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SONGS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Western Shore 
 
 BY 
 
 y^. K . W E A- R E 
 
 OF NEVADA. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO: 
 BACON & COMPANY, PRINTERS. 
 1879. 
 

 Copyright, 1879, 
 BY W. K. WEARE 
 
 k- 
 
 V\ 
 
 t 
 
 \ ? 
 
\ 
 
 Pioneers of the Western Coast 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 BROTHER PIONEER. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 in submitting this little effort to the appreciation of the 
 people of the Pacific Coast in general, and the Pioneers 
 of the Western Shore in particular, I might say that I 
 was urged to such action by the solicitation of ray innu- 
 merable friends. But I forbear, fearing the inevitable 
 " Too thin" ; and will say that the fact set forth in " The 
 Miner's Surprise," in the sentence " I represent the prodi- 
 gals who came in Forty-nine," has more to do with my 
 action ; and that necessity, as much as inclination, was the 
 motive power. I have endeavored to set forth my ideas 
 in simple style, without the aid of impracticable meters 
 or inapplicable metaphors. Should the morosely critical 
 say that both the matter and manner are foreign to the 
 meaning of the title, I shall only say that I had the ambi- 
 tion, whether laudable or not, to endeavor to draw atten- 
 tion to some existing abuses or misconceptions which I 
 conceived to be hindrances to the advancement of our 
 peculiar polity, and the aims of refined civilization, which 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 I could not effect under a less alluring title, more especi- 
 ally for the young. If I shall disabuse the minds of a 
 class among the community of a mistake under which 
 they labor, and prove that the Pioneers are not the old 
 " stiffs " and fossils they are supposed to be ; that they 
 are not buried in the ruins of Forty-nine so deep as to 
 be oblivious to the exigencies and necessities of the living 
 present, I shall have accomplished all I anticipated and 
 
 more. 
 
 W. K. W. 
 
 Cabson City. October, 1879. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Ode to the Pioneers, - - - - - 13 
 
 Song op the Bullion, . - - - 16 
 
 Song of the Battery, - - - - 20 
 
 Carrie: The Tragedy op Lake Tahoe, - - 24 
 
 El Arbol del Madrona, - - - - 28 
 
 La Flor del Mariposa, - - - - 31 
 
 Lone Mountain and ' ' Sophie," - - - - 34 
 
 The Convict's Bride, - . - - 42 
 
 Faithless : A Life Story, - - - - 46 
 
 Caste, ------- 49 
 
 The Reign of Public Opinion, - - - - 58 
 
 The Princess Wiemar, - - - - 61 
 
 The Schoolma'am's Letter, - - - - 68 
 
 Ode to the Comstock Engineers, - - - 72 
 
 The Miner's Flag, - - - - - 75 
 
 Poem delivered at Carson City, - - - 78 
 
 The Centennial Year, - - - - - 82 
 
 Columbia, my Country, . . - - 93 
 
 Supercilious Airs, - - - - - 96 
 
 Nature's Dower, ----- 102 
 
 " No License ! " — To Pave the Dark Pathway to Hell, 105 
 
 Shipwrecked and Saved, - - - - 110 
 
 San Quentin's Graves, - - - " ■'•^^ 
 Christianity versus Paganism, 
 
 120 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Doom of the Cumberland, . _ - 126 
 
 The American Mother, . - - _ 130 
 
 The Grizzly Trap, - - - - - 132 
 
 Kingcraft, - - - ... . 140 
 
 My Father's Quartz Tunnel, . . . 144 
 
 Who Followeth the Wine-Cup can Never Excel, 147 
 
 The Taint is in my Blood, - ' - - - 150 
 
 The Reign of Temperance, - - - 154 
 
 Tramps, -.--.-- 163 
 
 The Voice of the People, - - - 167 
 
 Virtue 's its own Reward, , . _ - 169 
 
 The Beauties of Nature, .. - - - 173 
 
 ''What Might Have Been," - - - - 177 
 
 To the Mexican Veterans, - - - 181 
 
 " Go, Sin NO More," - - - - 185 
 
 Musing by the Spring, . . - - 187 
 
 Two Lives, 191 
 
 Daisy Morris, _ . . - - 197 
 
 New Year's Greeting, ----- 200 
 
Songs of tlie Western Shore, 
 
ODE TO THE PIONEERS. 
 
 Magician ! Memory ! break the spell of intervening time 
 While we rehearse the deeds of old wrought by a faith 
 
 sublime, 
 Since when on the Sierra's crest a Pioneer first trod, 
 When all was wild as when it sprang from chaos or from 
 God- 
 To light, and life, and action then ! 
 Bring forth upon the scene the men 
 Whom memory still endears. 
 The brave, the bold, the tried and true ! 
 Who made this land a home for you — 
 
 The grand old Pioneers ! 
 Who paved the way for empire here. 
 Who never knew a doubt or fear. 
 Who led proud Progress year by year — 
 
 Hail ! and a thousand cheers ! 
 * # # ^ =* * 
 
 For some toiled o'er the desert waste, while through the 
 night in dreams 
 
14 ODE TO THE PIONEERS. 
 
 They heard the savage war-whoop wild, or wife and child- 
 ren's screams ; 
 Or saw by day some victim's scalp reeking with crimson 
 
 gore — 
 What tongue can tell the sufE'ring passed to reach the 
 
 Golden Shore ? 
 Beneath the burning sun by day, the gleaming stars by 
 
 night, 
 Onward they toiled across the pale dull, desolated blight, 
 Until from the Sierra's crest they saw the promised land 
 Whoso» mountain torrents dashed along o'er beds of 
 
 golden sand. 
 Their feet trod Colorado's plains and Arizona's soil. 
 Despite of danger, hunger, thirst, or wild Apache broil. 
 The highest mountain had for them no danger to affright, 
 They climbed without a sign of tire each regal crest of 
 
 white. 
 Nor hireling slaves were ever they, but free as mountain 
 
 air. 
 They sought the treasure in the wild, the wild beast's life 
 
 to share. 
 Till each lone crag, and dark ravine, and canon's murky 
 
 cave. 
 Has been since first the land they trod some Pioneer's 
 
 lone grave. 
 The half they did there 's none can know — it never can 
 
 be told : 
 
ODE TO THE PIONEERS. 15 
 
 The trail is paved, o*er which they passed, with silver and 
 with gold. 
 
 They planned the City of the Bay, which proudly may 
 aspire 
 
 To grandeur far transcending that of old imperial Tyre ; 
 
 They formed its types along the way to Davidson's high 
 . crest, 
 
 Where sits Virginia, silver-robed, the wonder of the 
 West; 
 
 They brought the rivers to the plains unblessed by sum- 
 mer showers; 
 
 They made the wilderness to bloom with vines and orange 
 bowers. 
 
 No grander monument than theirs on earth can ever be — 
 
 Its apex, the Sierra's crest ; its base, Magellan's Sea. 
 
 Now, every day we hear of some whose earthly bonds 
 
 are riven, 
 Whose hands their last deep shaft have sunk, their last 
 
 lone tunnel driven. 
 Let's hope that in the Fatherland they're called on to 
 
 explore 
 Are treasures richer, brighter, far than gold or silver ore. 
 For, while the glorious West shall live the pride of 
 
 future years, 
 Thousands of happy homes must bless the grand old 
 
 Pioneers. 
 
SONG OF THE "BULLION." 
 
 Where the snowy crests of the mountains towered 
 
 O'er an aspect stern and wild, 
 Where no harvests gleamed in the autumn sun, 
 
 Or the flowers of the garden smiled, 
 For ages I lay in my gloomy shroud, 
 
 Unblessed by the Day-God's beam. 
 Ere the igneous floods of the earth well'd forth 
 
 In the lava's fearful stream. 
 
 I was there ere t"he Shepherd Kings of old 
 
 Worshipped the rainbow fair. 
 And thought that it rose from the shades of death, 
 
 And was born from the breath of prayer; 
 That its aureole stripes, with their golden light. 
 
 Reached over the wide earth's rim. 
 To carry the prayers of the culprits up 
 
 To the Throne and the cherubim. 
 
 16 
 
SONG OF THE '' BULLION:' 17 
 
 I was there ere the towers of the Nile were seen, 
 
 Or a pyramid raised its head, 
 Or Egyptian graves in the solid rock 
 
 Were filled with the mighty dead. 
 Ere the Orient nations waxed and waned 
 
 In the ages long since gone, 
 Or the Eastern World bowed down before 
 
 The giants of Macedon. 
 
 I was here in the wilds of our wondrous West 
 
 Ere its empires rose and fell ; 
 But none invaded my lone retreat. 
 
 Or dared in these woods to dwell. 
 Yes, cycles of ages before the time 
 
 When was peopled the verdured earth, 
 And the age when its burning cauldron cooled. 
 
 Was the date of my fiery birth. 
 
 But now ! I am Lord of the land and sea- 
 All bow to my mighty power, 
 
 And the loftiest head bends meekly low 
 For a tithe of my princely dower. 
 
 I bring to my arms from distant lands 
 The fruits of the teeming earth, 
 
18 SONG OF THE ''BULLIONS 
 
 From my path in despair flies the vulture Want, 
 While hope in the heart finds birth. 
 
 Do you ask why so long in my shroud of gloom 
 
 I lay in my hidden lair? 
 Why I came not forth to the glorious light, 
 
 A boon to a world more fair? 
 Go ! ask of the Mighty One who rules 
 
 The universe supreme : 
 I abode His time in the darksome caves, 
 
 Unblessed by the Day-God's beam — 
 
 To come forth at the time when tyrants mocked, 
 
 And traitor hands were raised. 
 When the long-pent fires of a smouldering hate 
 
 O'er the walls of Sumpter blazed. 
 Then I came, a boon to the gallant ranks 
 
 Of the millions brave and true, 
 Who were sworn to the stars of the grand old flag 
 
 Bequeathed by the patriot few. 
 
 Do you ask who am I who in haughty pride 
 Bend the earth to my stubborn will ? 
 
 At whose frown the fiery passions rise. 
 At whose smile the fiends are still? 
 
SONG OF THE ''BULLION:' 19 
 
 Ye have known my name, ye have owned my power ! 
 
 From the time of your birth 't was told. 
 I am " Bullion," seen in the silver's sheen 
 And the gleam of the radiant gold. 
 
 The utilization of tlie silver from the Comstock was nearly coeval 
 with the attack on Sumpter, and from that time a continuous stream 
 of bullion flowed into the treasuries of the Sanitary and Christian 
 Commissions. Had it not been for the discovery of gold, and the 
 millions thrown into the lap of the nation, 'tis doubtful whether 
 our credit would have carried us through the war. And had the 
 Western Slope been in sympathy with the South and the stream of 
 bullion gone there, the result would have been entirely different. 
 The Union could not have been preserved. 
 
SONG OF THE BATTERY. 
 
 Turn the torrent wild from its rocky bed, 
 
 Chain the princely power of steam. 
 That my arms may be nerved by their giant strength 
 
 Let me hear the whistle scream. 
 For my revel is not on the field of strife, 
 
 I herald no deadly fight 
 Where the victor Death is the power that reigns, 
 
 And Might claims the meed of Right. 
 
 No ! my revel is not on the field of blood, 
 
 Like the *• batteries " known of yore ; 
 My harvest is not in the crimson flood — 
 
 It is gleaned from the shining ore. 
 And as death follows fast on my namesake's track. 
 
 So life follows fast on mine. 
 For I bring to the light and I scatter and spread 
 
 The wealth of the darksome mine. 
 
SONG OF THE BATTERY. 21 
 
 Whole ages had passed, and the busy world 
 
 ' Mid these scenes saw no prospect fair ; 
 Its vales were the wandering Indian's home, 
 
 Its mountains the wild beast's lair. 
 I came ! and the sound of my iron tramp 
 
 Is now heard where a sound can stray, 
 While the toilers come from Atlantic's shores, 
 
 And the realm of the old Cathay. 
 
 They shall come our mountain slopes to gird. 
 
 And our river beds to span, 
 Till my tramp shall be heard in a thousand vales 
 
 Even now unknown to -man — 
 Till iron bands shall the shores unite 
 
 Of the North with the Tropic Sea, 
 And desert plains show the springing germs 
 
 Of an Empire yet to be. 
 
 Yes ! my tramp shall be heard in the northern land. 
 
 O'er the shriek of the Borean breeze ; 
 ' T will be heard by the child of the southern clime, 
 
 Near the shores of the Tropic Seas. 
 In cradle lands of our ancient race 
 
 Is the spell of my power confessed ; 
 
22 SOJVG OF THE BATTERY. 
 
 They are lured to the scene of ray conquests new, 
 In the wilds of the wondrous West. 
 
 Oh ! they sang of the wealth of the Orient clnne 
 
 On the far-famed Indian shore ; 
 Of the treasure Spain in her hour of pride 
 
 From the land of the Aztec bore ; 
 Of diamonds bright, from Brazilian sands — 
 
 But the fruit of my tireless tramp 
 Is to such, as the Pole-Star's steady gleam 
 
 To the glare of Aladdin's lamp* 
 
 And they sang, in the ages long since passed, 
 
 Of the fabled Age of Gold ; 
 But it only lived in the realm of song 
 
 Till I came to the wealth unfold 
 Long locked in the mountain's rocky caves. 
 
 Unknown to the ancient sage ; 
 I am king of the real Age of Gold, 
 
 I am king of the Mineral Age. 
 
 Then turn from its bed the river's force, 
 
 Chain the princely power of steam, 
 That my arms may be nerved by their giant strength ; 
 
SONG OF THE BATTERY. 23 
 
 Let rae hear the whistle scre«im. 
 For I am the king of the mountain laud, 
 
 With my clangor, and crash, and shock, 
 As with tireless tramp I tear from its home 
 
 The wealth in the stubborn rock. 
 
 Virginia City, 1866. 
 
CARRIE 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF LAKE TAHOE. 
 
 'T was summer ! and only the last fading trace 
 
 Of the winter's snow-mantle was seen ; 
 And the rivulets, freed from the Storm King's embrace, 
 
 Rippled on amid islets of green. 
 When our path lay along the Sierra's steep side, 
 
 Near the shore of its beautiful lake, 
 When our voices turned silent, their echoes had died, 
 
 And I thus strove the stillness to break. 
 
 " Come, cheer up ! " I said ; " does some Sibyl, whose haunt 
 
 Is this fastness, cast o'er you her spell ? 
 In what sylvan retreat from some battle with want 
 
 Does she live — the enchantress ? Come, tell ! 
 Come, tell me the legend." The mountain peaks rise, 
 
 Like sentinels watching above ; 
 In the lake's placid bosom lie mirrored the skies. 
 
 While each zephyr seems laden with love. 
 
 24 
 
CARRIE. 25 
 
 Then he spake, as his glance seemed to wander away 
 
 To some land past my vision — unknown : 
 From the mountain cliff there, overlooking the Bay, 
 
 His heart-sorrow he slowly made known. 
 'T was a fact ; no wild dream of the poet his tale, 
 
 Who by fancy has peopled each cave ; 
 Who sees in each grotto some recluse, lone, pale, 
 Past the malice or envy of earth to assail. 
 
 Companioned by gloom or the grave. 
 
 " Well, 't is nearing a year, since the bright summer day 
 
 Seemed to her, the most fair 'midst the fair. 
 As bright as Aurora in spring-time and May, 
 
 Ere mankind knew of sorrow and care. 
 When a young merry band left the lake-shore below 
 
 To gaze on these wonders around; 
 Brave youths and fair maidens, as pure as the snow, 
 
 With which yonder tall mountain is crowned. 
 
 " But like her who the prize at Mount Ida once won. 
 There was one still more fair 'midst the fair. 
 
 One whose eyes of sweet blue caused the heartless to shun 
 Their glance for the realm of desj)air ; 
 
 As lithe as a Naiad, with step light as floss, 
 Or the gossamer floating in dew ; 
 
 2 
 
26 CARRIE. 
 
 None saw but to love her, none can know my loss ; 
 To each duty of life ever true. 
 
 *' Do you see ? over there ! in that cleft in the rock, 
 
 That flower, on the precipice, there f 
 Just heaven, you see it ! I still feel the shock, 
 
 And remember my impotent prayer. 
 She sprang, with the dash of a mountain gazelle. 
 
 To the edge of the caiion's steep side — 
 She grasped it ! one moment ! oh God, must I tell ? 
 
 Yes, down ! down ! in her beauty and pride, 
 To the foot of the chasm, all mangled, she fell. 
 
 There my daughter, my all on earth died ! 
 
 "Sometimes, when the winter blast howls down the steep, 
 
 And the Storm King his tempest-song sings, 
 I awake. Was it fancy? A phantom of sleep? 
 
 Or the voice of my darling that brings 
 Me still nearer her home-land ? Yes, darling, I know 
 
 By the shores of the Idyllic Sea, 
 In the summer's soft calm, or when winter winds blow, 
 
 I still hold sweet communion with thee. 
 
 "And all else is forgotten. The laugnter and shout 
 Wake no chord to respond in my ear ; 
 
CARRIE. 27 
 
 There's a Spirit Land, friends, past this region of "doubt, 
 Where the summer skies always are clear ; 
 
 Where no winter storms rage, and where sorrow 's un- 
 known, 
 And the trustful are never beguiled ; 
 
 From that Land there 's a call, and the music 's my own ; 
 'T is the voice of my dai'ling, my child ! " 
 
 Note.— Near or in the hamlet of Glen Brook, on th6 eastern shore 
 of Lake Tahoe, "the Gem of the Sierras," there arises an abrupt 
 rocky prominence. Seen from some positions the rock outlines a 
 human profile, and is thought to look like the face of Shakespeare; 
 hence 'tis called "Shakespeare's Rock." Nearthe end of the summer 
 of 1877, a band or company of young people climbed the rock, which 
 is quite a common feat with tourists. Among them was Miss Carrie 
 E. Rice, a young lady well known, and beloved by all. In springing 
 to an isolated cleft or step she fell, and was mangled, crushed to 
 death. The verses are a delineation of the circumstance, as told 
 the writer on the spot.— W. K. W. 
 
EL ARBOL DEL MADRONA. 
 
 On the wild mountain-side, where the forest trees, blend- 
 ing, 
 
 Enshroud the surroundings in shadow and gloom. 
 And the tall, somber fir, in stern grandeur ascending. 
 
 Imparts to the scene the repose of the tomb ; 
 Where the wild bird or beast, when by danger af- 
 frighted, 
 
 Turns from its destroyer in terror to flee — 
 There, in evergreen splendor, the eye meets, delighted, 
 
 The beauteous Madrona, the " Strawberry Tree." 
 
 Where the bleak, rocky cliffs overhang the deep gorges. 
 Whose crash would the bravest with terror appall ; 
 
 Whose storm-riven fragments the element forges 
 To bowlders, rough-hewn by the force of their fall; 
 
 Where the stormy wind moans, and the tempest, career- 
 ing, 
 Strikes notes of weird music in Nature's wild key — 
 
EL ARBOL DEL MADRONA. 29 
 
 There, the stern desolation enlivening and cheering, 
 Stands the beauteous Madrona, the " Strawberry Tree." 
 
 The Tropics may boast of their rich, verdant splendor. 
 
 Their groves, blossom-laden, soft breathing of balm ; 
 Boast of wild, tangled vines, which do beauty engender 
 
 Round the stately magnolia or green-crested palm ; 
 But here^ where around all is darksome and dreary, 
 
 And the eye seeks in vain some oasis to see. 
 Thy gorgeous resplendence is spread for the weary, 
 
 Thou beauteous Madrona, the " Strawberry Tree." 
 
 Perennial, effulgent, with verdure unfading. 
 
 In the autumn, who seeks may with transport behold 
 Thy leaves and thy fruit, some lone grotto enshading. 
 
 Where the emerald blends with the hue of the gold. 
 Unique and fantastic, thy arms gently Avaving, 
 
 Show beauty transcending all mortals may see, 
 The homage of lovers of nature enslaving. 
 
 Thou beauteous Madrona, the " Strawberry Tree." 
 
 The birds midst thy branches, their melody pouring. 
 
 Seem delighted to find in the dim sylvan scene 
 Some object to call forth fresh notes of adoring. 
 
30 EL ARBOL DEL MAD RON A. 
 
 While through the dense foliage bright gleams inter- 
 vene. 
 The brook bubbles onward, fulfilling Thy orders, 
 And murmurs devotion, kind Heaven, to Thee, 
 Who hath placed on Earth's rocky and storm-riven bor- 
 ders 
 The beauteous Madrona, the "Strawberry Tree." 
 
 The Madrona, or Strawberry Laurel, is a native of California, 
 and under favorable circumstances attains a large size. Its bark is 
 a buff, some shades darker than the Manzanita, or " Little Apple," 
 and of the same family. During the autumn of 1854, while hunting 
 on the Coast Range of mountains, I came suddenly upon four speci- 
 mens of gigantic size. They were growing near a mountain brook, 
 and arfe always an indication of water. These were in full fruitage. 
 The clusters were as large as the largest of the grape, each indi- 
 vidual berry being a fac-simile of the strawberry, of a rich golden 
 color. The leaves are long and pendent, and of a glossy, enameled 
 green. The blending of the colors presented a picture of rare beauty. 
 Hundreds of birds were feasting among the branches. "Como se 
 llama aquel arbol?" I asked of my Mexican friend, ("How do 
 you name tliat tree ?" being literal English). "Es el Madrona, 
 seiior," ('Tis the Strawberry Tree, sir,") was the answer. "Es la 
 fruta buena para comer?" ("Is the fruit good to eat?") I asked. 
 "Pienso es veneno," ("I think 'tis poison") was the answer. 
 ''Mira! mira! seiior! los pajaros se comen! El Seiior ha enseriado 
 los pajaros mas que los h ombres" ("Look! look! the Lord has shown 
 the. birds more than man") I answered, in my American Spanish; 
 "and then, drawing my note-book. I wrote, " El Arbol del Madrona." 
 
"LA FLOR DEL MARIPOSA," 
 
 Or "THE BUTTERFLY FLOWER.' 
 
 Hie away ! hie away from the haunts of men, 
 
 To the mountains come with me, 
 When the burning beams of the summer sun 
 
 Wilt a leaf on the greenest tree. 
 If a sense of beauty you claim to own, 
 
 If that be a part of your dower, 
 You will thrill with delight when first you see 
 
 The beautiful " Butterfly Flower." 
 
 For it lives not by the rivulet's side, 
 
 Nor deep in the grassy glade ; 
 But it chooses the parched, unsheltered plain. 
 
 Afar from the cooling shade. 
 It is a child of the genial sun, 
 
 'T is not a child of the shower, 
 
LA FLOR^ DEL MARIPOSA. 
 
 And it gathers its life from the Day-God's beams, 
 The beautiful " Butterfly Flower." 
 
 It comes not forth in the flush of spring, 
 
 When the earth is clothed in green ; 
 'T is not till the sun pours his fiercer rays 
 
 That its beauteous face is seen. 
 The lava soil, which it seems to love. 
 
 Bestows no fragrant power ; 
 But no art can copy the matchless tint 
 
 Of the beautiful " Butterfly Flower." 
 
 It closes its leaves at the night's approach, 
 
 When its patron sinks to rest. 
 Enfolding with all a mother's care 
 
 The petals within its breast. 
 And not till the sun sheds forth his ray. 
 
 Long past the rising hour. 
 Do its leaves expand to the light of day, 
 
 The beautiful " Butterfly Flower." 
 
 A child of the mountain, a child of the sun, 
 
 And a child of the barren, soil, 
 It seems to breathe a lesson of love 
 
 To the children of want and toil. 
 
LA FLOR DEL MARIPOSA. 33 
 
 'T is cultured not in a gay parterre, 
 
 Nor the foundling of pride or power, 
 But 't is sent to adorn the dreary wild, 
 
 The beautiful " Butterfly Flower." 
 
 And ye who repine at your gloomy lot 
 
 In this world of want and care. 
 Should know that wherever your steps may trend 
 
 There is something bright and fair ; 
 That nature has given to every scene. 
 
 By the spell of its magic power. 
 Some beautiful thing, if you will but heed, 
 
 Like the beautiful " Butterfly Flower." 
 
 "Las Mariposas," from which Mariposa County takes its name, 
 or the " Butterfly County," arises from vast tracts of these flowers, 
 which actually carpet, with a robe of beauty, the arid soil. 
 
LONE MOUNTAIN AND "SOPHIE.' 
 
 Introduction.— Perhaps the most noticeable feature of interest 
 at Lone Mountain Cemetery, near San Francisco, California, is a 
 marble statue, which seems to have been a joint memorial to Chris- 
 tian "Faith" and Christian "Hope." There are no legends in 
 words to enlighten the beholder while gazing on its emblematic 
 beauty — the single word "Sophie" being all. The right foot of 
 the female figure rests on a type of the Holy Bible, open at the 14th 
 chapter of the Gospel of St. John, while the book lies within the 
 anchor of Hope, or in nautical phraseology the fluke of the anchor, 
 the cable to which is folded to the breast of the female. Around 
 her brow is a wreath of immortelles, and on her forehead the star. 
 The face is turned toward the Pacific Ocean, and the whole design 
 is beautiful in conception, in execution, and in artistic grace. As 
 the setting sun sank or seemed to sink into the ocean's bosom, and 
 irradiated the face with its glowing tints, there on that summer eve 
 I seemed a portion of the scene, and sitting at the feet of my divin- 
 ity I sketched my ramble to the place, and paid this feeble tribute 
 to Lone Mountain and " Sophie." 
 
 A stranger in the crowded street, a stranger from the 
 
 mountains, 
 Who long had dwelt 'mid sylvan scenes, midst forests, 
 
 rocks, and fountains ; 
 I left the living city's haunts, where half the world was 
 
 weeping, 
 
 34 
 
LONE MOUNTAIN AND '' SOPHIE r 35 
 
 And sought the city of the dead, where all seemed calmly 
 sleeping. 
 
 And first I climbed Lone Mountain's side, Lone Mount- 
 ain, still and solemn, 
 
 To where, o'er Broderick's ashes, stands the massiv^e gran- 
 ite column. 
 
 Type of the massive man who sleeps in silent loneness 
 under, 
 
 The son of toil, who first inspired our State with pride 
 and wonder. 
 
 Then down the western slope I turned, toward Magel- 
 lan's Ocean, 
 
 To muse among the dead, and mark the living's deep 
 devotion ; 
 
 The ocean wind blew freshly o'er the graves with flowrets 
 laden. 
 
 Where earthly forms repose in peace, whose spirits live 
 in Aiden. 
 
 There bloomed the lily, pink, and rose, and beauteous 
 morning-glory. 
 
 And wild flowers, all beyond my lore, unknown to me in 
 story ; 
 
 There spirits seemel to hover o'er those who no care can 
 borrow. 
 
 And whispered to my troubled soul, "Here only is no 
 sorrow " ; 
 
36 LONE MOUNTAIN AND ''SOPHIES 
 
 And birds chiri-)ed joyously around, their evening vespers 
 
 singing, 
 A deep, abiding, holy calm unto my spirit bringing. 
 O, ocean wind ! O, summer sun ! O, bird, and bud, and 
 
 blossom, 
 Ye blow, and shine, and sing, and bloom, o'er many a 
 
 gentle bosom ; 
 O'er many a brain which throbs no more for glory, fame, 
 
 or pleasure, 
 For here the weary find a rest, on earth the greatest 
 
 treasure ; 
 Through many an avenue and path my feet had long been 
 
 straying 
 Where marble angels meekly kneel, before the Holy 
 
 praying; 
 Until a fair and beauteous form burst on my 'wildered 
 
 vision, 
 Fair as the fairy forms I dreamed dwelt in the fields 
 
 Elysian. 
 I had been reading on the tombs of loving wife or mother 
 Inscriptions meant to bind the souls of earth and heaven 
 
 together ; 
 But all was sacred mystery there ! and nothing could 
 
 imply 
 What name the angel bore on earth, but the one word 
 « Sophie." 
 
LONE MOUNTAIN AND ''SOPHIE:' 37 
 
 I know not why ! a mystic thrill crept o'er me at the 
 
 word, 
 I know not why ! but every pulse within my being stirred, 
 As though my spirit-ear the voice of unseen angels heard. 
 Oh, loved on earth ! some sorrowing friend, whose tears 
 
 may never dry. 
 Hath placed thee here to gaze upon the gorgeous sunset 
 
 sky, 
 And see the God of Day decline, as thou didst once, 
 
 "Sophie!" 
 
 And I had roamed in other lands, had seen the tombs of 
 
 kings, 
 And all the pomp that rank and pride round ruined 
 
 grandeur flings ; 
 And I had deemed them all to be but vain and senseless 
 
 things. 
 iVbw, could my fettered spirit rise above the earth and fly, 
 To see what God to you reveals, but does to me deny, 
 I might divine the thought that wrote the single word 
 
 " Sophie." 
 
 And round each panel then I walked, and scrutinized 
 each page. 
 
38 LONE MOUNTAIN AND ''SOPHIE:' 
 
 The fresh flowers bloomed beneath her feet ; there was 
 
 no sign of age. 
 Still, no inscription met my gaze, my fancy to engage. 
 I saw the book; I read the words; I know what they 
 
 imply- 
 That those who trust the Savior Aere, He there will not 
 
 deny ; 
 And that with him, an angel fair, still lives the loved 
 
 "Sophie." 
 
 There was a holy influence there — the presence of the 
 dead. 
 
 It was above, it was around, it was beneath my tread. 
 
 An influence like the incense from an unseen censer shed. 
 
 Oh ! that I could the mystic power unto my life ally — 
 
 The power to see the spirits round, and stand trans- 
 figured by 
 
 The light I know is haloed o'er the loved on earth, 
 " Sophie." 
 
 Exalted by the theme and place above all things below, 
 I seemed to see the spirit bands, like shadows, come 
 
 and go. 
 Anon step forward, then recede, like ocean's fitful flow. 
 But still I think that fancy's spell is all that I can own. 
 
LONE MOUNTAIN AND ''SOPHIES 39 
 
 The marshaling of spirit hosts belongs unto the Throne, 
 And till I pass the shadowy gate, to me 'tis lore un- 
 known. 
 
 O, tell me ! tell me ! loved Sophie : while gazing o'er the 
 
 deep. 
 As you, beneath the vigil stars, a lonelier vigil keep, 
 Do not the angels, resting round, rise from their silent 
 
 sleep ? 
 And does not here, before thy shrine, bend many a gentle 
 
 head. 
 Assoilzied from the taint of sin, to holy influence shed 
 Around thee, regal Queen of all this empire of the dead ? 
 
 Across the deep, O loved Sophie ! I turn my eyes to see 
 If ocean's bosom bears one sign to tempt my thoughts 
 
 from thee ; 
 But all is boundless, vast expanse, from sentient being 
 
 free. 
 And I apostrophize the form, serenely standing by. 
 Could I believe, with faith supreme, of mansions in the 
 
 sky, 
 Might I with patience wait and hope? O! tell me, loved 
 
 "Sophie"! 
 
iO LONE MOUNTAIN AND ''SOPHIES 
 
 The burnished clouds that grace the west now slowly 
 
 sink away, 
 And soon for other eyes than mine will shine the God of 
 
 Day. 
 While from Dolores Mission comes the low, sweet call to 
 
 pray. 
 And spirits whisper in my ear : You still are drawing 
 
 nigh. 
 We're near you, though ethereal forms you never can 
 
 descry 
 Till you arrive where lives in light the loved on earth, 
 
 " Sophie." 
 
 The anchor, "Hope," was at her feet, the "Rock of 
 
 Ages" there — 
 The rock on which no ship is wrecked, the conqueror of 
 
 despair. 
 With gaze upturned and look benign, she seemed an 
 
 angel fair. 
 So meekly pure, so sternly chaste, 'twas plain she could 
 
 not die. 
 An anchorite might strive to think, and find it vain to 
 
 try, 
 To dream how stainless was the look of her, the loved 
 
 '' Sophie." 
 
LONE MOUNTAIN AND '' SOPHIE y 41 
 
 The cable to Hope's anchor bent was folded to her breast. 
 The Day-God slowly sank in peace beneath the glowing 
 
 west; 
 While at my feet I read the words, the words " Eternal 
 
 Rest." 
 Rise, atheist, from your brutal dream, and meet my 
 
 steadfast eye ! 
 Tell me there is no life beyond, no cause for purpose 
 
 high— 
 That nothing's meant by all these things, and lost is 
 
 loved "Sophie." 
 
 San Francisco, 1875. 
 
THE CONVICT'S BRIDE. 
 
 The scene was at the visiting-room of the State Prison, San Quen- 
 fcin, California. The author of this was Officer of the Day. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 She sat, and in silence she waited, 
 
 While longing, yet dreading, to see 
 The lover she lately had mated. 
 
 When life was all careless and free. 
 The tears her blue eyes were suffusing. 
 
 Scarce hid by their lashes of brown. 
 And my presence I thought was abusing 
 
 Some sacred thought, just as a frown 
 Crossed her face, and her head fell before me 
 
 Head weighted with wealth of brown hair, 
 And a sigh from her bosom up welling 
 
 Showed grief near akin to despair. 
 
THE CONVICT'S BRIDE. 43 
 
 What was she ? the beautiful stranger, 
 
 That she 'neath my glance seemed to cower, 
 As though some cloud, freighted with danger. 
 
 Held o'er her the thrall of its power ? 
 What was she ? some Magdalen hiding 
 
 Her face from one poor sinful man ? 
 Or some maniac, demented by chiding, 
 
 The world's wisdom had placed under ban? 
 She was — there are many thus lonely: 
 
 Lost wrecks on the ocean of life. 
 Who have bartered love treasures for only 
 
 The fate of the convict's shunn'd wife. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 There 's a step, and so lightly 't is fallmg, 
 
 It strikes not her sensitive ear. 
 There 's a voice, and so softly 't is calling, 
 
 For a moment she seemed not to hear. 
 'T was " Dearest," and in the curst vestments 
 
 He came from the dark prison cell — 
 Came forth to the sunlight and freedom, 
 
 Where freedom was Heaven as well. 
 Did she shrink from the man she had wedded ? 
 
44 THE CONVICT'S BRIDE. 
 
 Did her eye wear the look of despair? 
 Was her face with the lines of grief threaded ? 
 
 Was dishevelled the wealth of her hair ? 
 Did she bring to the loved one more sorrow, 
 
 Augmenting his burden of care ? 
 No. Abandoned, she fell on his bosom. 
 
 Her arms round his neck fondly clung. 
 That caress — why, 't was worth a king's ransom. 
 
 Though the heart-strings to breaking were strung ; 
 For him, though condemned by the many. 
 
 There was one that was trusting and true. 
 One whose love was an offset for any 
 
 And all harm the hard world could him do. 
 And she knew he was not the transgressor — 
 
 'T was the demon that lurked in the wine ; 
 In her presence he needs no confessor. 
 
 For to him she is all that 's divine. 
 She has seen in her vision, clear-sighted, 
 
 The deeds of that terrible day 
 When the wine-cup overcame her own plighted. 
 
 And one life went out in the fray. 
 
 Now back to your cell, ruined manhood, 
 
 To wait the long, sorrowful years ; 
 And back to your cheerless home, woman, 
 
THE CONVICT'S BRIDE. 45 
 
 Your solace, the dowry of tears. 
 There 's a taint in the air, and 't is spreading ; 
 
 There 's a wail, and it daily ascends ; 
 There are thousands, now waiting and dreading 
 
 Their doom, when its influence ends 
 In the lives of its victims. And yet 
 
 The innocent suffer and sorrow, 
 And the world shows no sign of regret. 
 
 San Quentin, 1874. 
 
FAITHLESS : A LIFE STORY. 
 
 A CONVICT'S TALE. 
 
 There are times for retrospection, when the past is 
 
 brought to view, 
 And we mass our faded garlands in the gardens where 
 
 they grew ; 
 And some with rainbow hues are tinged — round some, 
 
 dark shadows play, 
 The first 't were well to cherish, the last to cast away. 
 Midst some I fondly cherish, there's one o'er which I 
 
 grieve, 
 Faithless ! the thought is madness, born only to deceive. 
 And faithless one, if ever these thoughts should meet 
 
 your eye, 
 Think well, ere sorrows gather, of happier days gone by ; 
 When life was in its morning, no care was on my brow, 
 And hope's bright day was dawning where all is darkness 
 
 now. 
 
 46 
 
FAITHLESS. 47 
 
 I thought you then a blessing, sent from the God above, 
 And well you know I lavished on you my all of love. 
 And you — you promised faithfulness, in sunshine and in 
 storm, 
 
 God ! to think the serpent should find our Eden home. 
 And when they talked of perfidy, I rested in your smile, 
 Nor thought that one so beautiful had learned but to 
 
 beguile. 
 
 But when the damning truth was plain, how terrible the 
 
 hour ! 
 The oak upon the mountain side, rent by the lightning's 
 
 power — 
 The meadow, scathed by living fire, whence nothing fresh 
 
 could start — 
 Was verdant to that arid waste, the desert of my heart. 
 
 1 hated man, I doubted God ; the future seemed to me 
 
 A lone and dreary pilgrimage on life's tempestuous sea. 
 Were there no other ties to bind, I then had cursed my 
 
 race, 
 And placed the ocean depths between myself and your 
 
 disgrace. 
 But something said, " The innocent should suffer not for 
 
 sin : 
 Your helpless babes demand your care ; once more the 
 
 world begin." 
 
48 FAITHLESS. 
 
 To him who came between our lives I nothing then did 
 
 say. 
 " Vengeance is mine " — thus saith the Lord — " I ever 
 
 will repay." 
 " Sorrow at last must be the lot, the bitter lot, of those 
 Who make a dreary wilderness where blossomed once 
 
 the rose." 
 But when he taunted me with shame, and her that gave 
 
 me birth, 
 I struck him, as the wronged should strike, and felled 
 
 him to the earth. 
 I know it was intent to kill ; I have no guilt confessed. 
 I 'm dying in my prison cell ; your sinful life is blessed. 
 Willie and Johnnie I shall keep till death within my 
 
 view ; 
 My friends will see, if I may not, their teachings all are 
 
 true. 
 Our youngest I confide to you. Oh, shelter his young 
 
 life, 
 And prove the mother may be true, though faithless was 
 
 the wife. 
 I've labored to forgive you long, and die without regret. 
 God help me to forgive you now ; I never can forget. 
 
 San Quentin, 1874. 
 
CASTE 
 
 SCENE FIRST. 
 
 Before the stately edifice and all along the way, 
 Far as the gaze could penetrate, were equipages gay ; 
 A flood of wealth and fashion, and diamonds brightly 
 
 shone 
 In many a matron's coiffure, and all along the zone 
 Of maiden youth and beauty — the city's loveliest fair; 
 While liveried servants flitted around the "bon ton" 
 
 there. 
 The scene was all enchantment. Within the marble walls 
 Were glades of tropic verdure, artistic water-falls. 
 While rare and prized exotics, from grand conservatoire, 
 Shed floods of pungent fragrance, the languid to restore. 
 " I must eclipse the season," the princely host has said, 
 " What care I for expenses? I have the fashion led. 
 And still propose to lead it." Now, on the joyous dance! 
 Where heart to heart responsive needs but the tell-tale 
 
 glance 
 To read each warm emotion — the pleasure an.d the joy 
 
 3 49 
 
50 CASTE. 
 
 That consecrate these moments no pain shall here alloy. 
 Clear strains of thrilling music in cadence sweet are heard, 
 Hands clasp to love's warm pressure, by sensuous passion 
 
 stirred ; 
 While through the spacious chambers, with regal poise 
 
 and stride, 
 Flattered, caressed, and courted, the patron walks in 
 
 pride. 
 
 SCENE SECOND — RETROSPECTION. 
 
 Alone in his chamber, stern, silent, and gloomy. 
 
 The Chief of the Revel sits watching the dawn. 
 The music has ceased, the bright wine-flow has finished. 
 
 The chambers are silent, the guests are all gone. 
 There are thoughts not quite pleasant to his retrosj^ec- 
 tion, 
 
 And there's one retribution no king can forego ; 
 For among the bright widows who leave sad remem- 
 brance 
 
 We suspect that the worst is the " Widow Cliquot." 
 " Ten thousand ! ten thousand! And gone for one party ! 
 
 With fierce opposition, and freight coming down. 
 And mean friends advising reform and retrenchment. 
 
 And even the sale of my palace up town I 
 
CASTE. 51 
 
 I 've racked my brain often to find some salvation ; 
 
 But it seems I Ve exhausted all resource, all chance ; 
 For the ' Mobilier 's ' dead ; so, too, ' Contract and Fi- 
 nance ' ; 
 And the boors in the Congress no bonds will advance. 
 I have it ! I have it ! They 're numbered by thousands — 
 
 The dirt-begrimed toilers, the low, greasy scum. 
 Why, they've no use for money— don't know how to 
 use it. 
 'Tis reduction once more; to my terms they must 
 come. 
 They may growl, they may threaten, the land is o'er- 
 flowing 
 With labor. 'Twill help me my fortunes to carve ; 
 For the man is a fool who has lived without knowing 
 The working class always give in ere they starve." 
 
 SCENE THIRD THE NIGHT RIDE. 
 
 'T is winter, and the Storm-King reigns amid the mount- 
 
 ains lone ; 
 We hear the tempest shriek and surge, in wild, discord- 
 
 ant tone. 
 Or like some weird and sadd'ning dirge, wail forth a plaint- 
 
 ive moan. 
 
52 CASTE, 
 
 But still the Storm-King fiercely shrieks, and freely chal- 
 lenge gives, 
 
 For at the time the train must go, with freight of pre- 
 cious lives. 
 
 N*ow denser grow the deep'ning shades, the night is dark 
 and drear. 
 
 Be cool ! Be calm ! Be steady round the curves, brave 
 Engineer! 
 
 Each rivulet 's a river now, each river's broadened bed 
 
 A furious, rushing torrent is, by mountain torrents fed. 
 
 A moment since we hung like flies upon the mountain's 
 brow, 
 
 A thousand feet of space below : we 're past that danger 
 now; 
 
 But as we trembled, shook, and swayed above the fear- 
 ful steep. 
 
 We felt the trestle shake, and saw a mother silent weep. 
 
 Ah ! who amid the festive scene, the music, wine, and 
 cheer. 
 
 Gave heed to your dear freight of life, brave, patient, 
 Engineer ? 
 
 Safely past the frowning mountain, where we hung upon 
 its brow, 
 
 Steady ! steady I nerve and valor — for we cross the tor- 
 rent now. 
 
CASTE. 53 
 
 On she glides, the iron meteor, through the Storm-King's 
 
 realm so wild. 
 While the Steam-King, fiercely screaming, makes her seem 
 
 the tempest's child ; 
 God be thanked! the danger over, here's the station, 
 
 bright and warm. 
 Now we 're past the torrent's danger, and the demon of 
 
 the storm; 
 And with trustful hearts and thankful, and with words of 
 
 love and cheer, 
 Many tender hands grasp warmly that of the brave 
 
 Engineer ! 
 
 SCENE FOURTH— SUSPENSE AND SUFFERING. 
 
 In a cottage, sadly dreaming of a time when hope was 
 
 beaming 
 As it did one summer morning, in the loved, lost long ago. 
 When as youth and beauty blended, in the maidens who 
 
 attended 
 Her, with wealth of orange-blossoms, and a raiment white 
 
 as snow — 
 As she stood before the altar, and without one sign of 
 
 falter 
 She had vowed for good or evil with her best beloved 
 
 to go — 
 
54 CASTE. 
 
 Now, beside her children sleeping, sits the gentle mother 
 
 weeping. 
 Long have passed the many moments since her husband 
 
 should have come : 
 For amid all doubt and sadness there was one blest ray 
 
 of gladness. 
 He had loved his wife and children, and his humble 
 
 cottage home. 
 Tired, she listens for the clatter of his footsteps midst the 
 
 patter 
 Of the rain -drops on the window, but she listened all 
 
 in vain. 
 So, with sad forebodings teeming, sat she down to other 
 
 dreaming. 
 "God have mercy! What has happened? Something 
 
 terrible, 't is plain." 
 Hark! he comes, and now is knocking loudly, wildly, 
 
 and the shocking 
 Truth 's apparent to the mother that the wine-fiend has 
 
 been there; 
 And she bowed, and said in sorrow, " God preserve us 
 
 till the morrow. 
 Something awful has succeeded that he thus dispels de- 
 spair." 
 Spake he, " Oh, my love, my peerless, was not your lone 
 
 home so cheerless, 
 
CASTE. 55 
 
 Quite enough to make a tyrant's heart have pity on the 
 poor ? 
 
 Quite enough to give the pittance that would scarcely 
 bar admittance 
 
 To the demons Want and Hunger from our humble cot- 
 tage door ? 
 
 No. The grasping corporations, curses to all toil's rela- 
 tions, 
 
 Have again proclaimed, 'Reduction,' drowning hope 
 forever more. 
 
 God of Mercy, God of Justice, in whose help our only 
 trust is, 
 
 Now forgive the fearful lesson we this night have sworn 
 to give. 
 
 Well Thou knowest, strong and tender, that no class 
 should blaze in splendor, 
 
 While the toilers who have made them are denied the 
 means to live^ 
 
 SCENE FIFTH RETRIBUTION. 
 
 • Fire ! fire ! ! fire ! ! ! 
 
 Like a horror it strikes the ear ; 
 And the brave and true in the battle's van. 
 Where the foe is simply a mortal man. 
 
 Succumb to a sense of fear. 
 
56 CASTE. 
 
 For the children's cry and the women's wail 
 
 Heralds the old, the oft-told tale, 
 
 As the tongues of flame rise higher ! higher ! 
 
 While the whistle's shriek and the clang of bells 
 
 The tale of the tyrant's conquests tells 
 
 Of burning cities and seething hells ! 
 
 Midst the terrible cry of Fire ! Fire ! Fire ! ! 
 
 SCENE SIXTH — THE SEQUEL. 
 
 From his stately palace window looks the author of the 
 
 drama 
 On the blazing scene of horror — on the scene of strife 
 
 below. 
 Where is now the helpless toiler ? Answer ! Answer ! 
 
 Arch Despoiler — 
 Of the only real safeguard this our boasted land can 
 
 know. 
 'T was not cannon, lance, or saber — no ! — 't was paid, 
 
 enlightened labor 
 That built up the wondrous greatness seen at our Cen- 
 tennial show. 
 Power nor wealth can save this nation — never wealth 
 
 in concentration — 
 While a righteous compensation is to labor's hand denied. 
 
CASTE. 57 
 
 Citizens, not serfs, are wanted. Men whose minds by 
 whips are haunted 
 
 Never can uphold our honor — be unto the land a pride. 
 
 History speaks ! a child can read it. History speaks, and 
 men should heed it. 
 
 'T is no problem ! all its lessons the most simple may 
 diyine ; 
 
 Show the mills of God grind slowly — ^grind the lofty as 
 the lowly : 
 
 When from right a people wander, God still says " Re- 
 venge is mine." 
 
 3'- 
 
THE EEIGN OF PUBLIC OPINION. 
 
 "Sir! The time ia fast approaching when Public Opinion shall 
 be stronger thn.n kings and emperors; when public sympathy shall 
 be mightier than armies and navies." — Webster, Speech on the Greek 
 Revolution, 1824. 
 
 Has it come ? It has come, and the tyrants well know it, 
 
 And the world must soon bow to its sway ; 
 Though the sentiment passed all unheeded, unnoticed, 
 
 Half a century before us to-day. 
 It was seen with prevision to God's only second, 
 
 By the Sage who men's deeper thoughts knew. 
 And when once on the minds of the thoughtful it rested, 
 
 How proudly it flourished and grew ! 
 Under God it shall grow, till the gage of the combat 
 
 Is left not to sword or to lance — 
 Till Public Opinion, by reason enlightened. 
 
 Shall herald refinement's advance. 
 And the millions no more shall be crushed to the earth 
 By the glitter of riches or prestige of birth. 
 
THE REIGN OF PUBLIC OPINION. 59 
 
 Take heed then, ye despots ! the word has been spoken, 
 
 Old creeds and old issues shall fall. 
 When Public Opinion pronounces unhallowed 
 
 The forms that enchain and enthral. 
 'Tis decreed in the land that one power, and one only, 
 
 Under God shall our destinies lead : 
 The power that preserved, and defended, and guarded— 
 
 That power is the People— take heed ! 
 In the halls of the Nation that power, represented. 
 
 Shall speak, and the mandate go forth ; 
 'T will be heard in the East, and the West, and the South 
 Land, 
 
 'T will resouud from the hills of the North : 
 That the millions no more shall be crushed to the earth 
 By the glitter of riches or prestige of birth. 
 
 That power showed its might when the war tempest 
 gathered 
 ' Like the storm on the wild, raging main ; 
 When the tramp of armed hosts drove sweet Peace from 
 our borders, 
 And fraternal blood poured like the rain. 
 When Freedom resplendent in triumph upreared. 
 
 While htr blazing sword shone in the sun ; 
 When our eagle's fierce glance almost quailed in its light 
 
60 THE REIGN OF PUBLIC OPINION 
 
 As she swore we should ever be One, 
 And the millions no more should be crushed to the earth 
 By the glitter of riches or prestige of birth. 
 
 Advance then, ye millions ! from mental enthrallment. 
 
 With the gods of advancement to soar, 
 Till Public Opinion, refined and ennobled, 
 
 Shall know degradation no more ; 
 Till forth from the bench, and the loom, and the anvil, 
 
 Are sparkles of intellect brought. 
 And no class and no caste shall presume for dominion 
 
 Amid the high regions of thought. 
 Then shall Labor ennobled be King of the World, 
 
 And the mighty before it shall bow, 
 When its banner, the emblem of progress, unfurled, 
 
 Shall emblazon the pick, plane, and plow. 
 Then the millions no more shall be crushed to the earth 
 By the glitter of riches or prestige of birth. 
 
THE PRINCESS WIEMAR 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 I had roamed the wide world over, 
 
 I had sailed on every sea ; 
 Tropic clime, or Boreari region, 
 
 Each were commonplace to me. 
 
 Belles had sought to wm my homage, 
 Souglit to win me by their smile ; 
 
 But my heart was cold as winter, 
 I had learned the ways of guile. 
 
 I had read the " Tales of Cooper " ; 
 
 Read of " radiant Indian Queens " 
 In the mountains' stately forests — 
 
 On the valleys' lovely greens. 
 
THE PRINCESS WIEMAR. 
 
 No ! no common love should win me — 
 
 City life was tame and slow ; 
 I would woo and wed a j^rincess — 
 
 To the wild-wood I would go. 
 
 So I left the town and market 
 For the mountain and the mine, 
 
 In the Golden Age's birth time, 
 In the year of Forty-Nine. 
 
 From its course we turned the river, 
 
 Where for ages it had rolled, 
 And my comrades all were happy. 
 
 For its bed was sown with gold. 
 
 But my heart was dead within me ; 
 
 Every day the same routine. 
 I had met no forest beauty, 
 
 I had seen no " Indian Queen." 
 
 Months had passed — 't was Indian summer. 
 And the south wind's gentle breath 
 
 Came, the soft and sweet forerunner 
 Of the year's approaching death. 
 
THE PRINCESS WIEMAR. 63 
 
 When I left my camp and comrades, 
 
 Wandered forth among the hills ; 
 Faded were the smnmer's glories, 
 
 Dried the spring-time's gushing rills. 
 
 And the sighing of the zephyrs 
 
 Through the pine-trees seemed to say, 
 
 With a sad ^olian cadence, 
 " Passing, passing all away." 
 
 Suddenly, as if by magic. 
 
 Stood before my sight arrayed 
 One more grand realization 
 
 Than my fancy had portrayed. 
 
 She was dressed— I '11 drop the fashion — 
 
 But her lovely shoulders bore 
 One red blanket, somewhat dingy, 
 
 Simply that, and nothing more. 
 
 It was fastened round her bosom, 
 
 Just above the tawny zones. 
 By some San Diego diamonds 
 
 Made from shells of abalones. 
 
64 THE PRINCESS WIEMAR. 
 
 Oh, the glory of her coiffure ! 
 
 On the theme I long could dwell ; 
 No chignon, but pitch and ashes, 
 
 With a terebinthine smell. 
 
 Oh, the simple child of nature !• 
 How she bore my earnest gaze, 
 
 With a trusting unsuspicion 
 Rare in these degenerate days. 
 
 On her back she bore her dowry — 
 Flattened out upon a board 
 
 Hung the heir of all the Pi-Utes — 
 He was gagged and never stirred. 
 
 I had learned from friend Longfellow 
 How the noble savage died. 
 
 With a silent, unrelenting. 
 Fierce, ungovernable pride. 
 
 There I learned to solve the puzzle — 
 Early training was the trick ; 
 
 That young brave could die by inches, 
 But could neither cry nor kick. 
 
THE PRINCESS WIEMAR. 
 
 Quickly she unloosed her burden, 
 Flung it down beside a rock ; 
 
 Think of that, Caucasian mothers, 
 Who have feeble nerves to shock. 
 
 Then I asked the peerless beauty 
 What her Indian name might be ; 
 
 And she answered, " Winc-tum-sam-shew 
 Ho-lo-ting-muck-Na-goo-chee." 
 
 So 't was plain she was a princess, 
 And could my devotion claim ; 
 
 With the Indian— as the white man — 
 Lineage goes by length of name. 
 
 But the night was growing colder, 
 And the stars began to shine ; 
 
 What was there that I could do for 
 One so lovely — so divine ? 
 
 Quickly, then, as if by instinct, 
 
 I a flask of brandy drew ; 
 And I offered that unto her — 
 
 Wonderful ! how well she knew ! 
 
 65 
 
THE PRINCESS WIEMAR. 
 
 Pious men, we Forty-Niners ! 
 
 We who have not fortunes made, 
 For we never think of striving 
 
 Without spiritual aid. 
 
 Oh, the magnitude of swallow ! 
 
 Oh, the volume of the draught ! 
 When I saw her so accomplished, 
 
 Cupid launched the fatal shaft. 
 
 In a cailon near the Carson, 
 From the city's vice away — 
 
 Where the white man's missing cattle 
 Unaccountably do stray — 
 
 You may find a red " campoodie," 
 And within a redder face ; 
 
 There I keep ray Indian beauty. 
 There I rear my dusky race. 
 
 They shall never know the troubles 
 That attend on books and schools ; 
 
 Never know the vain repinings 
 Of the educated fools. 
 
THE PRINCESS WIEMAR. 67 
 
 Never follow politicians 
 
 For the sake of filthy gain, 
 And find out that modern greatness 
 
 Builds on truth, and mankind slain. 
 
 Never tread the Senate chambers, 
 
 And descend to take a bribe — 
 Shaming all the honest record 
 
 Of the Pi-Ute Indian tribe. 
 
 Better track the gaunt coyote, 
 
 Chase the wild, impetuous hare, 
 Hunt to death the fierce hog-squirrel, 
 
 Run before the grizzly bear, 
 
 Ride a noble mustang pony, 
 
 And of manhood loudly brag ; 
 While the light of all the harem 
 
 Walks behind, and packs the "swag." 
 
 Bad, indeed, these savage instincts, 
 
 Undefiled by love of gold ; 
 Worse, to sell a trusting people. 
 
 And themselves to shame be sold. 
 
THE SCHOOLMA'AM'S LETTER 
 
 OR 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 I have your letter, little friend, 
 And from it catch a ray, 
 
 A charm, to holy influence lend 
 And cheer my lonely way. 
 
 You talk of duty and of toil, 
 And you so young to rule ; 
 
 Now, I, grown old in life's turmoil, 
 To you will go to school. 
 
 I see a trusting candor there, 
 It breathes from every line ; 
 
 I know the inner life is fair, 
 I catch the ray divine. 
 
THE SCHOOLMA 'AM'S LETTER, 69 
 
 And, as I seem to hear your tones, 
 
 A voice responsive sings : 
 " On earth there still are stepping-stones 
 
 Which lead to higher things/' 
 
 So through the intervening years 
 
 I cast the gloom away, 
 And all the sorrows, doubts, and fears 
 
 That once obscured my way. 
 
 The spirit harp, which long had slept. 
 
 To music now is strung ; 
 Its heavenly influence I accept, 
 
 And, as of yore, I 'm young. 
 
 I know you are not present here. 
 
 And still your form I see ; 
 What is the mirror, little friend. 
 
 That shadows only thee ? 
 
 I '11 tell you — and perchance I know — 
 
 My life has lonely been ; 
 All that 's of value here below 
 
 Exists in the unseen. 
 
70 THE SCHOOLMA'AM'S LETTER. 
 
 The unseen power — to comprehend 
 The unseen beauty, spread 
 
 Not only in the heavenly realm, 
 But here^ beneath our tread. 
 
 The unseen power — to summon back 
 From memory's garnered store 
 
 The flowers that bloomed upon our track 
 In halcyon days of yore. 
 
 And so, my little one, I here 
 The new imj)ulse will tell ; 
 
 Brought forth again, without a fear, 
 Beneath your magic sj)ell. 
 
 I am once more a boy agam. 
 And roam the meadows gay, 
 
 In childhood's home, in distant Maine, 
 Beside my queenly May. 
 
 For Mary was the maiden's name — 
 My sainted mother's, too — 
 
 And you to make the triad came : 
 The mirror shadows true. 
 
THE SCHOOLMA AM'S LETTER. ' 71 
 
 Your letter brought the clover blooms, 
 
 The meadow and the flowers ; 
 It was the sunshine midst the glooms. 
 
 The rainbow midst the showers. 
 
 It brought the church, the village spire. 
 
 The school-house in the lane. 
 And, what is more, a strong desire 
 
 To see those scenes again. 
 
 It brought them by the simple words 
 
 Of "duty "and of "rule"; 
 For my May Queen in distant Maine 
 
 Reigned o'er the village, school. 
 
 Accept this simple offering, dear, 
 
 'T is all that age can give ; 
 But while the roses cluster near, 
 
 The oak will try to live. 
 
 To M. F. G. 
 
ODE TO THE COMSTOCK ENGINEERS. 
 
 Here — where our Inlperial City 
 
 Towers above the valley lands, 
 And Mount Davidson, the Monarch, 
 
 Like an ancient giant stands ; 
 Sentinel of all the ages, 
 
 Who has seen the waters flow. 
 Heard the night wind's shrieks and dirges 
 
 Many a thousand years ago — 
 Who is first to greet the Sun-God 
 
 Rising from Aurora's breast ; 
 Last to feel his warm caresses. 
 
 Sinking in the burnished West — 
 Here we meet for new communion, 
 
 All the friends of former years, 
 T© you each a hearty greeting. 
 
 Friends and brother Engineers. 
 
 Yes ! my friends, through cycled ages. 
 Since this world had life and birth — 
 Since its burning cauldron, cooling, 
 
 72 
 
ODE TO THE COMSTOCK ENGINEERS. 73 
 
 Made for man a home on e.irth — 
 Since a troglodyte man wandered, 
 
 Lived with wild beast in its lair — 
 None had come to claim the treasure, 
 
 None had dared its gloom to share. 
 Science broke the mighty barrier, 
 
 And the bullion outward flows. 
 Making all the desert blossom 
 
 With a beauty like the rose. 
 But it still would be the desert 
 
 That it was a million years, 
 Were it not for our profession. 
 
 Friends and brother Engineers. 
 
 'T is our hands that guide the motor, 
 
 Make the arm of iron play, 
 Hold the Steam-King in dominion 
 ■ Ceaselessly, by night and day. 
 Guard the miner, while .he quarries 
 
 From the depths the shining ore, 
 Richer than the costly lading 
 
 Of the argosies of yore. 
 We ! who guide the reel and cable. 
 
 Balance the ascending cage ; 
 Actors in the world of progress, 
 
 In this grand, progressive age. 
 
74 ODE TO THE COMSTOCK ENGINEERS. 
 
 Many a household in the city 
 
 Would be filled with grief and tears 
 
 Wore we false to our commission, 
 Friends and brother Engineers. 
 
 Where the wild Pi-Ute wandered 
 
 Through the long and dreary whiles, 
 Now are heard the strains of music, 
 
 Now we 're cheered by woman's smiles. 
 Woman ! Man's supreme evangel, 
 
 Comes to meet us here to-night ; 
 Let us greet earth's wingless angel. 
 
 Type on earth of forms of light ! 
 She has blessed us by her presence. 
 
 And her smile our meeting cheers : 
 For the time forget all trouble. 
 
 Friends and brother Engineers. 
 
 Recited by the Hon. J. E. Coulter before the Fraternity of Sta- 
 tionary Engineers of the Comstock, at their Annual Ball, Virginia 
 City, 1878. 
 
THE MINER'S FLAG. 
 1863. 
 
 What glory meets the miner's eyes 
 
 When morning light appears, 
 Braces his arm to sturdy toil, 
 
 His manly bosom cheers ? 
 It is his country's glorious flag 
 
 Waving from yon old pine, 
 To keep alive the ardent hopes 
 
 Which round his heart entwine. 
 His hardy hand has placed it there 
 
 On yon majestic tree, 
 Fit emblem of the patriot heart, 
 
 Reliant, bold, and free. 
 
 What though the fabric is not made 
 
 Of silken tissues fine? 
 What though no balls of gold or gilt 
 
 High in the sunlight shine ? 
 
76 THE MINER'S FLAG, 
 
 'T was not for vanity or show 
 
 They flung it to the breeze ; 
 'T was made not by the minions 
 
 Of power, or wealth, or ease. 
 Fair hands as any in the land 
 
 Have lent to it their charm, 
 And round it cling as holy hopes 
 
 Affections pure and warm. 
 And men will guard and keep it there, 
 
 Yon pine tree waving o'er. 
 Until unstained, unstainable, 
 
 " 'T is the old flag of yore ! '* 
 
 The Druid at his altar, 
 
 The Gheber at his fires, 
 Felt not a j^urer, holier thrill 
 
 Than that our flag inspires 
 In those who, true to duty. 
 
 Humanity and God, 
 Have sworn to follow in the path 
 
 Our patriot fathers trod. 
 And keep on high that banner — 
 
 To tyrants all a ban — 
 Since the Messiah's advent 
 
 God's greatest gift to man. 
 
THE MINER'S FLAG. 77 
 
 The pine tree that supports our flag 
 
 Was nurtured midst the rocks ; 
 Has borne the summer 's scorching heat, 
 
 The winter's tempest shocks ; 
 And hands of man have from it torn 
 
 Full many a gallant arm, 
 Yet still it lives, all fresh and green, 
 
 Invincible to harm. 
 And should within the Golden State 
 
 Foul treason rear its head, 
 Or should a traitor's impious foot 
 
 Within its shadow tread, 
 We '11 reeve upon its topmost branch 
 
 A girt-line, strong and true. 
 To show what patriot hearts can dare, 
 
 What patriot hands can do. 
 And there his festering corse shall hang, 
 
 Our loved flag waving o'er. 
 Till Treason, banished, quits the State, 
 
 From mountain crest to shore. 
 
POEM DELIVERED AT CARSON CITY, 
 JULY 4th, 1877. 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 Not to " paint the rainbow brighter," 
 Not to gild this morning's glory, 
 Not to build a fragile frost-work 
 
 That shall melt and fade away. 
 Not alone by show and pageant. 
 Flaunting plumes, barbaric splendor, 
 Cloth of gold or sheen of diamonds. 
 
 Can we consecrate this day. 
 On the land some still are weeping 
 
 For the loved ones gone before us ; 
 On the land the maimed are lingering, 
 • Showing what the war once bore us. 
 Now the past and present meet us, 
 Now the new-born century greets us, 
 
 While we glory still we pray ; 
 Pray that Freedom, consecrated 
 
POEM DELIVERED AT CARSON CITY. 79 
 
 By the tears of weeping millions — 
 By the life-blood of the Nation 
 Freely offered on its altar — 
 May from us be parted — never ! 
 May with us forever stay ! 
 
 POEM. 
 
 No! No hollow gilded pageant first announced this 
 
 Nation's birth ; 
 Feebly rose that constellation which already lights the 
 
 earth. 
 Now ! from North-land, witli its shadows and its clouds 
 
 of murky hue ; 
 Now! from South-land's green savannahs, where the 
 
 skies are ever blue ; 
 From bleak plain and sheltered forest, river's side and 
 
 shaded dell, 
 From the East and from the West-land — see the human 
 
 ocean swell ! 
 From the tropic seas and islands, where the spikes of 
 
 coral grow ; 
 From the mountains hyperborean, crested o'er with tops 
 
 of snow; 
 From our own Nevada's hillsides, where a wealth of 
 
 treasure lies 
 
80 POEM DELIVERED AT CARSON CITY. 
 
 That would purchase all the fruitage ripened under tropic 
 
 skies ; 
 From the vales of new Arcadias, all unknown in days of 
 
 yore, 
 To this annual celebration — see Columbia's children pour, 
 While the stars, that once were waning, proudly to the 
 
 zenith soar. 
 
 Like an ocean overflowing to bring forth a grander sea. 
 Is to-day the mighty gathering of the millions of the free. 
 Shadowing forth the unknown grandeur of the empire yet 
 
 to be. 
 If among the gathered millions, like Assyrian king of old, 
 There are those who think our prestige can be raised or 
 
 changed by gold, 
 I shall charge them to remember God was never bought 
 
 or sold. 
 Centuries of grief and suffering, gales of sighs and floods 
 
 of tears 
 Were the price of our great dowry — all the hope of com- 
 ing years. 
 Not for present exaltation have the earnest millions met. 
 But to'keep alive the memories they have sworn not to 
 
 forget ; 
 And to reassure the doubters, at this new-born century's 
 
 dawn. 
 
POEM DELIVERED AT CARSON CITY. 81 
 
 That its finish will accomplish more than all the centuries 
 
 gone. 
 Shades of thee ! O patriot fathers ! if the ransomed ever 
 
 stray 
 From the realms of light and glory, minister with us 
 
 to-day. 
 Shades of thee! our late defenders, who have died the 
 
 boon to save, 
 Lend us thy supernal presence, from the realm beyond 
 
 the grave. 
 Muse of History! we invoke thee! o'er us now thy 
 
 mantle cast ; 
 While we here rehearse the struggles and the triumphs 
 
 of the past. 
 Show when o'er her own dominion Freedom's horoscope 
 
 was cast. 
 While we prove that truth eternal, that no casuist ever 
 
 hides — 
 " That however man proposes, it is ever God who guides." 
 Show that, midst that constellation. One— the First— the 
 
 Leading Star, 
 Saved through centuries of darkness, famine, pestilence 
 
 and war, 
 Is the Star to Bethlehem followed from the plains of old 
 
 Shinar. 
 
THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 
 
 FOURTH OF JULY, 1876. 
 
 In the Old World was darkness ! The jDeople were bowed 
 
 In most abject submission ! 'No rift broke the cloud. 
 
 Dread tyranny triumphed on land and on sea, 
 
 And heart to heart whisp'ring asked, Can man be free 
 
 From the toils of the despots? In darkness and night 
 
 The political victim's shriek broke in affright 
 
 From some bastile's deep dungeon ! The fierce lurid fire 
 
 Encompassed some victim for faith to expire 
 
 In agonized torture ! And God's face from the j^ath 
 
 Of the truthful and just seemed withdrawn in his wrath. 
 
 In the lands of the East, cursed with mildew and blight, 
 
 Where for ages stern Might had been lord of the Right, 
 
 Hope seemed fled from the earth ! And men prayed in 
 
 despair 
 To their God for some succor, some proof of his care. 
 No, none ! 'T was the gibbet, the dungeon, and stake, 
 The tides of the ocean, the fetter, and brake. 
 
THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 83 
 
 No mercy, no ruth, king or bigot could feel — 
 
 'T was the conscienceless rack and the merciless wheel ; 
 
 Till, despairing of hope in the East to find rest, 
 
 A few of God's chosen sailed forth for the West : 
 
 Sailed forth on the winter-bound, tempest-tossed sea, 
 
 To engulf in its bosom, or live grandly free. 
 
 What perils they passed on their long, lonely way, 
 
 Are passed, and we stand, their descendants, to-day 
 
 To rejoice in the triumphs and victories won 
 
 By the martyrs to freedom in ages long gone. 
 
 COLONIZATION— 1620. 
 
 Away ! away ! in the far East, past where our mountains 
 
 soar. 
 We see a frail and feeble bark, a surf-washed, rock-bound 
 
 shore ; 
 A savage coast, with savage men — an aspect stern and 
 
 wild, 
 A snowy mantle, winter-spread, the cradle for our child ! 
 And one by one, we see them there droop, fall, and 
 
 patient die: 
 Has God, who guarded o'er the deep, withdrawn His 
 
 watchful eye ? 
 
84 THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 
 
 Again we see a chosen few recross the stormy main 
 
 To find some help the feeble germ of freedom to maintain ; 
 
 And succor came, though tardily, to save the dying 
 
 germ, 
 And bless exulting millions here, in this the exile's 
 
 home. 
 
 THE COLONISTS. 
 
 Time passed, and the young giant throve, and strong and 
 
 sturdy grew. 
 But still to the old Mother-Land was faithful, firm, and 
 
 true ; 
 A lion in his sinewy strength, an eagle in his glance. 
 We fought for Britain savage foes, and veteran troops of 
 
 France. 
 But still the Mother-Land knew not — so sternly, strangely 
 
 cold — 
 That only silken cords can lead the valiant, young, and 
 
 bold. 
 And though with all of filial love they loved the old home 
 
 well, 
 There is a point when even love 'gainst outrage must 
 
 rebel. 
 
THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 85 
 
 THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 'Twas then ! above the fear of death, to God and free- 
 dom true, 
 They met for protest and appeal, the brave and honored 
 
 few, 
 The chosen sons of freedom : all honor to the men ! 
 Failure was ignominious death ! they knew the verdict 
 
 then. 
 In solemn conclave still they met, declared that '*man is 
 
 free," 
 Announced the truth that always was, and is, and yet 
 
 shall be — 
 That man is born the peer of man by God's divine decree. 
 They met to combat, then and. there, the right divine of 
 
 kings, 
 The base assumption that the mass of men are simjDly 
 
 things. 
 With right to nothing but the dole that base subjection 
 
 brings. 
 Moved by one impulse then they did the deed none 
 
 shall recall. 
 The deed we celebrate to-day. Hail to those patriots all! 
 
86 THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 
 
 WAR OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 Of the long bloody fight that came, 't were idle here to 
 
 show — 
 'T is graven on each patriot heart — even the children 
 
 know 
 How the first fight, on Bunker's height, was sounded o'er 
 
 the land ; 
 How, thrilled by Henry's eloquence, Virginia took her 
 
 stand ; 
 How Iron Putnam, Allen, Stark, were giants in the 
 
 North ; 
 How Marion, Sumpter, Rutledge, Lee, immortalized the 
 
 South ; 
 And how, though feeble, poor, and few, for eight long, 
 
 weary years 
 Undaunted and invincible, they fought, through blood 
 
 and tears, 
 Until Columbia's soil became a second Marathon, 
 While far above all Grecians towered immortal Washing- 
 ton ! 
 
THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 87 
 
 WAR OF 1812. 
 
 Again we fought the ancient foe, upon her field, the 
 
 main ; 
 St. George's cross some prestige lost — we won our cause 
 
 again. 
 With proud Britannia held our own, queen of a thousand 
 
 fights, 
 And vindicated honor's cause, " Free Trade and Sailors' 
 
 Rights!" 
 The Old World wondered — stood amazed — to see the 
 
 infant power 
 Cope with the mistress on the main, which she had held 
 
 as dower 
 Since the Armada's boasted fleet, the haughty Spaniard's 
 
 pride, 
 Was dashed in pieces on her coast, and choked her 
 
 channel's tide. 
 Of fratricidal conflict now, we speak not — let it rest ; 
 We all have suffered, and we hope the future may be 
 
 blest. 
 
 The reign of peace we hail ! 
 The strife is past — we bow, and throw its ashes to the 
 
 gale; 
 
88 THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 
 
 Columbia's genius hovers near — exultant now she sings : 
 ISTow listen to the song of peace, the message that she 
 brings : 
 
 TRIUMPHS. 
 
 "In the century that's past I have triumphed at last, 
 And with pride saw my wonder-land grow 
 
 From the islands of green, in the tropic seas seen, 
 To the northern isles crested with snow ; 
 
 Saw the Hghtnings of heaven from the cloudlet unriven, 
 To be subject and part of your dower. 
 
 And I hear the fierce steam a bound captive now scream. 
 
 The chained servant of progress and power." 
 
 ***** 
 
 "Children, wisdom now is wanting! not an idle useless 
 vaunting 
 
 Of our progress as a nation or our present matchless 
 powers — 
 
 Wisdom so to mould the present that ambitions evanes- 
 cent 
 
 Which destroyed the old republics may not curse this 
 land of ours. 
 
 Yes! that wisdom, pure and simple, which o'er human 
 wisdom towers. 
 
THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 89 
 
 'Tis the spring-time makes the reaping a rejoicing or a 
 
 weeping : 
 Says the word of God Eternal : ' Ye shall harvest what 
 
 is sown.' 
 Sow, then, at the century's dawning, in this fair and 
 
 radiant morning. 
 What shall bless the unknown future when the harvest 
 
 shall be mown. 
 Nature's mysteries, now unveiling, show that science, 
 
 never failing. 
 Soon may learn the hidden secrets of this earth from j^ole 
 
 to pole. 
 Show God has no lore so hidden that it will not come 
 
 when bidden 
 By that mystery of our being — God's eternal gift, the soul. 
 Revelation's old unfoldings all result in new beholdings, 
 Before which the mysteries vanish as the night-gloom 
 
 flees the day; 
 And the present scintillations of the most un'seen cir«d- 
 
 tions 
 By that soul-power shall be mirrored ere the century 
 
 fades away. 
 Seekers for the unseen kingdom, pleasant are the ways 
 
 of wisdom; 
 Stop not, quail not, till the fetters that bind down the 
 
 mind are riven. 
 
90 THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 
 
 Death will leave where birth-time found them, nations, if 
 
 not woven round them, 
 As the one eternal dowry which the God of Light has 
 
 given. 
 Wisdom never was an earth-power. Wisdom never was 
 
 an earth-dower. 
 Wisdom born of earthly knowledge dies when dies 
 
 earth's fading day. 
 Where all earthly knowledge slumbers, lie those nations' 
 
 countless numbers 
 Who have lost the priceless dowry, * God the talent took 
 
 away.' 
 Heed not, spurn the base deceivers; heed not all the 
 
 unbelievers, 
 Who would rob you of that guerdon, that, the sum of 
 
 riches all. 
 Give you all that earth can give you, give you what at 
 
 death will leave you 
 Where each nation rests who listened not, to Wisdom's 
 
 spirit call." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 The skeptic and the scoffer laughed when once the Mas- 
 
 ter said 
 That every idle word should be by Omnipresence read. 
 
THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 91 
 
 Now science proves the knowledge true that Christ to 
 
 scoffers spoke, 
 For symboled words foretold the doom that broke Bel- 
 
 shazzar's yoke 
 Ages before, when he assumed to be the lord of all ; 
 And forth the mystic warning came, handwritten on the 
 
 wall. 
 And since, no nation lived in peace, from ages most 
 
 remote, 
 Who boasted God's prerogative. 'T was God's own hand 
 
 that wrote ; 
 And Wisdom wrote what Wisdom knew, the wherefore 
 
 and the when ; 
 For nations are but aggregates of all the types of men. 
 And judgment comes when nations mass their faults 
 
 and truths forget ; 
 No nation ever tried the scheme and lives in safety yet. 
 Egypt, Assyria, Greece, and Rome have found their age 
 
 of gloom, 
 And other nations linger near the portals of their tomb. 
 
92 THE CENTENNIAL YEAR. 
 
 And History echoes in our ears, 
 Borne down the aisles of time, 
 " God will preserve what Wisdom rears — 
 Children, be wise in time !' 
 
 Dan. v: 24. 
 
COLUMBIA, MY COUNTRY. 
 
 Columbia, my country ! The last born of nations, 
 
 The herald of freedom, the Star of the West, 
 The brightest of stars midst the earth's constellations, 
 
 Still on thy broad bosom mankind shall be blest. 
 Long dispersed are the clouds that rebellion once gath- 
 ered,^ 
 
 And to dim thy resplendence no mists intervene ; 
 Your old " Ship of State " all the tempests has weath- 
 ered, 
 
 And your zenith in beauty 'glows calm and serene. 
 
 Columbia, my country ! The world knows your story- 
 How tyrants to crush you essayed in your youth. 
 
 You arose from the conflict with honor and glory. 
 And proyed to the despots the prowess of truth. 
 
 Men sprang from oppression its fetters to sunder. 
 Asserting the rights made immortal by mind, 
 
 While, speechless, the tyrants gazed on you in wonder. 
 The refuge, the glory, the hope of mankind. 
 
 93 
 
94 COLUMBIA, MY COUNTRY. 
 
 Columbia, my country ! Your flag has been floating 
 
 For years in prosperity, glory, and peace, 
 While o'er its proud luster your true sons were gloating, 
 
 Rejoicing its blessings and power to increase. 
 But the slime of one serpent was over it trailing, 
 
 In the North-land and South-land, engendering strife. 
 While the good and the true its foul course was bewailing, 
 
 It stung the fair bosom that warmed it to life. 
 
 Then Columbia, my country, as springs from the ocean 
 
 The wild, maddened sprays 'neath the hurricane's blast, 
 Your faithful and loyal sprang forth from your bosom 
 
 And swore the foul heresy never should last ; 
 That your flag, once degraded, insulted, and humbled, 
 
 Should again in the sunlight unstainable shine, 
 While the recreants who sought to forever debase it 
 
 Should perish in shame at their infamous shrine. 
 
 'T was done ! and, Columbia, your grandeur transcending 
 
 All Nature achieved for the climes of the East, 
 Your mountains, your rivers, your forests, all tending 
 
 In spell-bound enchantment the senses to feafet. 
 Inspire in each bosom pure love and devotion. 
 
 And kindle within us a soul-stirring flame; 
 Your shores ever washed by the waves of each ocean, 
 
 A continent proudly exults in your name. 
 
COLUMBIA, MY COUNTRY. 95 
 
 Columbia, my country ! I love your cold regions, 
 
 The home of my childhood, the place of my birth. 
 Temptations are powerless, though counted by legions. 
 
 To make me forget that one spot on the earth. 
 But I love your calm South, with her sunny savannas, 
 
 I love your stern East, near Atlantic's unrest, 
 And I love — yes, adore — with its sunshine and shadows. 
 
 Your beauteous, resplendent, and wealth-giving West ! 
 
 / 
 
 Columbia, my country ! No myths or traditions 
 
 Did your birth and your infancy ever obscure ; 
 You arose on the ruins of old superstitions 
 
 At the dawn of an era whose promise is sure. 
 We claim not the fabled " St. George and the Dragon," 
 
 St. Michael of Russia, St. Dennis of France, 
 Or the gods of the pagans, Astarte or Dagon — 
 
 We trust the Almighty to guide our advance. 
 
 Columbia, my country ! With luster undying 
 
 Your banner in glory and honor sustained — 
 The base machinations of all foes defying. 
 
 Your eagle high soaring in might unrestrained — 
 Now that sweet Peace is beaming from ocean to ocean. 
 
 Again highly prospered, by Providence blest — 
 The hearts of your children swell high with devotion. 
 
 And proudly exult in their " Star of the West." 
 
SUPERCILIOUS AIRS 
 
 OB 
 
 THE MINER'S SURPRISE. 
 
 Attend, ye sons of labor all, 
 
 While I a tale will tell— 
 A small adventure which of late 
 
 My humble self befell. 
 
 And know, before I tell the tale — 
 
 This simple tale of mine — 
 I represent the " Prodigals " 
 
 Who came in Forty-nine. 
 
 'T was on a hill, near by the town, 
 Where once the wildwood grew ; 
 
 Where tangled shrubs and trailing vines 
 Hung glistening in the dew. 
 
SUPERCILIOUS AIRS. 97 
 
 Primeval Nature reigned supreme, 
 
 And all was calm and still, 
 Save where some lonely rocker plied 
 
 Beside the murmuring rill. 
 
 The miner sang and rocked the soil 
 
 From morn till daylight's close, 
 Till from his strength and sturdy toil 
 
 This beauteous town arose. 
 
 The forest trees have passed away ; 
 
 Scarce one of all remains. 
 The mountain soil is gaily clothed 
 
 With verdure from the plains. 
 
 And cottages, with taste ornate, 
 
 Stand where tail trees did grow ; 
 And where the wild flowers bloomed unseen 
 
 Do cultured roses blow. 
 
 Midst humble dwellings scattered round. 
 There stands one grander still, 
 
 Within a spacious garden placed — 
 The Palace of the Hill. 
 
98 SUPERCILIOUS AIRS. 
 
 Unto its portal once of late 
 
 I strolled its lord to see, 
 And there the small adventure met 
 
 Which you shall hear from me. 
 
 For, as I wandered down the lane, 
 
 Before I was aware, 
 I met a nymph with dainty hat 
 
 And supercilious air. 
 
 My mining clothes, so much like those 
 
 I wore in Forty-nine, 
 Caused such surprise unto her eyes 
 
 She could not me divine. 
 
 She turned — a dull and stony look 
 Of scorn on me she threw. 
 
 And with a most superb disdain 
 Departed from my view. 
 
 Among the grass the withered leaves 
 Seemed more intensely dead ; 
 
 The gravel stones that paved the walk 
 Recoiled beneath her tread. 
 
SUPERCILIOUS AIRS. 99 
 
 The wind, which silent was till then, 
 
 Wailed forth a plaintive moan, 
 And whirled before her feet away 
 
 The leaves which it had strewn. 
 
 The pigeon pets that graced the cote 
 
 Withdrew before her glance ; 
 The house-cat round the corner peered, 
 
 Then fled from her advance. 
 
 All nature seemed to feel the shock — 
 
 The sun withdrew his face, 
 Shamed to see supercilious pride 
 
 Spoil beauty, youth, and grace. 
 
 Perchance the lady did not know. 
 
 Of supercilious air, 
 That to provide that dainty hat 
 
 The miner paid a share. 
 
 Perchance the lady did not know 
 
 That maze of crinoline 
 Was bought with gold that miners' hands 
 
 Brought from the dark unseen. 
 
100 SUPERCILIOUS AIRS. 
 
 Perhaps she thought that golden dust 
 Would flow into her hand 
 
 Without the sturdy sons of toil, 
 The miners of the land. 
 
 Ah, lady ! Well the mansion looks. 
 The gardens bright and fair ; 
 
 But spare for drones and city knaves 
 Your supercilious air. 
 
 The diamond is a diamond still — 
 A pure and peerless gem — 
 
 In the dark, lonesome caves of earth, 
 A regal diadem. 
 
 The same in solitude and gloom. 
 As when, the sport of chance. 
 
 It gleams from beauty's radiant brow 
 Amid the mazy dance. 
 
 The flowret changes not its hue 
 To please the gazer's eye. 
 
 And sheds the same perfume for nil, 
 The lowly or the high. 
 
SUPERCILIOUS AIRS. 101 
 
 The song-bird varies not its note 
 To please the listener's ear, 
 
 But pours harmonious melody 
 That all may freely hear. 
 
 Ye graceful and ye beautiful, 
 For God's dear love forbear 
 
 To look upon the sons of toil 
 With supercilious air ; 
 
 Lest we, deprived of human love 
 While on this earthly sod 
 
 By God's most holy masterwork, 
 Forget all love to God. 
 
 Kevada County, Califobnia, 1856. 
 
NATURE'S DOWER. 
 
 To A Young Lady who asked what were the Writer's 
 Possessions and Patrimony. 
 
 Where, do you ask, are my acres paternal ? 
 
 What can I bring to your hand ? 
 What is the dowry reserved for the bridal? 
 
 Where are the realms I command ? 
 This is the portion bequeathed by my father. 
 
 All my domain, where I stand. 
 
 That is my brook, which the meadow enlivens, 
 
 Decked with its margins of green; 
 Hold I my castles where snow-crested mountains, 
 
 Stately, high-towering are seen ; 
 There ! where the turrets to heaven up-reaching, 
 
 Gleam in the sun's golden sheen. 
 
 102 
 
NATURE'S DOWER. 103 
 
 Those are my gems, ever pure and resplendent, 
 
 Strung in the firmament's dome ; 
 Brightly they glisten with luster unfading, 
 
 Luring my spirit to home ; 
 Never a watchman I need to protect them, 
 
 Robbers of light never come. 
 
 See ye my statues ? Antique are the models. 
 
 Known to the ancients of yore. 
 Groves were the temples where men first did worship. 
 
 First did their Maker adore. 
 When o'er the aisles of the forest primeval 
 
 Smoke from the altar did soar. 
 
 Where are the minstrels that joy to delight me, 
 
 Breathing their souls into song ? 
 There ! where the brook bubbles forth from the grotto, 
 
 Sweetly their lays they prolong. 
 Nature's wild warblers — the lark and the linnet — 
 
 Far from the world's busy throng. 
 
 Where are the paintings my chambers adorning. 
 
 Breathing of beauty divine ? 
 See ye the wild flowers that hang from the creepers ? 
 
 Art can but copy their line ; 
 
104 NATURE'S DOWER. 
 
 Matchless in tint, and in splendor effulgent. 
 They all the graces combine. 
 
 See ye the rainbow, the child of refraction, 
 
 Born from the affluence of light ? 
 See ye the bright burnished clouds of the sunset, 
 
 Fairer than fancy's proud flight ? 
 Art's highest labors appear in the contrast 
 
 Clothed in the darkness of night. 
 
 Bring me one guerdon — 't is all I solicit ; 
 
 Help all these gifts to employ : 
 Wanting that help, earth a wilderness seemeth ; 
 
 With it, bliss hath no alloy. 
 Then shall we find as earth's borders we travel 
 
 Ceaseless the sources of joy. 
 
 Bring me the charm that, in sympathy blending, 
 
 Looks to the regions above ; 
 Those who can see not the bounties of Heaven 
 
 Know not its lessons of love. 
 Then will my heart ope its portals to greet you, 
 
 And the Ark will make welcome the Dove. 
 
 Nevada City, 1860. 
 
NO LICENSE!"— TO PA YE THE DARK 
 PATHWAY TO HELL. 
 
 The slogan is sounding ! — t- all hail ! brothers hail ! 
 By the mountains 't is echoed — 't is borne on the gale ; 
 The dark clouds are lifting — the mists clear away, 
 And soon through their rifting will shine the bright day 
 What, what is the watchword that floats on the air. 
 That with rose-tint of hope gilds the clouds of despair? 
 'Tis "No license ! " the death-dealing liquid to sell! 
 'T is " No license ! " to pave the dark pathway to hell I 
 
 And whence comes the promise that rests on the air. 
 That with rose-tint of hope gilds the clouds of despair? 
 Was it born in the halls of the wealthy or great ? 
 Did it spring from the mentors who rule for the state ? 
 Or from " public opinion," which claims to be right, 
 Did it spring in full armor, resplendently bright ? 
 No ! never such glory their fame did yet swell 
 As no license to pave the dark pathway to hell ! 
 
106 -'NO license:' 
 
 It was born from oppression ; ' twas nurtured in grief, 
 Till from suffering and sorrow it sprang for relief ; 
 Like Gethsemane's martyr, from almost despair 
 It arose to the light, on the pinions of prayer ; 
 And the wail of the millions, who sorrowed alone, 
 Now breaks in one billow, now swells in one tone, 
 And this is the judgment 'tis destined to tell — 
 " No license ! " to pave the dark pathway to hell ! 
 
 Arise in your manhood — to duty come forth ; 
 Let the land of the sunset respond to the north — 
 For woman has bowed before God and the throae, 
 And led where proud man dared not travel alone. 
 FuljSll the requirement ! and meet the decree. 
 And henceforth from the wine-fiend's dominion be free. 
 Let it sound in the ears of the tyrant a knell, 
 "No license ! " to pave the dark pathway to hell! 
 
 No license ! No license ! Oh, brothers take heed ! 
 No license ! to further make broken hearts bleed ! 
 No license ! No license ! Raise high the acclaim. 
 No license ! to pander to falsehood and shame. 
 'Tis the first dawning ray in the fullness of time, 
 No license for murder, no license for crime ; 
 No license to purchase, to make, or to sell. 
 No license to pave the dark pathway to hell ! 
 
''NO LICENSE r 107 
 
 The Goddess of Freedom, with courage sublime, 
 
 Has just vanquished one monster that threatened her 
 
 clime ; 
 Now her eye, fiercely blazing, sees on her loved sod 
 Another ! that trifles with freedom and God. 
 It was not God or nature that j^laced on the earth 
 A curse so abnormal, so monstrous in birth. 
 As the life-stealing, death-dealing, soul-scathing well, 
 That flows onward to people the region of hell ! 
 
 Oh, guides to salvation ! ye priests of the cross, 
 Have you studied the question? the gain and the loss? 
 Have you weighed the temptation to sin in the wine, 
 When none but the pure can on Jesus recline ? 
 Heed not your false prophets, plead not for the sin, 
 Which from little beginnings destruction will win. 
 If the doctrine of Jesus you wish to preach well, 
 Preach No license ! to pave the dark pathway to hell ! 
 
 'T is summer ! The gardens are painted in bloom, 
 And the zephyrs of evening are breathing perfume ; 
 All nature is resting, the bliss seems profound. 
 As if earth-land and cloud-land elysium had found. 
 Hark! Hark! There's a cry! There's a shriek on the air! 
 'T is murder ! foul murder ! a wail of despair ! 
 
108 ''NO license:' 
 
 No matter ! there's license the liquor to sell, 
 There is license to pave the dark pathway to hell. 
 
 'Tis winter, and midnight, and fierce howls the blast, 
 And the storm from the ocean drives furious and fast ; 
 And a form, once of beauty, flits noiselessly by — 
 There is death in her pallor, despair in her eye ; 
 Before, the dark river floats turbidly on — 
 There 's a shriek, and a plunge, and a victim has gone 
 To join the lost millions ; oh, friends, is it well 
 Still further to pave tlie dark pathway to hell ? 
 
 Oh ! toilers of earth ! In this land of the free 
 It is yours to redeem if redeemed we shall be. 
 Our banner is waving — come, now, join the ranks. 
 And to God will your wives and your children give thanks. 
 No longer your heart-broken loved ones shall weep : 
 We are strong to redeem you and stronger to keep. 
 Swell the tide of advancement — with us come and dwell, 
 And license no more the dark pathway to hell. 
 
 'T is the gift of the ages by progress brought down, 
 'T is the present's best guerdon our glory to crown. 
 Break the maniac's foul fetters, the captive set free, 
 Let forever be banished the cursed gallows-tree. 
 
''NO license:' 109 
 
 Let the senator's judgment be calm and serene, 
 Let the ermine of justice from baseness be clean, 
 And consign to oblivion in darkness to dwell, 
 TJie time when was licensed a pathway to hell. 
 
 Then the mountains shall echo, the valleys shall ring. 
 And the isles of the ocean their offerings shall bring. 
 And the dower of the ages, the land of the West, 
 Shall be truly and proudly the land of the blest. 
 On her bosom the poor and oppressed shall recline. 
 With ennobling surroundings to raise and refine. 
 While the mothers dread tales to their children will tell 
 Of an age when was licensed a pathway to hell. 
 
SHIPWRECKED AND SAVED. 
 
 Children of earth ! who live enthralled 
 
 By that dread tyrant's chain 
 Whom heathen bards have worshipped 
 
 In many a wild refrain — 
 Around whose wand'ring, wayward path 
 
 No beams celestial shine, 
 Your fate enchains my sympathy — 
 
 That gloomy fate was mine. 
 Break the foul tie that binds the soul, 
 
 Defy the monster's frown. 
 And when the wine-cup 's offered you, 
 
 Indignant dash it down ! 
 
 I chased the car of Juggernaut, 
 
 A votary in its train, 
 Regardless of the hecatombs 
 
 Of victims it had slain. 
 At times a sacrifice aloft 
 
 Upon its arms I hung, 
 no 
 
SHIPWRECKED AND SAVED. IH 
 
 And showered my garlands on the crowd 
 
 While loud their plaudits rung. 
 I hid the agony endured, 
 
 I shouted back again ; 
 But ever knew and ever felt 
 
 The captive's galling chain. 
 
 I chased the ignis fatiius 
 
 To many a fatal den, 
 The fit abode for vampyres — 
 
 God never made for men. 
 And first to join the revel 
 
 And last to leave the hall, 
 Amid the bacchanalian songs 
 . My voice could most enthrall. 
 But when the boisterous revelry 
 
 Had palled upon my mind, 
 I saw its hollow vanity, 
 
 I sighed for joys refined. 
 
 Sometimes, upon Life's ocean 
 
 My prosperous bark would sail, 
 And I thought to shun the tempest 
 
 And avoid the driving gale ; 
 But ever when the skies to me 
 
il2 SHIPWRECKED AND SAVED, 
 
 Appeare(* the most serene, 
 Dark clouds would round me gather, 
 
 Dense mists would intervene. 
 Sometimes, when gentle zephyrs blew, 
 
 I thought the storm to flee ; 
 The next, I, helmless, hopeless drove 
 
 Upon Life's stormy sea. 
 
 Then Fortune's smile I courted not. 
 
 Defied the frowns of fate. 
 Friendship could not my course avert, 
 
 ISTo love, nor scorn, nor hate. 
 My chart destroyed, my compass broke. 
 
 I sped before the blast, 
 I knew not — I cared not to know — 
 
 What land-marks I had passed. 
 At times an island, fresh and green. 
 
 Relieved the scene so dark ; 
 But still I could no refuge find. 
 
 No haven for my bark. 
 
 In wild profusion then I sowed 
 The wind upon my path. 
 
 And reaped the fatal whirlwind 
 In its terror and its wrath ! 
 
SHIPWRECKED AND SAVED. 113 
 
 Often the demons I conjured 
 
 Appeared at midnight's hour, 
 And Horror o'er my senses cast 
 
 Its mystic, mighty power. 
 Gone were the hopes of former years, 
 
 Forgotten and unknown ; 
 And dead to love, and dead to hate, 
 
 I fought the world alone. 
 
 But there are moments in this life, 
 
 By nature's goodness given, 
 Which, heeded, cause our wond'ring eyes 
 
 To catch some glimpse of heaven. 
 I heard a voice, as zephyrs mild, 
 
 When summer moon-beams play. 
 In gentle tones, low-voiced and sweet. 
 
 Say " Shun the tempter's way." 
 A halo bright was o'er me cast, 
 
 I to the words gave heed ; 
 An angel slumbering woke to life, 
 
 I sprang from thraldom freed. 
 
 And 'midst the future scenes of life 
 
 I '11 not forget the hour 
 When gentle words, in accents mild. 
 
114 SHIPWRECKED AND SAVED. 
 
 Broke the fell tempter's power. 
 That moment shall my era be, 
 
 And from that time I '11 date, 
 When, like our Savior on the sea 
 
 You bade the storm abate. 
 And when upon my heart I wear 
 
 The white, the red, the blue. 
 Nearer my heart, and still more dear, 
 
 I '11 wear my love to you. 
 
 Oh, woman ! potent is thy spell 
 
 On earth to curse or bless ; 
 P^arful the misery you may cause. 
 
 Supreme the happiness. 
 Perchance you have no power to bind 
 
 The heartless and the cold, 
 But you may lead with silken cords 
 
 Th' impulsive and the bold. 
 On life's forlorn and dreary waste, 
 
 Sweet flow'ret of the glen. 
 Fulfill your mission, guide and guard 
 
 The steps of wayward men. 
 
SAN QUENTIN'S GRAVES. 
 
 'T is the Californian autumn, and the south wind's gentle 
 breath 
 
 Harbingers the winter's coming and the year's approach- 
 ing death. 
 
 Misty are the mountain ranges, tawny are the barren hills, 
 Faded is the summer's verdure, dried the spring-time's 
 gushing rills. 
 
 And the lesson borne in whispers o'er the zephyr-rippled 
 
 bay 
 Is the oft-repeated warning — " Passing, passing all away." 
 
 Near my feet the mimic billows break around in tiny 
 waves. 
 
 While behind me, in the shadows, lie San Quentin's out- 
 cast graves. 
 
 115 
 
116 SAN QUENTIN'S GRAVES. 
 
 As the evening shadows lengthen, not a sound is faintly 
 
 heard 
 Save the rustling of some leaflet by the night-wind 
 
 slightly stirred. 
 
 Gold is fading into orange in the burnished western skigs, 
 While the Day-God's smile still lingers round the crest of 
 Tamalpais. 
 
 Scattered glints of shine and shadow softly on the waters 
 
 rest, 
 Lighting up the fishers' shallops, as in gala vestments 
 
 drest. 
 
 While the fading sunlight lingers round thy crest, old 
 
 Tamalpais, 
 Limning shapes with magic fingers, tell the visions as 
 
 they rise. 
 
 you who saw the shadows vanish at creation's dawning 
 
 day. 
 First to see the Sun-God's arrows light the waters of the 
 
 bay — 
 
SAJV QUENTIN'S GRAVES. 117 
 
 When the valley cereal-laden was a mimic inland sea, 
 Ere the Golden Gate was open, and the imprisoned waters 
 free — 
 
 Tell us of the ancient Tammals,* who of yore around 
 
 thee roved — 
 Dusky youths and tawny maidens — how they lived and 
 
 how they loved. 
 
 Then rehearse the later story, all the wondrous tale relate, 
 How the Argonautic Legion sailed into the Golden Gate. 
 
 "When the fleets of all the nations hither on the billows 
 
 rolled, 
 To build up the new creations in the real Land of Gold. 
 
 Spirit of the Mountain, tell us, you, who nightly vigil 
 
 keep, 
 Are these restful in their slumbers, happy in their silent 
 
 sleep? 
 
 *'*Tamalpais" is evidently an idiomatic or mixed word. There 
 is considerable difference of opinion concerning its derivation. 
 Pais is "country" in Spanish, and Tammal is supposed to be the 
 name of the tribe of aborigines who lived in what is now Marin 
 County. Hence, Tamalpais—" Country of the Tammals." 
 
118 SAJV QUENTIN'S GRAVES. 
 
 Did these never have a mother? — have no gentle sister fair? 
 Were they always waifs forsaken ? — alien to both love and 
 care? 
 
 Not a flowret blooms above them, not a violet shows its 
 
 face, 
 Saying, " Mortal, tread more lightly, these were also of 
 
 Speak ! O, Spirit of the Mountain ! You who saw their 
 
 grief and fears, 
 Are these past the pale of mercy who are past the vale 
 
 of tears? 
 
 Spake the Mountain — this the answer : "All the past to 
 
 men is dead ; 
 Go ! redeem the living present, in the present where you 
 
 tread 
 
 " Yonder, near St. Francis City, queenly Mistress of the 
 
 Bay, 
 Stands Lone Mountain, proud and stately, where the rich 
 
 and honored lie. 
 
SAN QUENTIN'S GRAVES. 119 
 
 "There are tombs, proud mausoleums, spires and statues 
 tow'ring high. 
 
 Dainty in their sculptured beauty, which are but a sculp- 
 tured lie. 
 
 " Telling to the humble mourner who shall seek the lonely 
 
 spot. 
 Not the tenant's life-relations, but precisely what was not. 
 
 "Vain are all the towers and columrfs raised to conquer- 
 ors by slaves ; 
 
 These are just as near their Maker in San Quentin's out- 
 cast graves." 
 
 San Quentin, 1874. 
 
 Note. — The California State Prison is situated at Point San 
 Quentin, under the shadow of Mount Tamalpais, the "Monarch of 
 the Coast Range." In the vicinity is the convicts' burial ground, on 
 an exposed situation, facing the prevailing winds. Its desolation is 
 saddening. When we reflect on the fallibility of humanity, and the 
 hundreds who suflier innocently, and of those who have expiated 
 their crimes with their end, and the loving hearts which are loyal in 
 shine and storm, we are ashamed of the civilization which pursues 
 the unfortunate even after death. There are some who are guiltless. 
 At the time I speak of, I was an officer at the prison, and have occa- 
 sion to know something of the subject. I noticed that while the 
 graves were unmarked, the soil in some places taken away to make 
 bricks, the cattle roving at will, and no fence, the Chinese had 
 removed the bones of their countrymen from the desolation. 
 
CHRISTIANITY versus PAGANISM. 
 1862. 
 
 Men of action, men of spirit, 
 
 Men of power and purpose high, 
 Ye who love your country's honor. 
 
 Let no falsehood blind your eye. 
 From the realm of death and darkness, 
 
 See advance the pagan band. 
 Bringing seeds of sure destruction 
 
 To our fair arid happy land. 
 
 See the tide of evil swelling, 
 
 See the desolating blight. 
 Soon to shroud in gloom eternal 
 
 Every form of beauty bright ; 
 Spreading base contamination. 
 
 Foul disease, and moral death. 
 Worse than earthquake, flood, or famine. 
 
 Or contagion's blasting breath. 
 
 120 
 
CHRISTIANITY vs. PAGANISM. 121 
 
 What avails our noble birth-right ? 
 
 What avail our fertile plains ? 
 What avails cur wealth in treasure? 
 
 What are all our present gains ? 
 If succeeding generations, 
 
 Crushed this cloud of crime beneath, 
 Curse with bitter imprecations 
 
 We who sow the dragon's teeth. 
 
 Let no false or vain delusion 
 
 Of their harmlessness deceive ; 
 Histories of the Mongol Tartar 
 
 No such records ever leave. 
 Ninety thousand heads of Christians 
 
 Crowned imperial Bagdad's gate. 
 When Timour, the conquering Pagan, 
 
 Scoured the Syrian land in state. 
 
 In the vales of ancient Georgia 
 
 Christian blood in rivers ran ; 
 Demons murdered Christian mothers. 
 
 Fiends, who bore the shape of man. 
 At the mouths of gloomy caverns. 
 
 Where the Christian fathers fled, 
 Hung the scaffolds of the scourgers, 
 
 Breathing hate! till all were dead. 
 
122 CHRISTIANITY vs. PAGANISM. 
 
 When Aleppo fell before them, 
 
 And the count of heads was called, 
 Streamed the streets with blood of maidens, 
 
 While their shrieks the ear appalled ! 
 And at Ispahan a million 
 
 Moslems fell before their stroke ; 
 Spared they neither sex nor station, 
 
 None survived to wear their yoke. 
 
 Smyrna fell in glorious conflict 
 
 With the furious Tartar hordes ; 
 Though defended by the valor 
 
 Of the Christian Knights of Rhodes. 
 From the Volga's icy waters, 
 
 From Damascus to the shore 
 Of the -^gean Sea, in terror. 
 
 All succumbed to Mongol power ! 
 
 Still their hatred, unrelenting, 
 
 For the race from which we sprang 
 Lives ! as when from hidden caverns 
 
 Shrieks of Christian Fathers rang. 
 Stop them not ! receive their millions ! 
 
 And our race may see again 
 Desolated homes and hearthstones, 
 
 With the babes and mothers slain ! 
 
CHRISTIANITY vs. PAGANISM. 123 
 
 Curses rest upon the recreants 
 
 Who the slaves of Pagans shield, 
 To compete with Freedom's laboi- 
 
 In the workshop and the field ! 
 Rest a gloom upon their household, 
 
 Never cheered by holy song, 
 Who unto our children's children 
 
 Would bequeath this damning wrong. 
 
 'T was the glorious elevation 
 
 Of a labor grand and free, 
 Ever made our banner worshipped 
 
 Over every land and sea ! 
 For a labor low and servile 
 
 Was the base ambition born, 
 That once sought to make that banner 
 
 In the tyrant's eyes a scorn ! 
 
 Lessons of material grandeur, 
 
 Taught in every age and clime. 
 Come to us, as warning beacons, 
 
 Down the misty aisles of time ! 
 Crumbling columns, ruined temples. 
 
 Mouldering, mildew, dust, and blight, 
 Ancient glory based on serfdom, 
 
 Buried in eternal night. 
 
124 CHRISTIANITY vs. PAGANISM. 
 
 Surest of all truths, supernal ! 
 
 Surer than all man can know. 
 Are the words of God Eternal, 
 
 "Ye shall harvest what ye sow." 
 Lofty mountains, stately forests ; 
 
 Boundless wealth in vale and glen, 
 Never can a land ennoble 
 
 Without nobleness in men. 
 
 Listen, all ye guides to mortals. 
 
 Ye evangels of the cross ! 
 Ye who preach the blessed Savior, 
 
 Count the gain ! and count the loss ! 
 For one angel sent to offer 
 
 Ransom through Messiah's blood, 
 Pagans come in serried thousands 
 
 To deride the Christian's God ! 
 
 Better send to ancient Syria, 
 
 And raise Moloch from the grave. 
 Place him on the desk before you. 
 
 Preaching Christ who died to save ; 
 Search the charnals of the ancients. 
 
 And bring Ashtaroth again ! 
 Bind him to the sacred image. 
 
 While you plead for Jesus slam ! 
 
CHRISTIANITY vs. PAGANISM. 125 
 
 Now let every Freedom-lover 
 
 On this Coast, in every State, 
 From and past the grand Sierra 
 
 To the oceaft's Golden-gate ! 
 Sound the cry ! the people's slogan. 
 
 Say "We must — we will — be free 
 From the desolating scourges 
 
 Of the Asiatic sea ! " 
 
 Not by vain and useless vaunting, 
 
 Not by threat'nings fierce and wild ; 
 Not by sophistry or canting 
 
 Can we save fair Freedom's child. 
 Not for base, ignoble trading 
 
 Should our honor be laid low ; 
 Shall they come ? — the people's answer 
 
 Must be one eternal " No ! " 
 
 Human hands frame constitutions ; 
 
 Men, not gods, our laws create ; 
 Far outstripping human foresight 
 
 Swelled this tide into our " Gate." 
 While we hold our father's honor 
 
 Spotless — free from blot or stain. 
 Like the Macedonian monarch — 
 
 Cleave this Gordian knot in twain. 
 
THE DOOM OF THE CUMBERLAND. 
 
 Boast ye of courage rare 
 Where all the fight is fair? 
 Where grim death's ghastly stare 
 
 May not appal? 
 Where mid the storm of strife, 
 Cheered by the drum and fife, 
 Nerved for the death or life. 
 
 Warriors fall ? 
 
 There in the tight of chance, 
 Armed with the sword or lance. 
 Strong arm and steady glance 
 
 Victory wins. 
 Faced to the armed foe, 
 Where ball nor shell can go, 
 Shielded above, below. 
 
 Courage begins. 
 
 128 
 
THE DOOM OF THE CUMBERLAND 127 
 
 On the unruffled bay 
 We at our anchors lay, 
 Waiting the close of day, 
 
 Watching the strife. 
 Tars of Columbia we. 
 Sons of the ojDen sea. 
 Sons of the brave and free, 
 
 Careless of life. 
 
 When came the e\ ening's gloom 
 Then came the cannon's boom, 
 Like the dread knell of doom 
 
 Still drawing near. 
 But every eye was bright. 
 And every heart was light, 
 Nerved for unequal fight, 
 
 None knew a fear. 
 
 Crash ! came the hissing shell 
 O'er the calm waters' swell. 
 Like some fiend sent from hell 
 
 Laden with death. 
 Boldly we took our stand. 
 Fired at the stern command. 
 Cheered for our flag and land 
 
 With the last breath. 
 
128 THE DOOM OF THE CUMBERLAND, 
 
 Heard We the shot rebound 
 Through the dense smoke around, 
 Knew by their hollow sound 
 
 Harmless they were. 
 Still our fierce battle cry : 
 "" Fighting we live or die, 
 Never from traitors fly," 
 
 Rang through the air. 
 
 Veered then the monster's prow. 
 Through us like mist to plow, 
 Steel yourselves, heroes now. 
 
 Stand to the stroke. 
 Strong as the whirlwind's might, 
 Swift as the eagle's flight. 
 Broke she with demon spite 
 
 Our ribs of oak. 
 
 Down through the seething foam. 
 One thought of friends and home, 
 Upward our glances roam — 
 
 Shouting we see 
 Floating serene and bright. 
 O'er our fast blinding sight — 
 Wave thou still o'er the fight — 
 
 Flag of the free. 
 
THE DOOM OF THE CUMBERLAND. 129 
 
 Leuctra nor Marathon, 
 Nor he of Macedon, 
 In all the ages gone 
 
 Ever hath shown 
 Courage that dared to do, 
 What was there done for you, * 
 Flag of our Union true, 
 
 '• Many in one." 
 
 Nevada City, 1862. 
 
THE AMERICAN MOTHER. 
 
 'T was when Freedom's cohorts breasted Treason's Cobra 
 
 as its crested 
 Head was raised to strike the nation for the death or for 
 
 the life, 
 That a mother, worn and weary, sat throughout the long 
 
 day dreary. 
 Thinking of her child in battle, on the field of blood and 
 
 strife. 
 Still was all the scene around her, still as though the 
 
 grief that found her 
 Thinking of her absent soldier to the very air was known ; 
 When there came a fatal letter, chaining hope with sor- 
 row's fetter : 
 "Wounded! Failing"! God of heaven! is he dying 
 
 there alone? 
 Swiftly from her friends she parted ; nothing spake, but 
 
 only started. 
 And toward her only treasure on the Steam-King's wing 
 
 she flew; 
 
 180 
 
THE AMERICAN MOTHER. 131 
 
 Short the time until it found her with but stranger faces 
 
 round her, 
 By her youthful soldier's pallet, while his brow was wet 
 
 with dew. 
 As the lengthening of the shadows in the lowlands and 
 
 the meadows 
 Showed the Sun-God was declining in the swiftly dying 
 
 day, 
 Deeper grew the ashy paling on the cheek where life was 
 
 failing, 
 While the Spirits seemed to whisper, " Hold him not, he 
 
 may not stay " ! 
 There 's a love, a perfect ocean, in a mother's deep devo- 
 tion — 
 Not among the loves of mortals can there be a love like 
 
 this — 
 Strong men wept at the beholding of a mother's arms 
 
 enfolding 
 Him unto her beating bosom, for the last, last dying kiss. 
 Then all earthly comfort scorning, sat she by her dead 
 
 till morning — 
 Till Aurora, from the shadows, ushered in the autumn 
 
 morn : 
 Then without one sign of sadness, but with one sweet 
 
 smile of gladness. 
 Spake she, saying : " Oh, my Country ! Take my all, my 
 
 only born ! 
 
 1863. 
 
THE GKIZZLY TRAP: 
 
 AN ADVENTURE IN PLUMAS COUNTY. 
 
 It was in the bleak December, 
 Eighteen hundred fifty-four, 
 
 That I left fair Plumas City, 
 Barnard's Diggings to explore. 
 
 And I had a comrade with me ; 
 
 An old sailor, too, was he — 
 One whose life had been adrenture 
 
 Upon every land and sea. 
 
 And he boasted being a Briton, 
 And one of that sturdy class 
 
 Who were sure to know beforehand 
 Everything that came to pass. 
 
THE GRIZZLY TRAP. 133 
 
 We had prospected till evening, 
 
 And the night was drawing near, 
 When my friend suggested strongly 
 
 We had better homeward steer. 
 
 But I knew a storm was rising ; 
 
 I could feel it in the breeze, 
 Hear it in the miserere 
 
 Wailing through the forest trees. 
 
 As the trail was blind, untrodden, 
 In the daylight but a mark, 
 
 I had fear that we could never 
 Thread its mazes in the dark. 
 
 He was scienced in the woodcraft, 
 And my doubt was no avail ; 
 
 For he knew a shorter cut-off — 
 Yes ; he knew a plainer trail. 
 
 "He would not back out for trifles. 
 I was timid well he knew. 
 Why, the way was plain as preaching. 
 He was bound to *put her through.' " 
 
134 THE GRIZZLY TRAP. 
 
 So we started as the twilight 
 Joined the daylight at its close^ 
 
 And the wind was blowing stronger, 
 And the falling raindrops froze. 
 
 Struggling on in gloomy silence, 
 For 't was plain unto my view 
 
 That the path we then were treading 
 Was uncomforta]jly new. 
 
 Till at length I broke the silence 
 And I made this sudden hail : 
 
 '• Come ! I say now, Jack, old fellow, 
 Do you often come this trail?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "always come it; 
 
 I know every step I go ; 
 And I know you 'd die this minute 
 
 If you couldn't make a row." 
 
 Then I said : " Heave to a moment ; 
 
 Come and sit down on this log : 
 This is worse than England-drizzle, 
 
 Or old Scotia's blinding fog." 
 
THE GRIZZLY TRAP. 135 
 
 *'• Just like you to be a-growling 
 
 At old England here to-night ; 
 In your bloody mustang country, 
 
 Spitting out your Yankee spite. " 
 
 But he groped his way toward me, 
 
 And I had not twice to ask, 
 For I had upon the outset 
 
 Taken the congenial flask. 
 
 So we passed a new throat-seizing, 
 
 Rove a lanyard fresh and new. 
 Hauled well taught the weather-braces. 
 
 And prepared " to put her through." 
 
 Filled away among the bushes : 
 
 But 't was very plain to me. 
 We were sailing in a circle, 
 
 Like a cyclone on the sea. 
 
 Soon I hailed him : " Jack, old fellow. 
 How 'h she heading ? Keep her near ; 
 
 Seems to me you 're getting sleepy. 
 Judging by the way you steer." 
 
136 THE GRIZZLY TRAP. 
 
 Then again he answered, cursing : 
 " Yes, I knew you 'd raise a row ; 
 
 Why, the cruise is plain as preaching, 
 I know every foot I go." 
 
 Then, as if by magic rising, 
 
 Something stood upon the trail, 
 
 And again to Jack I shouted — 
 Thus I made a welcome hail : 
 
 Steer this way, now, blast your timbers ! 
 
 Hard to starboard ! never fear ; 
 Who 's the pilot now, old fellow ? 
 
 I have made a harbor here." 
 
 'T was a cabin, and we entered. 
 For we found an open door ; 
 
 'T was a fire-place that was wanted, 
 And for that we did explore. 
 
 When there came a sudden tremble. 
 Then a most tremendous crash ; 
 
 Just as something filled the door- way 
 Seeming all the place to smash. 
 
THE GRIZZLY TRAP. 137 
 
 Then I said : " Now, Jack, old fellow, 
 
 Did you foreknow this mishap ? 
 Is it not as plain as preaching 
 
 We are in a grizzly trap ? " 
 
 "Yes," he answered — "always knew it ! 
 If I did n't, strike me dead ; 
 But I knew it most uncommon 
 When I struck that ox's head." 
 
 Then I said : " My noble Briton, 
 
 I don't care a single pin ; 
 We are safe for winter quarters, 
 
 And the grizzly ' can't come in.' " 
 
 For 't was of the largest timber 
 They had made the fatal den ; 
 
 What would hold the giant monster 
 Plainly was too much for men. 
 
 In the morning came the miners, 
 And they soon were made aware 
 
 That the trap had done for Bruin — 
 Caught the giant grizzly bear ! 
 
138 THE GRIZZLY TRAP. 
 
 Cautiously they gathered round it, 
 Anxiously they peered to see 
 
 If the trap was any weakened 
 By his struggles to be free. 
 
 Till one, desperate and daring 
 Looked within, and then he stood 
 
 Gazing on his friends in wonder, 
 For to ice had turned his blood. 
 
 " Boys," he said, " this is no grizzly." 
 " What the devil is it, then ? " 
 
 "Boys, as sure as I 'm a Christian, 
 This is full of living men " ! 
 
 And they then with heavy levers 
 Lifted up the pond'rous door. 
 
 And beheld to light emerging 
 Two uncommon grizzlies hoar. 
 
 Peal on peal of merry laughter 
 Through the forest arches rang ; 
 
 We should have a glorious welcome- 
 Be the guests of all the gang. 
 
THE GRIZZLY TRAP. 139 
 
 Soon *t was known around the camp-fires 
 
 How the boys had had a scare ; 
 In their trap had caught two grizzlies — 
 
 Sailor Jack and old Cap. Ware. 
 
 Fortune for a time did favor, 
 
 All their knowledge then they told ; 
 
 Showed us twenty-dollar diggings 
 Rich in yellow shining gold. 
 
 And my name was ever " Grizzly " 
 
 While I staid around the place ; 
 And I wore my laurels proudly, 
 
 Thinking it was no disgrace. 
 
 Sometimes, when the noble Briton 
 Strung his long-bow tales to tell, 
 
 I would ask him : " Jack, why don't you 
 Tell them of the grizzly sell ? " 
 
 *'No, sir! Never! Can't do justice; 
 
 I shall leave that tale for you ; 
 For I never make a practice 
 
 To tell anything that 's true." 
 
 La Porte, Plumas County, 1856. 
 
KINGCRAFT. 
 
 Who but the blinded dreamer, to whom no truth is plain, 
 Can harbor the delusion that kingcraft 's on the wane ? 
 That men are more republican because of simple form, 
 Or that forms were ever potent to stay the vengeful 
 
 storm ? 
 Abuses are engendering throughout the land to-day. 
 No ! Forms were never potent to men or nations stay ; 
 And kingcraft is not waning — we know there's no such 
 
 thing, 
 While here, in free America, monopoly is king. 
 
 The reign of kingcraft waning ? The sentiment is vain. 
 What signs of waning kingcraft have risen o'er the slain 
 In Freedom's last great battle ? Go, ask the millionaire, 
 In sybaritic lodgings, who breathes in perfumed air ; 
 The oily politician, who holds a grand domain 
 Greater than feudal baron held in kingcraft's darkest 
 reign ; 
 
KINGCRAFT. Ul 
 
 Go ask the base contractors who slavish pagans bring 
 To curse enlightened labor — then boast we have no king. 
 
 The reign of kingcraft waning? When Senators are 
 
 sold, 
 Bought by the people's enemies, elected by their gold ? 
 The reign of kingcraft waning? When those who crept 
 
 before. 
 Raised by the people's ballot, assert the kingly power 
 To lord it o'er their masters, and, insolent as fate, 
 Say — boldly say — "Bow down to us and worship : we're 
 
 the State." 
 No ; kingcraft is not waning, nor the misery it brings, 
 While, railing against kingcraft, we bow to scores of 
 
 kings. 
 
 The first is King Monopoly — the power behind the 
 
 throne. 
 The next is smooth-tongued Policy, which seeks for self 
 
 alone. 
 The next is King Expediency, who never values " right," 
 And Insincerity we have — a mildew, curse, and blight ; 
 And many more ignoble kings, whom here we dare not 
 
 name ; 
 And Falsehood, leading king of Hell, may here an empire 
 
 claim. 
 
142 KINGCRAFT. 
 
 What power can save the nation's life ? What can avert 
 
 our fate 
 While all these kings hold carnival within the halls of 
 
 State ? 
 
 The reign of kingcraft waning ? When monarchs seek 
 
 our shore 
 The men bow <Jown in homage, the women all adore ; 
 The children are brought out to see the thing they call 
 
 divine, 
 And see the stars and garters and tinsel on him shine. 
 " Beware," said grand old Washington, " of kingly forms 
 
 beware — 
 To principles republican a lure, a curse, a snare." 
 And still the people crowd the street, and silent homage 
 
 bring, 
 Wliile saying kingcraft's waning, to see a living king.=^ 
 
 The heathen makes his idol in the far pagan lands, 
 Then bows in reverence before the work of his own hands; 
 But if the worshipped idol betrays his humble trust, 
 'T is hurled from its pedestal — kicked, buried in the dust. 
 We Christians too make idols ; and when the gods deceive, 
 We bow in humble homage — 'tis ours, not theirs, to 
 grieve. 
 
 *Kalakaua, the King of the Cannibal Islands. 
 
KINGCRAFT. 143 
 
 We cringe before the thing we made, and abject fealty 
 
 bring, 
 And keep the gods we raise in power, and rail against a 
 
 king. 
 
 Come forth, ye sons of labor! and stop the threatened 
 
 doom, 
 Let the farmer leave the furrow — the weaver leave the 
 
 loom; 
 Let the smith upon his anvil a mighty chorus sound, 
 With sparks from freedom's hammer make all enchanted 
 
 ground— 
 Till from the ranks of labor, defiant, bold, and free. 
 We raise anew to splendor the Tree of Liberty. 
 
 Come, miner, leave the tunnel, with sweat upon your brow ; 
 To stop these great abuses your country needs you now. 
 Come, citizens of every class, and boldly take your stand, 
 You are the latent power which yet shall save fair Free- 
 
 dom's land ; 
 Your cause is just and holy, 't is not for blood or spoil, 
 'T is to break down all kingcraft, and honor honest toil. 
 
MY FATHER'S QUARTZ TUNNEL. 
 
 When my eyes shall no more see the scenes of my child- 
 hood, 
 The hills of Nevada my infancy knew, 
 Its sage-bush and cedars, its mountains and wild-wood, 
 
 The home, my dear mother, made happy by you ; 
 I know that one spot will come back to my vision. 
 
 Though the storms of life's winter my heart-strings may 
 chill. 
 And though rough, 't will appear to my fancy elysian, 
 My father's quartz tunnel that j^ierces the hill ; 
 The dark, silent tunnel. 
 The weird, lonely tunnel. 
 My father's quartz tunnel that pierces the hill. 
 
 How often I stand at its mouth in the canon. 
 
 And gaze in its depths the dense gloom to explore ; 
 With what weird, mystic shapes, does my fancy compan- 
 ion 
 
 144 
 
AfV FATHER'S QUARTZ TUNNEL. 145 
 
 The caves where my father blasts out the bright ore. 
 Will I find, in my manhood, a realization 
 
 Of what now with wonder my fancy does fill. 
 As I stand on the track at the end of the station 
 And gaze in the tunnel that pierces the hill ? 
 The dark, silent tunnel, 
 The weird, lonely tunnel, 
 , My father's quartz tunnel that pierces the hill. 
 
 Sometimes at the mouth of the tunnel I listen, 
 
 And hear wond'rous tales from the men of the mine, 
 Of the old "Pioneers," and I see their eyes glisten. 
 
 Rehearsing the glories of famed Forty-nine. 
 More wond'rous than those of old Sinbad, the sailor, 
 
 Or of Jack, who went forth the great Giant to kill. 
 Or the Argonaut maiden with none to bewail her, 
 
 Are the tales of the tunnel that pierces the hill ; 
 The cold, silent tunnel. 
 The weird, mystic tunnel. 
 
 My father's quartz tunnel that pierces the hill. 
 
 All over the mountains, and down on the river. 
 
 Throughout our young State there are tunnels, I 'm 
 told. 
 Where brave hearts and strong arms still work to deliver 
 
 7 
 
U6 MV FATHER'S QUARTZ TUNNEL. 
 
 The mountains of treasure in silver and gold. 
 And there 's many like me in the mountains and wild- 
 wood, 
 Whose hearts in the future with pleasure will thrill, 
 As they think of some wild, wond'rous scene of their 
 childhood, 
 Some dark, silent tunnel away on the hill ; 
 Some dark, mystic tunnel, 
 Some moss-covered tunnel. 
 Some rock-caverned tunnel away on the hill. 
 
WHO FOLLOWETH THE WINE-CUP CAN 
 NEVER EXCEL. 
 
 Yes ! dash down the wine-cup ! the tempter destroy, 
 The life of your sorrow, the death of your joy ; 
 Thirty centuries now have passed over the earth 
 Since these words from Divine Inspiration had birth. 
 In all ages succeeding their truth has been shown, 
 For the wisest of earth let the wine-cup alone. 
 Let it sound in your ears like a death-tolling knell, 
 " He who followeth the wine-cup can never excel." 
 
 He may know every nation, and talk every tongue 
 Ever sage has expounded or ministrel has sung 
 From the cold frozen North, with its winters of gloom, 
 To the land of the Tropics whose flowers ever bloom ; 
 Though his wit may enliven, his lore may inform 
 Of bright sunny regions, or whirlwind and storm. 
 And tell all the dooms that have nations befell — 
 Still " who followeth the wine-cuj) can never excel." 
 
148 WHO FOLLOWETH THE WINE-CUP. 
 
 Though he hath every power that to mortals is given 
 By Nature's bequest, or the goodness of heaven, 
 And still the one passion he cannot restrain, 
 A captive, he goes but the length of his chain. 
 If powers most transcendent are trod in the earth, 
 'T were better, far better, he never had birth ; 
 With a hold upon Heaven, he still chooses Hell, 
 For " who foUoweth the wine-cup can never excel." 
 
 Though his brow may impress, and his eye may inspire 
 Deep trust in its power, by electrical fire ; 
 Like Prometheus of old, he is chained to the rock. 
 And endures without shelter the elements' shock : 
 While deep on his vitals the vulture still feeds, 
 And powerless, and stricken, his torn bosom bleeds ; 
 And he there without hope, without mercy, must dwell, 
 For " who foUoweth the wine-cup can never excel." 
 
 Though his eloquence, god-like, enthralls and enchains, 
 And reverence and love from the multitude gains. 
 As unmasking deceit, or expounding the law. 
 He holds all around in deep silence and awe ; 
 Though the thrill of his voice and the light of his eye 
 May inspire lofty purpose, pure, holy, and high ; 
 Example enforces no truths he can tell. 
 For " who foUoweth the wine-cup can never excel." 
 
WHO FOLLOWETH THE WINE-CUP. 149 
 
 The greatest of conquerors the world has yet known, 
 Who for years kept all nations in fear of his frown, 
 Whom nor mountains, nor rivers, could stop on his way, 
 When he marshalled his armies to ravage and slay. 
 Succumbed to the wine-cup, drooped, lingered, and died 
 In the pride of his manhood, the zenith of pride ; 
 With schemes half accomplished, a victim he fell, 
 For '' who followeth the wine-cup can never excel." 
 
THE TAINT IS IN MY BLOOD. 
 
 It was a curious letter, with sacred scenes to blend ; 
 
 It came at a peculiar time — 'twas Christmas tide, my 
 
 friend : 
 We'll try to solve the mystery and see where it will end. 
 
 Amid much that might encourage there was more that 
 
 might depress — 
 A tribute unto vanity, but nothing that could bless 
 The giver or receiver ; and though I cast away 
 The letter most contemptuously, the sentiment would 
 
 stay. ■ 
 And I have pondered over its meaning many an hour, 
 And asked myself the question: "Is there on earth a 
 
 power — 
 A curse — entailed, inherited, by nature understood ? 
 And is the writer's judgment true — "The taint is in 
 
 your blood." 
 
 It spake of grand possessions, inheritance of mind, 
 Ennobled aspirations, and sentiments refined ; 
 
 150 
 
THE TAINT IS IN MY BLOOD. 
 
 151 
 
 Of insight into deeper things, of power but seldom given 
 To almost grasp the infinite and read the thoughts of 
 
 heaven ; 
 Of treasures of intelligence, lost, squandered, cast away; 
 Of darkness where there should be light, of night where 
 
 should be day ; 
 
 And hinted, more than hinted, I had been false to 
 
 God- 
 One curse had swallowed all of good—" The taint was in 
 
 my blood." 
 
 'T was strange, for unseen messengers did walk with me 
 
 that day. 
 And said: "Beware perdition's path, and go where 
 
 Christians pray." 
 And I had sought a temple, endowed with costly care, 
 Wliere the grand organ's notes I heard in cadences most 
 
 rare ; 
 
 But o'er the grand orchestral notes, the dimly softened 
 sheen. 
 
 The painted frescoes, angel-typed, the weird, bewildering 
 scene, 
 
 Above the emblemed evergreens, the painted wmdows' 
 
 light, 
 I heard the old, old anthem sung of that eventful night 
 
152 THE TAINT IS IN MY BLOOD. 
 
 When first it struck the shepherds' ears, I heard the chant 
 
 again : 
 " Glory to God ! the highest, give ; on earth, good will to 
 
 Again my mental vision gazed, and spirit eyes did see 
 The Saviour preaching to the poor of old, on Galilee ; 
 Next saw the cross on Calvary's Mount and heard the 
 
 jeering crew — 
 Now, Notre Dame des Victoires, I bow to Christ and you. 
 I left the church, I sought again the revel on the street ; 
 But not among the thousands there one thoughtful face 
 
 did meet ; 
 Among the superficial throng, the city's sensuous flood 
 I stood alone ! there was not one who thought of Christ 
 
 as God — 
 So when the letter me condemned for loss of fame or 
 
 pelf, 
 I thought of Him of whom 't was said : " He cannot save 
 
 himself." 
 The mists of nineteen hundred years passed by. I saw 
 
 his grave — 
 I saw the meek-browed watchers there who dared all 
 
 scorn to brave, 
 And over all I heard the taunt : " Himself he cannot save." 
 
THE TAINT IS IN MY BLOOD. 153 
 
 The black flag floats at my mast-head, there placed by- 
 Nature's God ; 
 I cannot, if I would be saved — " The taint is in my blood." 
 
 Again I wandered down the street, the mystery to un- 
 fold— 
 
 The day had passed, the ocean wind was damp and 
 deadly cold — 
 
 From many a palace haunt of sin, and down in dark- 
 some hells. 
 
 Where moral pestilence prevails and base contagion 
 dwells. 
 
 The sounds of revel broke upon the stillness of the night. 
 
 The Saviour's natal day was cursed, to sow the seeds of 
 blight ; 
 
 For if the writer's judgment's true, if thus the seed i^ 
 sown, 
 
 I, in the coming century, could never stand alone ; 
 
 The lost will count by millions, for raging is the flood 
 
 That bears this fatal sum of mine — " the taint that 's in 
 my blood." 
 
 San Prakcisco, Dec. 25th, 1874. 
 
THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE 
 
 THE ANGEL'S MISSION. 
 
 'Tis Winter! and fierce reigns the Storm king without, 
 
 And the demons that gather are darkness and doubt, 
 
 And I ask from Omniscience, who rides on the gale, 
 
 Shall these evil surroundings forever prevail ? 
 
 Shall the demon who rides on the wings of the wind, 
 
 And whose track leaves despair and destruction behind, 
 
 Be permitted to triumph, still triumph o'er man. 
 
 To defeat thy decrees, thy beneficent plan ? 
 
 See ! an Angel appears, and a message she brings, 
 
 And 't is thus the fair Angel enchantingly sings : 
 
 "I have come, lily-robed, in my mantle of white, 
 
 All discord and strife to destroy. 
 I an olive-branch bear, from the region of light, 
 
 Where love only my subjects eraplo\\ 
 
THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE. 155 
 
 I have come, lily-robed, in my mantle of white, 
 
 To my own, to my chosen domain ; 
 To the soil where the ashes of martyrs repose, 
 
 Who to hasten my mission were slain; 
 Where, effulgent, the fair tree of liberty grows, 
 
 I have come to renew my lost reign ; 
 And though glorious the song that the morning-star sang, 
 
 I now hear a more blissful refrain. 
 As from mountains and valley, from forest and glade, 
 
 From lakelet and river and sea, 
 I now hear the glad voice of a people redeemed, 
 
 From the Wine-Fiend's dominion set free. 
 And I know the glad shout that arises and swells 
 From the mountain's high crest to the mine's deepest cells 
 
 Is a world-given welcome to me. 
 To me ! as I come in my mantle of white, 
 From my home in the Cloud-Land, resplendently bright, 
 
 Lily-robed to the World's Jubilee." 
 
 MORTAL. 
 
 " And art thou, fair Angel, a Princess of Peace ? 
 
 A Princess of Salem's blest line? 
 Hast thou come claiming kindred and faith in the star 
 
 That of yore did o'er Bethlehem shine ? 
 To restore its lost glory, oh, Princess serene, 
 And the reign of its kingdom benign ? " 
 
156 THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 ANGEL. 
 
 " Yes : I am the Angel, long sorrowing and sad, 
 Who hath watched through the ages in vain 
 
 For some redeemed spot on the lost earth to rest, 
 And to hear the glad anthem again 
 
 Which was sang at creation, and echoed in love 
 To the shepherds on Chaldea's plain ; 
 
 So I pierced the cloud realm of the earth in my flight, 
 
 To discover the cause of its darkness and blight. 
 
 " First I lighted in a palace where the fiend in golden 
 
 chalice 
 Holds dominion o'er the mortals men style emperors and 
 
 kings. 
 And I saw amid their revels the one power that greatness 
 
 levels 
 To the lowness of the reptiles that are called instinctive 
 
 things ; 
 Saw beneath their robes of splendor, there the ignoble 
 
 surrender 
 Of the dowry of immortals, of the heritage divine ; 
 Saw each lofty aspiration that attends the soul's salvation 
 Basely squandered ! vilely bartered ! for the groveling of 
 
 the swine; 
 
THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE. 157 
 
 Saw the sycophantic minions onward borne upon the 
 
 pinions 
 Of the fiend, to deeper darkness than the poor can ever 
 
 know; 
 And I thought as silent gazing on a horror so amazing, 
 These are scarcely worth the saving from the clutches of 
 
 the foe. 
 So I turned me from the portals of the great among the 
 
 mortals, 
 For I thought the angel Mercy had forever closed the 
 
 door ; 
 That their lamp, but dimly lighted, had gone out, forever 
 
 blighted. 
 Past the power of man or angel in the future to restore. 
 West I turned, and crossed the ocean, where in freedom's 
 
 deej) devotion 
 Men decreed that royal baubles all were vain and sense- 
 less things ; 
 Had denied their divination, and attendant pomp and 
 
 station. 
 And professed to worship only the Eternal King of 
 
 Kings. 
 In their halls of legislature, where but men of mental 
 
 stature 
 Should be chosen as the guardians of the millions of the 
 
 free ! 
 
158 THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 There I stood and gazed in wonder, that a stroke of God's 
 own thunder 
 
 Did not strike the desecrators who revere all gods but He. 
 
 There the Wine-King held his ruling in bravado or in 
 puling, 
 
 Never higher than the ceiling did an aspiration soar ; 
 
 Never farther than the present could the solons, evanes- 
 cent, 
 
 Frame a purpose or a measure to the lost of earth re- 
 store ; 
 
 Still the Wine-Fiend held dominion, and his cry was 
 always ' More.' 
 
 Sad I left, and sought a hovel where the poor in squalor 
 grovel. 
 
 Where God's own, and Christ's anointed, on the earth 
 are doomed to stay; 
 
 There I heard a supplication, in itself an expiation. 
 
 From a lone and widowed mother for her erring son 
 astray. 
 
 From a broken hearted mother for her drunken son 
 astray. 
 
 Almost famished, past the striving, still the mother's love 
 surviving, 
 
 Ever living, all prevailing, prayed she thus to God above : 
 
 *God of mercy! God of justice! In whose love our only 
 trust is, 
 
THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE. 159 
 
 Why should woman bear the burden, for the sins of those 
 
 they love ? 
 Be deceived in life's fair morning, made the idle jest and 
 
 scorning 
 Of the drunkard's frenzied fury, of the drunkard's sense- 
 less mirth. 
 Well we know, a cause redeeming, if 'twere only right 
 
 in seeming, 
 That would stop the monster's ravage, drive the demon 
 
 < from the earth. 
 Thou^ of worlds the great Creator! Thoii^ of destiny 
 
 dictator. 
 Give to woman power for action, and from right she'll 
 
 never swerve. 
 Till the alcoholic demon finds a fate he does not dream 
 
 on. 
 Fate of swift and sure destruction, which both God and 
 
 man will serve.' " 
 
 Then there came a revelation, heralding a new salvation. 
 
 As from out the night and darkness, spake the voice di- 
 vine and said f 
 
 " Woman ! soon his reign is ending, from this time in pur- 
 pose blending. 
 
 You with man shall act in concert, till the tyrant scourge 
 has fled." 
 
160 THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 MORTAL. 
 
 ^' Now, what is the vision, oh, Angel of light, 
 You behold from your home in the skies ? 
 Is the swift-coming future resplendent and bright ? 
 Shall your star to the zenith arise ? " 
 
 ANGEL. 
 
 *• Yes ! the swift-coming future before me is read, 
 And the obsolete issues of mortals are dead ; 
 For the God of Omniscience, who governs the gale. 
 Hath decreed that good over the ill shall prevail. 
 And that Man having failed 'gainst the fiend in despair. 
 Hath at length implored Woman the burden to share ; 
 Not the burden of sorrow, or burden of grief. 
 But the burden of ' rule ' for a nation's relief ; 
 And she, proudly conscious in right of the dower. 
 Brings against the fell fury the force of her power ; 
 And no longer confined to beseeching and prayer. 
 With the ' ballot ' has ended the reign of despair." 
 
 MORTAL. 
 
 " Still longer, fair Angel : we ask you to tell. 
 After Woman had conquered on earth, what befell ?" 
 
THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE. 161 
 
 ANGEL. 
 
 " Now the spring time has come, and the zephyrs of May 
 From the widow's lone cottage drive winter away, 
 While home has returned the lost child that was gone, 
 And reclines on her heart like the prodigal son ; 
 For the mother who prayed on the promise reclines 
 Of Him who the secrets of mortals divines. 
 And the children's glad shouts ringing forth in their glee 
 Show that they from the mighty destroyer are free." 
 
 MORTAL. 
 
 " Once more, oh ! fair Angel : we ask you again, 
 On the earth what befell ere the end of her reign ?" 
 
 ANGEL. 
 
 " Oh ! favored of earth ; now the visions of old 
 Find a realization for you ; 
 Your mountains yield silver, your rivers run gold. 
 And your harvests yield plenty as dew. 
 
 " O'er the bleak, barren plain, strewn with bones of the 
 slain. 
 
162 THE REIGN OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 Proud, defiant, the steam whistle blows; 
 Rough places are smoothed, crooked paths are made 
 straight. 
 
 And the wilderness blooms as the rose. 
 Now rejoice in your pride, for your fame is world-wide — 
 
 Let the name of my kingdom resound ; 
 Your escutcheon so bright is emblazoned in light, 
 
 Since this last fetter fell to the ground. 
 1 now see your advance, it is clear to my glance. 
 
 And 't is bathed in a halo of light. 
 Since I came to the earth from the place of my birth, 
 
 Lily-robed in ray mantle of white. 
 The oppressed from afar shall behold' the new star. 
 
 And with longing shall seek its embrace. 
 And the fame of your land through the ages shall stand, 
 
 While the smile of God rests on its face ; 
 For Woman has conquered the fiend, and retrieved 
 
 The loss of that Eden for which the world grieved; 
 And redeemed past the power of his lure to beguile. 
 
 She may challenge the sunlight to rival her smile." 
 
 'T is finished ! 't is finished ! the message she brings. 
 And 't is thus the fair Angel enchantingly sings. 
 
TRAMPS. 
 
 LOOK ON THAT PICTURE, AND ON THIS. 
 
 In his Eastern home midst plenty, 
 
 In the grand old Buckeye State, 
 With his wife and children round him, 
 
 Scorned he all the frowns of fate. 
 Plenty smiled around his threshold, 
 
 And no wolf was at his door ; 
 Why has he become a vagrant, 
 
 And a Tramp from shore to shore ? 
 
 Shall I tell you ? Will you listen ? 
 
 'T was the base and treacherous clan. 
 False to country, god, and duty, 
 
 Who delude their fellow man ; 
 Paid by aliens' corporations, 
 
 San Francisco's lying sheet, 
 
164 TRAMPS. 
 
 Never speaking of the pagans 
 
 Who, like locusts, swarm the street. 
 
 " Oh ? the mountains were all silver, 
 
 And the rivers sown with gold, 
 Here the vintage wept its nectar 
 
 Like elysian vales of old. 
 Here the harvests gleamed in plenty. 
 
 Roamed the flocks and shed the fleece 
 That were claimed for old Arcadia's 
 
 Fabled realm of joy and peace." 
 
 So he called his darlings round him, 
 
 Saying : " In a little time 
 I shall make a princely fortune 
 
 In the glorious golden clime." 
 And since then the man has wandered; 
 
 But wherever he may go, 
 To each question for employment 
 
 It is one eternal " No." 
 
 Curses rest upon the recreants 
 Who abuse the printer's art, 
 
 Paid by grasjDing coalitions 
 To enact the villain's part. 
 
TRAMPS. 265 
 
 Many a household in the East-land 
 
 Never knew a grief or wail 
 Till some sycophantic minion 
 • Told his false delusive tale. 
 
 Many a " Tramp " to-day is marching 
 
 To find out some treasure-field ; 
 Plodders, rot! 'tis visionaries 
 
 Always find the precious yield. 
 Since the Argonautic Legion 
 
 Did of yore to Colchis sail, 
 " Tramps " explored each mountain fastness — 
 
 Sailed on every ocean's gale. 
 
 Tell me ! ye who live by miners 
 
 Working in the deadly damps, 
 Where the sun-light never enters, 
 
 Think you none of them were " Tramps " 
 Where would be your mountain city, 
 
 Where your wealth in shining ore. 
 Had the " Tramps " not found the treasure 
 
 Ere you came, in days of yore ? 
 
 Beat him ! kick him from trie axle ! 
 How has he a right to ride 
 
166 TRAMPS. 
 
 UnderDeath the railroad palace 
 Where the Nabobs sit in pride ? 
 
 Drive hira forth into the country — 
 Banish him to lonely camps — 
 
 But remember, treasure-finders 
 
 Are, and always have been, " Tramps." 
 
THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 What sound strikes the ear since the nation, redeemed, 
 
 Seemed beyond the dread threat'ning of fate ? 
 What sound has awakened the lovers of right 
 
 To the perils that threaten the State ? 
 'T is the voice of the People by suffering taught, 
 
 Each infringement of right to review ; 
 'T is the voice of the People awakened again, 
 
 By the vigilant, watchful, and true. 
 Saying: "Children, the heritage saved by our blood 
 
 Is now squandered, or stolen from you." 
 
 Half a century since, in the senate unchained, 
 
 Did the giant of intellect stand,"* 
 And combatted there despoilers of right 
 
 Who had lived on the sweat of the land. 
 There conscious of power, like the Grecian of old. 
 
 The Modern Demosthenes said : 
 
 * " Sir ! The People of the North is the l^ovth/'—Webstei-'s Reply to 
 Calhoun. 
 
 161 
 
168 THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 " We are fighting for issues, fresh, teeming with life ! 
 
 You are fighting for issues now dead." 
 'T is the land ! not the people ! not the many, the few, 
 
 Represent the green vales of the South. 
 While the People ! the Peoj^le ! reliant and true. 
 
 Represent the bleak hills of the North. 
 Now the voice of the People, awakened again, 
 
 By the vigilant, watchful, and true. 
 Says : " Children, the land bought by treasure and blood 
 
 Shall no longer be stolen from you." 
 
 Let monopolies thrive, combinations advance. 
 
 Rings, factions, and money-kings reign ; 
 And the blood of tha patriots who died to redeem — 
 
 'T was a sacrifice offered in vain. 
 If allowed in this land, ere a century hence, 
 
 'T will be said as in Britain said now. 
 By the class who descend from usurpers of rights. 
 
 Not one acre of land shall endow 
 The descendants of those by whose labor we live. 
 
 The poor slaves of the pick, spade, and plow. 
 Come forth to the rescue, arise at the call 
 
 Of the vigilant, watchful, and true. 
 And say : " Children, the land bought by treasure and 
 blood, 
 
 Must henceforth be a dowry for you." 
 
VIRTUE'S ITS OWN REWARD. 
 
 •'He fought bis doubts and gathered strength ; 
 He would not make his judgment blind, 
 He fought the specters of the mind, 
 And laid them; till at length 
 He made a stronger faith his own. 
 And power was with him in the night, 
 Which makes the darkness and the light. 
 And dwells not in the light alone." 
 
 — [Tennyson's "In Memonam. 
 
 I know that 'midst the axioms old, 
 Time's current has brought down 
 
 To raise a smile, bring forth a tear, 
 Perchance provoke a frown, 
 
 There's one shall in the future live. 
 One Time shall ever guard ; 
 
 It is the simple axiom that 
 " Virtue 's its own reward." 
 
 In this, the so-called age of light. 
 Were all things fairly shown, 
 
170 VIRTUE'S ITS OWN REWARD. 
 
 It would be seen that virtue hides, 
 And vice usurps the throne. 
 
 From worldly hopes of preference, 
 Virtue appears debarr'd, 
 
 Which seems to prove that virtue must 
 Be virtue 's own reward. 
 
 Still, travelers on the word's highway, 
 Who toil their journey through, 
 
 Who fight for right, because 't is right. 
 To conscience ever true. 
 
 Shall find a peace no wealth can buy, 
 Shall heed no man's regard, 
 
 Shall independent live and die : 
 " Virtue 's its own reward." 
 
 There 's many a fairy, sylph-like form 
 Bedecked with jewels bright. 
 
 Which gleam and sparkle in the dance. 
 Transfiguring the night, 
 
 With voice attuned to love's soft tones. 
 By feigned emotions stirred ; 
 
 Would give her jewels all to know, 
 '' Virtue's its own reward." 
 
VIRTUE'S ITS OWN REWARD. \1\ 
 
 There 's many a brain all conscienceless, 
 
 Now striving to be great, 
 In the vain hope that happiness 
 
 Can never come too late ; 
 Who yet shall find their Angels fair, 
 
 Are Demons bleared and scarred, 
 Shall learn too late this truth of truths, 
 "Virtue 's its own reward." 
 
 The crowns of monarchs, what are they ? 
 
 The courts where pleasure reigns ; 
 The pleasure that beyond the hour, 
 
 No source of bliss maintains ; 
 The glory that the conqueror wins. 
 
 The wealth that misers hoard. 
 Are bubbles that a breath will break : 
 " Virtue 's its own reward." 
 
 We leave unto the misty past 
 
 Its relics and its creeds. 
 Perchance when superstition reigned, 
 
 She met the people's needs. 
 The motto that our emblem bears. 
 
 Is now, was always, true : 
 "Do not to others what you would 
 
 They should not do to you." 
 
172 VIRTUE'S ITS OWN REWARD. 
 
 Prepare ! The moral conflict comes ; 
 
 Do battle for the right ; 
 Renew your faith in virtue's cause, 
 
 The people need your fight. 
 Though fools may laugh, and fiends may gibe, 
 
 Our banner, many-starred. 
 Must be upheld by those who think 
 *' Virtue 's its own reward." 
 
 The souPs calm sunshine beams for those 
 
 Who follow virtue's path. 
 And passion's tempest never hurls 
 
 On such, its storm of wrath. 
 The Angel Peace, with outstretched wings, 
 
 Holds o'er them heavenly guard, 
 While in their inner lives they know^ 
 " Virtue 's its own reward."- 
 
THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. 
 
 Most beauteous things of Nature are heeded not, if seen — 
 The heavens' celestial azure, the earth's life-giving green ; 
 The varied change of seasons, the sunshine and the storm ; 
 The winter's bracing breezes, the summer's zephyrs warm ; 
 But the mountain and the valley, and the islands of the 
 
 sea, 
 Present images of beauty which give pleasure unto me. 
 And everything in Nature's face for me has something 
 
 fair ; 
 And my eye its beauty mirrors as my lungs inspire its air. 
 And thus 't was ever with me ; for even when a boy, 
 Amid the winter's howling blast, my heart leaped forth for 
 
 joy. 
 
 And each shaded cove and inlet that lay on the river's 
 shore, 
 
 In the balmy days of summer 'twas my pleasure to ex- 
 plore. 
 
 To watch the varied changes as my boat did gently glide, 
 
 Or in the eddying current, or in the rushing tide ; 
 
 173 
 
174 THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. 
 
 Where sometimes the huge bowlders their hoary crests 
 
 iipreared, 
 With saline grasses covered, like ancient Sea-Kings' 
 
 beard. 
 My comrades gazed in wonder — a feeling strange to me — 
 Why oftentimes I floated for many miles to sea ; 
 But they knew not of the mystery which cast o'er me its 
 
 spell, 
 Nor the beauty I was tracing on the ocean's gentle swell. 
 In after life I paced the deck in midnight's darkest hour, 
 And saw the tempest culminate and clouds portentous 
 
 lower; 
 And even then I beauty saw, as, gazing on the wake, 
 I saw a myriad bubbles rise, sparkling in light to break. 
 And even on the tow'ring west the sight would joy in- 
 spire. 
 As I beheld the good ship cleave her way through liquid 
 
 fire. 
 The iceberg, dreaded of all dreads, was beautiful tc> me, 
 Ocean's imperial palace — the cathedral of the sea ; 
 For on its glittering domes I saw a million sparkling rays. 
 Shaming the studied works of art — giving to Nature praise 
 Beauty I saw in southern climes, where spikes of coral 
 
 grow. 
 Red, like the tint on beauty's cheek, or spotless as the 
 
 snow. 
 
THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. 175 
 
 Beauty ! when first unto the gaze are little islands seen 
 
 Emerging from the ocean depths, in emerald hues of 
 green. 
 
 Beauty! when, on some wooded height, the eye could 
 faintly trace 
 
 The water-falls, like silver threads, rush down the moun- 
 tain face. 
 
 Beauty ! amid the foliage dense that giant trees entwines, 
 
 Presenting to the distant view a pyramid of vines. 
 
 There's beauty in the northern land — 'tis when the 
 tempest hurls 
 
 Its storm of sleet, and leaves each tree laden with glist'ning 
 pearls ; 
 
 T 'is when the sun's reflected rays upon the ice-trees shine, 
 
 A cold and crystal beauty glows nearest on earth divine. 
 
 And gems of beauty rich and rare are scattered o'er the 
 earth ; 
 
 There is no spot on Nature's face that gives not beauty 
 birth. 
 
 But beautiful, more beautiful than all these sights and 
 scenes — 
 
 The mountain's stately forests, the valley's lovely greens ;~ 
 
 The mountain's noble grandeurs, the valley's lovely flow- 
 ers ; 
 
 The monotone of sighing winds, the sunshine and the 
 showers ; 
 
176 THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. 
 
 The song-bird's charming melody, the rainbow's glittering 
 
 beam; 
 The painter's art, the minstrel's song, the poet's glorious 
 
 dream ; 
 The zephyrs of Arcadian isles, whose gardens know no 
 
 storm — 
 Is beauty, when to virtue joined in woman's beauteous 
 
 form. 
 
AVHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 
 
 Midst all the sayings, true or false, 
 
 Brought down by tongue or pen, 
 There 's one has palsied many a hope, 
 
 That contrasts now with then. 
 That mourns o'er buried wishes dead, 
 
 And would fresh sorrow glean 
 From what we were, and what we are, 
 
 And from " What might have been." 
 
 I have a friend — a valued friend — 
 
 Whose tears may never dry. 
 Who often speaks in plaintive tone 
 
 And sad, desponding eye ; 
 And says, " We 're nearing now the goal 
 
 Of three-score years and ten, 
 With none to care ; I can but grieve 
 
 O'er that which " might have been." 
 
 I said : " My friend, the man who lives 
 And retrospects the years, 
 
 8* 177 
 
178 " WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN:' 
 
 And scrutinizes others' griefs, 
 Their follies, and their fears — 
 
 And finds himself in health and strength. 
 With conscience pure and clean, 
 
 Need never give a single thought 
 On that which ' might have been.' " 
 
 He said : " If I 'd done this or that, 
 
 Or gone some other way, 
 I might have had some station great, 
 
 Or wealth or fame, to-day. 
 The chances I did not improve 
 
 Are now so clearly seen. 
 That I must grieve o'er what I am. 
 
 And o'er ' what might have been.' " 
 
 I said : " I saw a stately dame 
 
 Arrayed in laces rare. 
 Who looks upon the 'lower class' 
 
 With supercilious air. 
 I learned that on her unblessed couch 
 
 By all but God unseen, 
 She mourns a false and heartless life. 
 
 Grieves o'er ' what might have been.' " 
 
♦' WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN:' 179 
 
 Upon the world's great stage there's some 
 
 Must play the lower parts, 
 Who, if they may not diamonds hold, 
 
 Had better play for hearts ; 
 For could they strip from fashion's pets, 
 
 The glitter and the sheen. 
 They 'd find that even envied ones, 
 
 Grieve o'er " what might have been." 
 
 The grieving o'er " what might have been " 
 
 Will not one sorrow heal ; 
 The man who mourns " what might have been " 
 
 Will not move fortune's wheel. 
 There 's one thing that's so clearly plain 
 
 The blindest fool must see, 
 The question's not " What might have been?" 
 
 It is "What is to be?" 
 
 So dry your tears my sorrowing friend, 
 
 Make this complaint the last ; 
 The disappointments of this life 
 
 Are o'er when they are past. 
 'T is God alone has power to know. 
 
 The great profound unseen ; 
 We know what was — we know what is — 
 
 There is no "might have been." 
 
180 " WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEENr 
 
 So I advise my youthful friends 
 
 To cultivate the thought, 
 That nothing 's past redemption here, 
 
 Or was^ and there is not 
 To catch that charity that comes 
 
 FrSm heaven, an unseen power, 
 That makes another's noxious weed. 
 
 To ope a beauteous flower. 
 
 Let no such thing as policy 
 
 Direct you in life's flight, 
 For when a thing seems right to yoM, 
 
 Be sure to you 't is right. 
 Take conscience only for your guide. 
 
 As you the world begin. 
 And right or wrong you '11 never grieve 
 
 O'er that which " might have been." 
 
TO THE MEXICAN VETERANS. 
 
 May 30th, 1879. 
 
 The bright May morn broke fair and clear, 
 
 The south-wind's warm caresses 
 Shimmered the leaves on Carson's trees 
 
 And waved her maidens' tresses. 
 From arid slopes and valleys green 
 
 The old and young were coming 
 To decorate the soldiers' graves, 
 
 That balmy spring-time morning. 
 But quite alone one band there marched. 
 
 Whose hair was tinged with gray ; 
 Like the Old Guard and Tour d'Auvergne, 
 
 They had been in the fray ; 
 For they had fought in Mexico, 
 
 And veterans true were they. 
 And as I gazed, before me rose 
 
 Brave Taylor's little band. 
 When first encamped, in Forty-Six, 
 
 181 
 
182 TO THE MEXICAN VETERANS. 
 
 Beside the Rio Grande. 
 In fancy then the old-time fight 
 
 I saw fought o'er again. 
 I passed through " Angostura's Gorge/' 
 
 To Buena Vista's plain ; 
 For I, an " Argonaut," knew well 
 
 Those fights were not in vain. 
 I heard as though 't were yesterday 
 
 Bold Ringgold's thrilling tone — 
 " Comrades, go on ; your duty calls. 
 
 The brave can die alone." 
 Heard Taylor say, " Go, take those guns," 
 
 And Captain May reply, 
 "I'll do it, sir, or every man 
 
 In my command will die! " 
 'T was done ; and History is proud 
 
 The noble deed to tell. 
 And how, deserted by his men, 
 
 The brave La Vega fell. 
 'T was the commencement of the war, 
 
 And hushed all vain alarms. 
 The battle-ground in English is 
 
 The "Valley of the Palms." 
 
 Through bloody fights and victories won, 
 I followed on the way, 
 
TO THE MEXICAN VETERANS, 183 
 
 But stopped to shed a tribute tear 
 
 For her of Monterey ; * 
 Who, following mercy's mission there 
 
 Upon the fields of strife, 
 ^Was struck by some ill-omened shot, 
 
 And yielded up her life. 
 Again on Buena Vista's heights 
 
 I saw the battle flag. 
 And heard Zach Taylor, cursing, say 
 
 " More grape there. Captain Bragg" 
 And then the panorama changed, 
 
 And grand old Scott appeared, 
 Brave as a lion, kind and true, 
 
 By all his men revered. 
 Then Cerro-Gordo's pass uprose, 
 
 And Plan del Rio's green, 
 While the*niajestic form of Scott 
 
 Still tower'd above the scene ; 
 And the same veterans I saw 
 
 Who now walk here to-day. 
 Fight at the mill of some old l;ing 
 
 Called Molino del Rey ; 
 And though a later war eclipsed 
 
 *It is said tliat a Mexican woman, while bringing water to the 
 wounded, and dying, friend or foe, was killed by a stray ball at 
 the battle of Monterey. There is a ballad in celebration of the fact, 
 called "The Maid of Monterey." 
 
184 TO THE MEXICAN VETERANS. 
 
 The grandeur of that time, 
 The Argonauts will not forget 
 
 They won the golden clime. 
 They scaled the Cordillera's crest, 
 
 No loss their valor quenched. 
 Until upon Ayotla's height 
 
 The army stood intrenched ; 
 Around the Lakes of Chalco, then, 
 
 And Xochimilico, 
 I saw these gray-haired veterans march 
 
 With stately step and slow ; 
 And though my memory wandered back 
 
 To Wolfe and old Quebec, 
 A grander scene appeared to view 
 
 On famed Chapultepec ; 
 For students there fought to the death, 
 
 As did the priests of yore, 
 When Spaniards won the Aztec throne 
 
 Three hundred years before, 
 And Montezuma's halls were won 
 
 The throne and diadem. 
 What wonder that I joined the ranks. 
 
 And wished to walk with them ? 
 For well I know this Western Shore — 
 
 This grand Pacific strand — 
 Was won by that immortal few, 
 
 Mexico's Veteran Band. 
 
 Carson City. 
 
"GO, SIN NO MORE." 
 
 He stood, and wrote upon the ground; and as He wrote, He seemed 
 to ask Himself the question: " Shall I make void the law Levitical, 
 and brave the fury of the Pharisaic crowd?" Yes; He, the teacher 
 of a dispensation new, rebuked the grovelling pride which seeks 
 to build on others' ruin; and thus the Savior spoke: "Neither do I 
 condemn thee. Go, and sin no more." 
 
 Take heart now, O wanderer from virtue's path straying, 
 
 On whom some shadow rests, darkening thy day ; 
 For there's a Comforter, one ever praying 
 
 Heaven to direct you in virtue's blest way. 
 Perhaps, as in Jesus' time, some, all unheeding. 
 
 May have forgotten that none can be pure. 
 May have crushed some poor heart, lonely and bleeding, 
 
 Past all the power Heaven gave to endure. 
 Turn again to the Light from the Fount streaming ; 
 
 To the Reproachless One let your thoughts soar ; 
 Day has now dawned for you — see its light beaming ! 
 
 The Saviour still says to you, " Go, sin no more." 
 
 Heed not the world's scorn, be not forsaken. 
 While the Immaculate sorrows for thee ; 
 
 185 
 
186 " GO, SIN NO more:' 
 
 If your firm faith in Him shall not be shaken, 
 
 You, though a captive long, soon shall be free. 
 Fond hearts are waiting now, arms are extended 
 
 Again to enfold you in tender embrace ; 
 Rancor has vanished now, hatred has ended, 
 
 They, too, have seen the smile lighting His face. 
 On the bosom of virtue henceforward reclining. 
 
 And trusting the Holy One all should adore, 
 New tendrils of love 'round your crushed heart entwining 
 
 Shall prove your forgiveness; then "Go, sin no more." 
 
 Come back ! O come back ! to the home of life's morning. 
 
 For the lilies of purity still there do bloora ; 
 But brighter they '11 bloom, with your presence adorning. 
 
 The home which your absence has shrouded in gloom. 
 Come back ! O come back ! why, this world 's not all winter ! 
 
 Even storms, clouds, and darkness some pleasure may 
 bring. 
 By enhancing the beauty, effulgence, and splendor 
 
 Of the verdure that heralds the beautiful spring. 
 Renew the blest age when your life was all sunshine. 
 
 The happy Elysium you dwelt in of yore ; 
 Since He, the Reproachless, extends his forgiveness. 
 
 And says '• I condemn thee not. Go, sin no more." 
 
 Virginia City, 1867 
 
MUSING BY THE SPRING. 
 
 The summer breeze was fresh and sweet that bright 
 
 Nevada day, 
 When musingly I strolled along to where the garden lay 
 Just fifteen fleeting years before, in verdure green and 
 
 gay. 
 
 No house was there, no garden fair, nor any winsome 
 
 thing 
 To tell of fairer, brighter scenes, or fresh to memory 
 
 bring 
 The shout of childhood's happier day — only the sylvan 
 
 spring. 
 
 And silently I sat beside the spring and round me gazed, 
 I knew that years seemed ages here, and still I felt amazed 
 To see the desolation round, for nature's self seemed 
 crazed. 
 
 187 
 
188 MUSING BY THE SPRING. 
 
 I knew the sagebrush was no rose, the cedar dwarf no 
 
 palm, 
 I knew the Washoe zephyr blows no gales of fragrant 
 
 balm — 
 But I had seen oases rare in sweet secluded calm ; 
 
 Where happy homes 'mid flowrets grew, and children 
 prattled round, 
 
 And sweet contentment made the spots to me seem hal- 
 lowed ground. 
 
 Far from the city's vice and strife, with humble plenty 
 crowned. 
 
 There musingly I pondered o'er the present and the past, 
 The changes and the chances which life's horoscope had 
 
 cast 
 On them, while mournfully I asked, " Shall this fate be 
 
 the last." 
 
 For there I left young maidenhood, and matron's bloom, 
 ing prime, 
 
 And merry children full of glee, in their sweet summer 
 time, 
 
 And manhcod, full of purpose too, and courage most sub- 
 lime! 
 
MUSING BY THE SPRING. 189 
 
 Oh Innovation ! on your track, and Progress at your call, 
 Like giants, noxious evils rise, on happy homes to fall ; 
 And though I close my eyes, I see "the rich are all in all." 
 
 And while I there on progress thought, a shriek disturbed 
 
 the air, 
 'T was not the savage warwhoop, 't was for some as near 
 
 despair. 
 It was the engine's shout, and said ; " Make way, my path 
 
 prepare ! " 
 
 'Tis said 'tis progress, and 'tis said " Its work has just 
 
 begun " ; 
 Perhaps ! I knew of hamlets fair whose race were quickly 
 
 run. 
 And some still think it only means " toil many for the 
 
 Yes, build your highway o'er the hills, do all that wealth 
 
 can do. 
 Pile up your costly palaces, and keep their domes in view ; 
 Advancement ! and aggrandisement ! yes ! for a favored 
 few. 
 
190 MUSING BY THE SPRING. 
 
 The veil is lifted from my eyes, the curtain from my sight, 
 What men accept as progress now, in future may be 
 
 blight, 
 If mammon 's the republic's God ! and might 's enthroned 
 
 o'er right ! 
 
 And as I mused I saw around our sweet immortal sires, 
 Who kindled at the century's dawn fair freedom's vestal 
 
 fires, 
 Bewailing for the perished hope of all their fond desires. 
 
 And in time's cycle, too, I saw, advance is all in vain, 
 Material triumps ever forced the moral back again. 
 Like tide extremes, which rise and fall equal upon the 
 main. 
 
 And so I turned and left the spring that fair Nevada 
 
 night ; 
 The sun sank to as calm repose as though all things were 
 
 bright ; 
 And I as calmly thought, for God, " Whatever is, is right." 
 
 American Flat, July, 1876. 
 
TWO LIVES. 
 
 To THE Hon. A. A. S.— 1874 
 
 Friend of the earnest, olden time, 
 'Twas midst Nevada's hills of snow, 
 Near thirty fleeting years ago. 
 We met in manhood's early prime. 
 
 And I, though young, had roamed the earth, 
 
 My eyes had every country seen ; 
 
 And borean region, tropic green. 
 
 Had seemed to claim me from my birth. 
 
 And men had bowed before my power. 
 My bark had sailed on every sea. 
 Proud in my strength, and bold as free, 
 I saw no tempests o'er me lower. 
 
 191 
 
192 TWO LIVES. 
 
 And yours ? a slightly newer life, 
 Had all of fierce ambition's lure, 
 The power to do, and to endure. 
 And face the world in civic strife. 
 
 You chose the statesman's troubled path ; 
 
 While I, as studiously inclined. 
 
 In abstract lore could only find 
 
 A shield from passion's storm of wrath. 
 
 I prayed that you might gain your end, 
 'T was music to my ears — the sound, 
 That you had gained another round 
 On fame's proud ladder, old time friend. 
 
 War came with tramp of marshaled foes ; 
 Then from Mount Shasta's hoary head 
 To San Diego's coral bed, 
 One cry throughout our State arose : 
 
 The man will be a Saviour true. 
 
 Who joins the homes and joins the hands 
 
 Of East to West in iron bands. 
 
 And brings the old time friends to view." 
 
TIVO LIVES. 193 
 
 'T was yours within the'halls of State 
 
 To introduce the high emprise, 
 
 To be the center of all eyes, 
 
 And be called greatest midst the great. 
 
 No triumph yet decreed by Rome, 
 For grand results in battle won, 
 For deeds of glory dared and done, 
 With greater honor welcomed home 
 
 Her Tribunes, than was then bestowed 
 On you, from all both high and low ; 
 Nor could be found a public foe 
 Amid their acclamations loud. 
 
 Time passed, a lurid light appears ; 
 Your image, once their idol God, 
 Was dragged in dust upon the sod. 
 And burned amid their jibes and jeers. 
 
 And you have seen that fame 's a sound : 
 Sometimes the mob would raise you high, 
 Then as of old shout " Crucify," 
 And hunt their idol to the ground. 
 
194 TfVO LIVES. 
 
 But then, when rained their curses fast, 
 Amid the execrations foul, 
 The base revilings of the crowd, 
 Some stood the same from first to last. 
 
 'T is well : I walk without a home. 
 Beneath the stars, a sentinel 
 Of felons in each darksome cell : 
 Your roof 's the Capitolian dome. 
 
 I 'm lost from home and place of birth ; 
 But springing from my silent pen, 
 In many a vale, and dell, and glen. 
 Some flowers arise to bless the earth. 
 
 Against this power I count as dross 
 The treasures of the ancient Ind, 
 And all the diamonds slaves may find 
 Beneath the gleaming Southern Cross. 
 
 But you, in this material age. 
 No doubt did choose the better part ; 
 The treasures of the hand, riot heart. 
 You knew were best the war to waore 
 
TtVO LIVES. 195 
 
 Against the fiends who cluster round 
 Your every i)ath in public life ; 
 Avarice and greed, and hate and strife — 
 Camp-followers on your battle-ground. 
 
 I pace my nigntly vigil long ; 
 
 I wander hither, back and forth, 
 
 Like Cain, condemned to walk the earth. 
 
 Where only outcasts round mc throng. 
 
 Above me shine the gleaming stars, 
 The same that omened ancient fates. 
 The fall of empires, thrones, and states, 
 Or threatened pestilence and wars. 
 
 I cannot hide me from their sight. 
 Their burning eyes look down on me ; 
 They see my deep despondency, 
 And seem to know 't will end in night 
 
 The law of compensation is. 
 
 The law of Nature always was. 
 
 The law that regulates all laws. 
 
 And guides the world's great harmonies. 
 
196 TIVO LIVES. 
 
 I read the riddle thus : It seems 
 The waking hours to you are best, 
 By every dear surrounding blest ; 
 I 'm only happy in my dreams. 
 
 Waking sometimes, it is the same, 
 I hear some grand old anthem roll : 
 It is the God within the soul. 
 And that is all the dower I claim. 
 
 We cannot tell, with all our lore, 
 Whether our forms this earth will grace 
 When to this very point in space 
 The earth has made one circuit more. 
 
 We cannot tell, with all our lore, 
 Of any good the spirit finds 
 In that which oft the spirit blinds — 
 I mean, excess of worldlv store 
 
 Farewell, my friend : if I find one 
 True to his best convictions first. 
 Nor pleased to make the best the worst, 
 I '11 count not lost the race I 've run. 
 
 San Quektin, September, 1874 
 
DAISY MORRIS. 
 
 I have builded me a cottage 
 
 By the margin of the stream, 
 Where the golden sunlight lingers 
 
 Till the day's departing beam. 
 All around my rustic cottage 
 
 I have builded tiny bowers, 
 Waiting for my daisy darling 
 
 To be queen among the flowers. 
 
 Round the porches and the windows 
 
 Of this cottage home of mine 
 I have made the wild arbutus 
 
 With the rhododendron twine. 
 There shall be no chilling winter 
 
 In this cottage home of ours, 
 Only radiant, golden sunshine, 
 
 Or refreshing, pearly showers. 
 
 197 
 
198 DAISY MORRIS. 
 
 Near my cottage, by the river, 
 
 Is a mountain, tall and steep ; 
 At its base my kine are grazing, 
 
 On its sides are snow-white sheep. 
 On its crest are forest monarchs, 
 
 Giants of the olden time, 
 Never seen in any country 
 
 But our gorgeous western clime. 
 
 On some balmy summer morning 
 
 We will climb its summit high, 
 With our garden-home beneath us. 
 
 And above the azure sky. 
 And when evening shades are falling 
 
 And the setting sun declines, 
 You shall hear the vespers ringing 
 
 Through the branches of the pines. 
 
 I had roamed the wide world over. 
 
 Met the dark Italian's glance. 
 Seen the blondes of bonny England, 
 
 And the brown-eyed belles of France ; 
 But my heart was cold as winter — 
 
 Never knew the thrill of love, 
 Till I met you, Daisy Morris — 
 
 You they call the " Mountain Dove." 
 
DAISY MORRIS. 199 
 
 Sometimes on the river's bosom 
 
 In my boat we '11 gently glide : 
 There's no peril — I 'm a sailor, 
 
 And know every change of tide. 
 I will row you where the branches 
 
 O'er the limpid waters lean, 
 Adding loveliness enchanting 
 
 To the beauty of the scene. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Can you love me, Daisy Morris ? 
 
 Will you come and dwell with me, 
 In my cottage near the river 
 
 That is running to the sea ? 
 
NEW YEAR'S GREETING— 1879. 
 
 Passing years, like passing ages, 
 
 Ever bring us something new ; 
 And again, for History's pages. 
 
 We the year's events review ; 
 And rehearse, for retrospection. 
 
 What of hope, or joy, or fear 
 Has been shadowed for our Nation 
 
 During the departed year. 
 
 First, despite of Old World troubles, 
 
 Let the fact our hopes elate. 
 That among the growing nations 
 
 We are greatest of the great ! 
 Young in years, and young in feeling, 
 
 Fresh from Nature, fresh from God, 
 We have gained a brighter future 
 
 From beneath His chastening rod. 
 
 £00 
 
NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 201 
 
 All that war and desolation 
 
 Showered upon us in the past * 
 
 Has procured a new salvation, 
 
 Patriots swear, though time shall last. 
 Harvests gleam in bounteous plenty, 
 
 No gaunt famine stalks the land; 
 Still we feed the Old World's millions 
 
 With a free and lavish hand. 
 
 All the visions seen by prophets 
 
 In the old and mighty East, 
 Find a more than full fruition 
 
 In our new and wondrous West. 
 Gleams the harvest, weeps the vintage. 
 
 Roam the flocks and sheds the fleece, 
 That were claimed for old Arcadia's 
 
 Fabled realm of joy and peace. 
 
 When the pestilential demon 
 
 Hovered round the flowery South 
 With delirium's frenzied fury 
 
 And fell fever's deadly drouth ; « 
 
 From the Northland God's evangels 
 
 Went, the sufferers' lot to share, 
 Though dread Azrael, death's dark angel. 
 
 Hovered in the tainted air. 
 
202 NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 
 
 Open wide your eyes, ye scoffers! 
 • Who believe in regjal chains ! 
 
 Russia's eagle droops his feathers, 
 
 While the Turkish crescent wanes. 
 Count ambition's fated victims, 
 
 Sacrificed in bloody wars ; 
 Count by thousands frozen faces, 
 
 Upturned to the glimmering stars. 
 
 When their forces crossed the Balkans, 
 
 When they fought on Plevna's height, 
 When the wolf and fierce hyena 
 
 Feasted through the gloomy night ; 
 When the pestilence went surging 
 
 Through the starved battalions there. 
 To increase the broad dominions 
 
 Of the grasping Northern Bear ; 
 
 Then unto our star-gemmed banner, 
 All exultant, cast your eyes ; 
 
 While the unstained constellation 
 » Leads each glorious, grand emprize. 
 
 Now Columbia's genius speaking. 
 Says to strife and tumult, " Cease ! " 
 
 While from ocean unto ocean 
 
 Spreads the olive branch of peace. 
 
NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 203 
 
 Stop, my muse ! One cloud of darkness 
 
 Dims the present's burnished light, 
 Full of dark and gloomy portents, ' 
 
 Moral pestilence, and blight ; 
 Treatening in the hast'ning future 
 
 Rapine, discord, blood, and spoil : 
 Alien slaves of alien masters 
 
 Now degrade fair Freedom's soil. 
 
 There 's no danger that the people 
 
 Will a century's work undo : 
 Danger comes from legislators, 
 
 To their sacred trust untrue. 
 All should know that men or nations 
 
 Who depart from thoughts refined. 
 Lured by base considerations, 
 
 Shame the triumphs of the mind. 
 
 Not by idle, useless vaunting, 
 
 Not by threat'nings vain and wild. 
 Not by sophistry or canting. 
 
 Can be saved fair Freedom's child. 
 Not for base, ignoble trading, 
 
 Shall our honor be laid low ; 
 Shall they come ? The people's answer 
 
 Must be one eternal No ! 
 
204 NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 
 
 To more pleasing retrospection 
 Of events, we now incline, 
 
 And Nevada claims some mention — 
 Land of mountain, vale, and mine. 
 
 From where Carson's arbored city- 
 Sits amid oases green. 
 
 And Virginia, silver-sandaled. 
 
 Stands the peerless Mountain Queen ; 
 
 Here, where since the stars were singing 
 
 At creation's early dawn. 
 And no sound disturbed the stillness. 
 
 Save the Storm-King's shriek or moan ; 
 Now the iron meteor gleaming 
 
 Frights the wild beast from its lair. 
 While the Steam-King, fiercely screaming^ 
 
 Says : " Make way ! my path prepare." 
 
 Poets sing of fair Italia — 
 
 Land of beauty, mirth, and wine : 
 Progress gives us richer dowry 
 
 Than the Old World can combine 
 Class the blessings that surround us, 
 
 And to God your voices raise : 
 Never people on his footstool 
 
 Had such cause to sing His praise. 
 
 1 
 
^'^^% 
 
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/-'"■-'•v--^ i^yy^- "/ 
 
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