH. 219 
 
 Dragons with cold, stony faces, molded by volcanic 
 
 fires, 
 Grin and frown in horrid vagueness from their 
 
 ancient funeral pyres. 
 Torrents from the hidden caverns, bursting forth in 
 
 foaming white, 
 Roar and roar and roar eternal through the deep 
 
 abysmal night. 
 
 Into that Eidolon Valley who would dare his way 
 
 to tread ? 
 Who would cross those unknown borders where no 
 
 pathway ever led ? 
 Gold ! That siren song was singing. Hands were 
 
 painting beauteous dreams 
 For the sleeper. Sands were flowing. Golden 
 
 sands in murmuring streams. 
 
 In the depths of dark Kaweah there were toiling all 
 alone 
 
 Two rough miners ; and about them heaps of gold 
 were all their own. 
 
 They that realm had penetrated and had found the 
 dream was true. 
 
 In the sands of mountain torrents gold was bub- 
 bling up to view. 
 
 All alone they toiled and labored hoarding up the 
 wealth untold ; 
 
 Winter's storms, and suns of summer saw the grow- 
 ing heaps of gold. 
 
 Human footsteps, none came near them ; none ap- 
 proached them toiling there. 
 
220 KA WEAH, 
 
 Beetling, overhanging mountains walled around 
 
 them everywhere. 
 There they toiled for years ; still hiding in a cavern 
 
 dark and deep, 
 All their gold, still rolling o'er it rocks in huge and 
 
 rugged heap. 
 
 'T was enough. Their work was over. In the 
 sands the wealth untold 
 
 Still was hidden ; but no longer would they wash 
 the drifting gold. 
 
 In the deepening shades of evening, by their cav- 
 ern's darker door, 
 
 Sat the miners, worn and haggard, talking all their 
 future o'er. 
 
 And the past came up before them, and they lived 
 it once again ; 
 
 But they dwelt upon the future seen with fancy's 
 brightest ken, 
 
 They had toiled, but rest was coming. Peaceful 
 days would dawn at last. 
 
 Disappointments would be ended, every care with- 
 in the past. 
 
 With their store of wealth, declining life would 
 yield them pleasure yet. 
 
 Days would dawn, and at the dawning they could 
 all the past forget. 
 
 They had spent their days together from their boy- 
 hood when they played 
 
 By the bright blue Juniata in the quivering chest- 
 nut shade. 
 
KA WE AH. 221 
 
 They would buy the ancient cottage, childhood's 
 
 home beneath the trees, 
 And as peaceful as the river, life would pass in rest 
 
 and ease. 
 Thus as fell the evening shadows talked they of 
 
 the future blest, 
 And when darker night came o'er them, on their 
 
 couch they sank to rest. 
 
 Lone the night hung, dark and dreary, and one all 
 unconscious slept. 
 
 But one waked, and thoughts infernal through his 
 brain like phantoms swept. 
 
 Night's domain of humid blackness was as day to 
 the design 
 
 Which he pondered : " All this treasure might be, 
 can be, must be mine ! " 
 
 All, it must be his. His comrade slept, and 
 dreamed perhaps of one 
 
 Long forgot, except in dreaming — But — a groan — 
 his dream was done ! 
 
 He was dead. For thrice a dagger had been 
 plunged into his heart. 
 
 But a groan, a gasp, a shudder, and a quick con- 
 vulsive start, 
 
 And the dying man extended his rough hand and 
 called, and felt 
 
 For his comrade who was silent and who like a 
 coward knelt, 
 
 Hiding 'neath the rocks that shelving met the cav- 
 ern's stony floor, 
 
222 KA WE AH. 
 
 Trembling when the gasping ended and he knew 
 his work was o'er. 
 
 It was o'er. A murderer standing in the dark be- 
 fore the cave 
 Heard beneath him waters dashing, heard above 
 
 the night-winds rave. 
 And an awful shudder shook him, and he turned 
 
 to flee for aid 
 To the cave again, but shrinking, he drew back 
 
 and felt afraid. 
 Down the gorge the winds of midnight hoarsely 
 
 howling blustered by, 
 And the clouds of deeper blackness wildly swept 
 
 across the sky. 
 Then in fear the coward trembled, and he knew 
 
 not where to go, 
 While the dreary dark was dragging desolate away 
 
 and slow. 
 
 When the morning late and lonely came and 
 
 brought the autumn day, 
 Down Kaweah's rugged valley slow the murderer 
 
 took his way. 
 All the gold he left behind him in the cavern 
 
 buried deep 
 And untouched ; and there his comrade lay in 
 
 death's eternal sleep. 
 Murderer flying from the crying voice that late had 
 
 called for aid ! 
 Murderer shrinking when the phantoms seemed to 
 
 wave a bloody blade ! 
 
KAWEAH. 223 
 
 All the world lay blank before him like a half-for- 
 gotten dream. 
 
 " Murderer," winds and billows murmured : " Mur- 
 derer," lisped the mountain stream. 
 
 At the midnight, voices echoed back the murmurs, 
 and the air 
 
 O'er him and around repeated the same murmurs 
 everywhere. 
 
 Over every land and nation like a one who flies 
 and flies. 
 
 Hurried, haunted, chased, and driven toward a 
 goal that earth denies. 
 
 So he fled o'er isles and oceans, seeking refuge 
 evermore 
 
 From the fiends that yelled behind him, coming 
 like a tempest roar. 
 
 Years and years their length had numbered, and 
 the murderer wandered yet. 
 
 Chilled and numbed by icy winters, scorched by 
 suns that never set. 
 
 In the canons of Kaweah fell the evening's dreary 
 
 shades ; 
 And the world grew vague and dimmer like mirage 
 
 of morning fades 
 In the noonday. Then there wandered slowly up 
 
 the rugged glen 
 One who seemed to seek for refuge from the homes 
 
 and haunts of men. 
 Tottering frame and failing footstep, hair as white 
 
 as winter snow 
 
224 ^^ WEAH. 
 
 Told him aged, and about him hung a mystery of 
 
 woe. 
 Like a ghost among the shadows silently along he 
 
 past, 
 Bent by age as with a burden, and beneath it 
 
 sinking fast. 
 In the low and gloomy doorway of a cavern dark 
 
 and lone. 
 Overhung by threatening mountains and half hid 
 
 by heaps of stone ; 
 By that doorway stood the stranger, peering vaguely 
 
 through the dark, 
 Where a skeleton before him lay disjointed, still 
 
 and stark, 
 Torn by wolves, and half devoured ; and from the 
 
 grottoes in the stone, 
 All untouched by hand of human wealth of gold 
 
 untarnished shone. 
 
 Long he stood like stony statue, him, that haggard, 
 
 aged man. 
 While his thoughts in swift remembrance like a 
 
 deluge backward ran. 
 Mournfully the winds were murmuring 'mong the 
 
 shelving crags on high, 
 Mingling murmurs with the dashings of the torrents 
 
 rushing by. 
 Night was brooding, and the darkness gloomily and 
 
 deeper fell. 
 And the beasts of prey in hunger filled the rocks 
 
 with scream and yell. 
 
BON NIB EL DE LA SANTA YNEZ. 22$ 
 
 From the cavern's darkened doorway turned the 
 murderer worn and slow, 
 
 Heeding not the storms above him, nor the angry- 
 flood below. 
 
 And he passed into the darkness up the wild and 
 rocky glen, 
 
 While the night came swiftly downward, and he 
 ne'er was seen again. 
 
 BONNIBEL DE LA SANTA YNEZ. 
 
 IF the world were as fair and as lovely as thou, 
 and the morrow no shadows of sorrow should 
 bring. 
 It would be but in vain to look ever beyond, for the 
 
 time would be all as a beautiful spring. 
 And the ice of the winter and fever of summer 
 
 would be as a memory lost in the past ; 
 And the sadness of autumn, unfeared and forgotten, 
 no longer its dreariness o'er us would cast. 
 
 I have met thee, fair maiden of Santa Ynez, by that 
 whispering river that murmurs and flows 
 
 From the land of the south, 'neath the oak and the 
 willow that wave when the breeze of the morn- 
 ing-time blows. 
 
 I have met thee and loved thee — thou knowest it 
 truly — I speak to thee true — I will ever be 
 true — 
 
 I have wondered if Eden at dawn of creation, with 
 heaven above it unclouded and blue — 
 
226 BONNIBEL DE LA SANTA YNEZ, 
 
 I have wondered if Eden with rivers of crystal that 
 
 flowed where the liHes were bending in prayer 
 In their deep adoration and worship and beauty^ 
 
 and moving in calmness in waves of the air — 
 I have wondered if Eden where music was deepest, 
 
 where all that was deepest was lulled to repose 
 In rapture of dreaming and wonder of loving, when 
 
 the zephyrs were soft as the breath of a rose — 
 When I met thee, fair maiden of Santa Ynez, then I 
 
 wondered if Eden in years of the eld, 
 A maiden as fair and as lovely as thou, in the prime 
 
 of its summer celestial held. 
 
 Not Eve in the spring of her life and her beauty 
 was lovelier, fairer, or gentler than thou ; 
 
 And the love and the bloom of her youth was no 
 deeper than the love and the bloom on thy 
 beautiful brow. 
 
 In her soul was the wealth of the love and the kind- 
 ness which since o'er the earth have been scat- 
 tered afar 
 
 To her daughters, the truest, the fairest, and pure- 
 est, where'er they have been and wherever 
 they are. 
 
 But to thee, gentle maiden, to thee hath been given 
 
 a rapture of feeling surpassing them all ; 
 And a rapture of beauty, and rapture of gladness — 
 
 Oh ! a fortune like thine is shall nevermore 
 
 fau- 
 lt shall nevermore fall to the lot of a mortal. Tell 
 
 me not, then, I have loved thee too well ; 
 
BONNIBEL DE LA SANTA YNEZ, 22/ 
 
 For the depth of my dreaming, my depth of emo- 
 tion, the depth of my nature, thou only can tell. 
 
 It is vain. It is vain. We have met and have 
 parted, have parted for ever and ever. 
 Adieu ! 
 
 We have met, and have loved, and have severed 
 forever ; but my heart unto thine shall forever 
 be true. 
 
 When the years of the future shall bear me, and 
 leave me, a-drift or a-wreck on the sea or the 
 strand ; 
 
 Then my memory will wander, and seek thee, and 
 find thee, as I found thee to-day in the sum- 
 mer-deep land. 
 
 As I found thee to-day by the murmuring river, 
 where the oaks and the willows were waving 
 above 
 
 In the soft winds of morning that came from the 
 ocean, and wandered away with a whisper of 
 love. 
 
 I will crown thee with roses, my memory will crown 
 
 thee, as to-day I have crowned thee the queen 
 
 of my heart ; 
 And thy brow shall be gay with a garland of lilies, 
 
 whose bloom and whose beauty shall never 
 
 depart. 
 And the beat of thy pulse shall be glad ; I will tell 
 
 thee a story of love as I told thee to-day. 
 When thy hand was in mine, and thou trembled 
 
 with gladness, for thy soul with emotion was 
 
 carried away. 
 
228 BONNIBEL DE LA SANTA YNEZ. 
 
 Then the lisp of the river, the whisper of breezes, 
 
 seemed kindred to us as we wandered alone 
 By the Santa Ynez, where the sun of the morning 
 
 with a flooding of rapture and ecstasy shone. 
 O the morn and the hour and the moment that 
 
 blessed us ! O the river ! — there 's nothing 
 
 more wondrous to me 
 Than a whispering river in calmness and softness — 
 
 I lingered alone by that river with thee. 
 O the river ! — Thy love was as deep as the river, as 
 
 calm as the river, as pure as the stream 
 Which the river bore on through the light and the 
 
 shadows, the dark of the shade and the bright 
 
 of the gleam. 
 Even so was thy love ; for thine hand I was press- 
 ing, and I felt how thy spirit was flowing to 
 
 mine. 
 Like the tide of a river that flows to a river, and 
 
 mingle together, my spirit and thine. 
 And the warmth of thy nature was like the deep 
 
 springtime, all rapture, and passion, emotion, 
 
 and love ; 
 As pure as the dawn in the Garden of Eden, as 
 
 pure as the dreams of the angels above. 
 
 O maiden of Santa Ynez, I have loved thee ; I have 
 
 told thee I loved thee ; thou answered me low, 
 Thou answered me, saying : " I love thee more 
 
 fondly than ever this world in its coldness can 
 
 know." 
 And then why have we parted ? The river still 
 
 whispers beneath the green banks, and the 
 
 willows still wave. 
 
BONN I BEL DE LA SANTA VNEZ. 229 
 
 And the flowers will blossom and wither and per- 
 ish, where the breezes still wander and tenderly 
 lave. 
 
 And the sky is still deep with the fervor of sum- 
 mer, and the hills of the south in their beauty 
 still rise ; 
 
 But all beauty besides is as naught to thy beauty, 
 and the azure is pale to the blue of thine eyes. 
 
 It is useless and vain that the world should e'er 
 fathom the deep of thy mystery — let it go by ; 
 
 We have parted forever. Let mystery darken all 
 else till the day and the hour that we die. 
 
 But my fair Bonnibel of the Santa Ynez, while thy 
 true heart shall beat thou wilt never forget, 
 
 Thou wilt think of the past and wilt call it a dream, 
 ere thou learned of the dulness and care of 
 regret ; 
 
 For thou knew it not then, and no shadow of sor- 
 row had ever come over thy morning of life ; 
 
 Not a grief had oppressed thee, no promise been 
 broken, no darkness come o'er thee with gloom 
 and with strife. 
 
 O my sweet Bonnibel, could a heart so confiding 
 
 and trusting and playful and gentle as thine, 
 Ever feel a remorse, or a grief, or a sadness ? — It 
 
 has mingled with sorrow in mingling with 
 
 mine — 
 When thy love like a waft of the wind from the 
 
 southland had blended with love from my 
 
 shadowy soul, 
 
230 BONNIBEL DE LA SANTA YNEZ. 
 
 Then I fear that a chill from the dark of my nature 
 had whispered to thee of a mystical goal. 
 
 Bat let that go by. In the depth of my being I 
 have treasured thy love, nevermore to dissever. 
 
 It is mine, it is thine — let eternity witness ! — I will 
 claim thee and love thee for ever and ever. 
 
 Then adieu, Bonnibel de la Santa Ynez ! — then 
 adieu ! but remember, remember the past. 
 
 When the years of the future shall gather about 
 thee, and the gloom of the eventime round 
 thee is cast ; 
 
 When the aftertime summer above thee is lonely, 
 then think of that morn in the summer of bliss, 
 
 When all nature was hushed in the wonder of glad- 
 ness, and the sky bended down in a rapturous 
 kiss. 
 
 Remember that morn in the shade of the willows, 
 where the river was clear as a crystal, and low 
 
 Were the whispers of waves ; and we sat 'mong the 
 flowers, and watched the glad river a-murmur- 
 ing flow. 
 
 And thy hand was in mine while I told thee I loved 
 thee, and thou said'st that we never and never 
 should part ; 
 
 And in rapture I blessed thee, caressed thee, and 
 pressed thee to my bosom till heart was beat- 
 ing to heart. 
 
 But let that go by. 'T is the part of a story which 
 the world shall not know ; it shall never be told. 
 
BUENA VISTA, 23 1 
 
 We will shroud it in mystery ever, and deepen the 
 shadows of time while the past they enfold. 
 
 We have parted. In parting we knew *t was for- 
 ever ; the river beside us in beauty was gleam- 
 ing ; 
 
 And the touch of thine hand was the saddest and 
 kindest that ever I knew in my dreariest 
 dreaming. 
 
 'T was a dream like a memory — passing and fading 
 — fading and passing — but never away : 
 
 Then adieu, Bonnibel de la Santa Ynez ! we have 
 met, and have loved, and have parted for aye. 
 
 BUENA VISTA. 
 
 WE summits of Sierras ! I am here ! 
 -'• I pause, and westward look for the last time. 
 Beneath me far the rolling hills appear, 
 And farther down is Sacramento's clime, 
 Wrapped in the fulness of the spring sublime. 
 From southward, but beyond my vision's ken. 
 Flows the Joaquin, the grandest theme of rhyme 
 E'er touched upon by bard's poetic pen — 
 I bid ye all adieu, but I will come again. 
 
 My way is east across the continent. 
 
 To lands where angry winters rave and roar ; 
 
 But, ere I turn, I pause in my intent. 
 
 And look again on California's shore. 
 
232 BUENA VISTA. 
 
 The more I linger here, I love the more 
 Those undulating hills and plains below. 
 To me they overthrong with legend lore, 
 And in time's mighty current rise and flow, 
 As mysteries and dreams from out the long ago. 
 
 « 
 Around about me lie the century snows, 
 The snows that I have seen from plains afar, 
 All glittering in the light that ever glows 
 In summer days when skies all azure are. 
 And here I am where thunders scathe and scar 
 The crags, and in deep echoes live and roll 
 In dread when winter drags his booming car — 
 And here I am ! I feel my panting soul 
 Rise into ecstasy and throb beyond control. 
 
 The Golden Shore beneath me to the west. 
 Even in the distance beauteous more and more. 
 In verdure of the springtime proudly drest — 
 O beauteous, beauteous, beauteous Golden Shore ! 
 To east I go where mountains cold and hoar 
 Frown o'er Nevada, gloomy waste and drear ; 
 But farther lands than these to wander o'er 
 Is now my task. — The eastern plains appear — 
 Farewell, thou Golden Shore ! the parting hour is 
 near ! 
 
A SONNET, 233 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 HTHEN fare thee well, bright land, but not for aye. 
 ^ I '11 come to thee again when spring shall blush 
 In conscious beauty, and thy zephyrs play 
 Where weeping willows idly swing, and brush 
 Along the shaded flowers the livelong day. 
 I '11 dwell again where roaring rivers rush. 
 And mountains rise in grandeur proud and gray, 
 Or white with snow and cold, where glaciers crush 
 The rocks by pressure slow — I will return. 
 Fair land, again to thee — I '11 come again 
 In happier days than this — I '11 ever yearn 
 For thee until I come again, and then 
 I '11 with thee stay forever. But, adieu 
 To-day to summer fields and skies of summer blue ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
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