AN 
 
 ARBOREAL SONG 
 
 
 OF 
 
 I'HK 
 
 ALAMEDA 
 
 
 (The Beautiful Way.) 
 
 
 PRESENTED TO 
 
 THE LADIES' BENEVOLENT SOCIETY | 
 
 
 Of San Jose, Cal. 
 
 Mrs 
 
 BY 
 
 . MARY H. FIELD 
 
 - 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE SOCIETY 
 
 
 1878 
 
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 ^ <<^^^ 
 
 Copyright, 1S78, 
 By M. H. Field. 
 
 ^ ^-t-syz 
 
 // 
 
 . L. BANCROFT S. CO., PRINTERS. 
 
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 A-^^m^A 
 
 NOTE 
 
 "The Avenue of Willows connecting San Jose 
 with Santa Clara IMission was planted in 1799, under 
 the supervision of Father Maguin de Catala. He 
 employed two hundred Indians to plant, water and 
 protect them until they became sufficiently large to 
 need no care. They were of much value to the 
 inhabitants of both settlements not only as shade, 
 but as protection against the assaults of the cattle 
 which were feeding over the valley." 
 
 Hall's History of San Jose. 
 
 '<mm^-\' 
 
-=^- 
 
 .►^I^. 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 ^^I^^ 
 
 / 
 
 ' I AM GNARLED AND GRAY AND OLD," - 
 
 / 
 •'TIS THE HIGHWAY OF THE LORD!" - - - 21 
 
 V 
 
 ' BEAUTIFUL DWELLINGS STOOD HALF REVEALED," - 29 
 
 ' ITS WALLS HAVE CRUMBLED DOWN," - - - 33 
 
The Alameda 
 
 {Tke Beautiful Way.) 
 
An Arboreal Song. 
 
 -•^1^- 
 
 The song of an ancient tree. 
 Which it softly crooned to me. 
 As I walked on an autumn day 
 In the Alameda — the beautiful way — 
 The pride and the joy of San Jose. 
 
 Was the wind the wandering troubadour 
 Who swept for me his wild harp strings. 
 Or did Hamadryad's soul outpour 
 Its mystical, musical murmurings? 
 
lO 
 
 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 "K\v me!" it sighed, ''Ah me! 
 
 What a weary while is a century! 
 
 I am gnarled and gray and old. 
 
 Shattered and furrowed, — Ah, behold 
 
 My very heart is a-cold, a-cold ! 
 
 Yet the century's years are still untold 
 
 But age is the time for dreaming, 
 
 And I live in a tranced land. 
 
 Where the long dead past to me doth stand 
 
 Too real, too close, for seeming; 
 
 Where the dim and the far still seem most 
 near. 
 
 And the long-hushed voices fall most clear. 
 
 nSk* 
 
12 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 " I hear them talking, — the friars all. 
 The gray old Mission Fathers nine, — 
 As they sit in the long refectory hall. 
 Lingering over bread and wine ; 
 While swart of brow and lithe of limb,. 
 A dusky edge to the picture's rim. 
 The Indian Neophytes serving stand. 
 Alert for a word or a beckoning hand. 
 
 '' Father Maguin de Catala's voice. 
 Speaking in soft Castilian phrase. 
 Is heard above the murmurous noise: 
 
An Arboreal Song. 13 
 
 ' Pardon, my brothers/ he gently says, 
 
 ' If my thought seems weak or wild, 
 
 Like the famous schemes of the errant knight. 
 
 With the zeal of a man and the heart of a 
 child. 
 
 Whose deeds Cervantes doth indite! 
 
 " ' But our blessed religion doth bid us be 
 
 Filled with compassionate charity; 
 
 And, O, how wearily to and fro 
 
 Our faithful flock do come and go! 
 
 Scorched by sun and beaten by rain, 
 
 Or choked with the dust of the arid plain. 
 
 Where the fierce wild cattle roam at will 
 
 And the weak and the helpless with terror 
 ■fill,— 
 
14 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 " 'So that only through peril and fear and woe 
 To the sacred rites of the church they go. 
 O brothers, hear and approve my plan 
 For the glory of God and the good of man! 
 Let us plant some trees whose greenery 
 A screen from the burning sun shall be; 
 Whose firm-set trunks may keep at bay 
 The red-eyed bull from his fainting prey. 
 And whose grateful shade on us may fall. 
 When, with reverent and uncovered head. 
 We move with slow and solemn tread 
 In the Corpus Christi Processional' 
 
A71 Arboreal Souq;. 
 
 i> 
 
 " Then Father Serra shook his head. 
 
 ' Good brother de Catala/ he said, 
 
 ' Is a league of forest so small a thing 
 
 That it lies within our compassing? 
 
 Let us level the mountains that round us lie! 
 
 Let us dip with a gourd old ocean dry! 
 
 Let us pluck the stars down out of the sky!' 
 
 ''Then the Fathers Pena and Palou smiled, 
 But others spoke in approval mild. 
 And one was absorbed in revery deep. 
 While one good brother fell fast asleep. 
 
1 6 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 Still the Friar de Catala looked as one 
 Whose dauntless faith beholds as done 
 That which his warm heart bids him plan 
 For the glory of God and good of man! 
 
 '' Behind him, attent and still and bright. 
 Waited a dark-eyed Acolyte. 
 He lightly bent to the father's ear 
 With a whispered word of love and cheer, — 
 ' Holy Father! the work shall speed. 
 Many and strong are the men for the deed. 
 And wherever the cooling waters flow 
 There the thirsty willows crowding grow.' 
 
An Arboreal Song. ij 
 
 The father turned on the eager youth 
 
 His gentle glance, and 'Thou speakest truth, 
 
 Benedicite!' murmured he, 
 
 'Doubt and delay shall before it flee.' 
 
 ''Again a turn of shifting sands: 
 
 I feel the wrench of cruel hands 
 
 Tearing me loose from the dear cool earth 
 
 Where we lithe young willows had our birth. 
 
 Bearing us off forever 
 
 From the sweet clear rippling river; 
 
 The swirl and rush of its winter flood. 
 
 The lingering kiss of its summer mood. 
 
 Gone from our lives forever! 
 
1 8 An Arboreal Song, 
 
 "But hundreds of willing hands 
 
 Are planting us deep anew; 
 
 Hundreds of willing hands 
 
 The fresh mold o'er us strew; 
 
 Hundreds of tawny hands. 
 
 Slim and unused to toil. 
 
 Wondering at the white man's endless fret 
 and moil. 
 
 Yet striving the good friar's mysterious will 
 to do. 
 
 "It is done, it is done at last! 
 Like sentinels arrayed, 
 A triple line of willows cast 
 A league of flickering shade. 
 
An Arboreal Song. 19 
 
 Still there were scoffers to say 
 'They are only there to die. 
 It is labor thrown away, — 
 The next year will be dry.' 
 
 '''Then we will plant them again!' 
 Said Father de Catala's voice, 
 'And your children's children, O men! 
 Shall yet in their shade rejoice. 
 
 " Our Mission will pass away 
 
 When its time of need is past. 
 
 It will have its use and day. 
 
 But the race of trees and men will last!' 
 
20 All Arboreal Song. 
 
 ''When the weary friar slept that night 
 There hovered o'er him a vision bright; 
 And he saw, as in a magical glass. 
 The far off future before him pass. 
 
 " Lo! the trees of his planting so stately grew. 
 
 They leaned their tops 'gainst the sky's soft 
 blue. 
 
 While intertwining on every side 
 
 The giant branches stretched far and wide. 
 
 'Neath the lovely living arches span 
 
 The broad smooth highway level ran. 
 
 Its verdurous vistas stretching on 
 
 Till the power of the raptured eye was gone. 
 
2 2 An Arboreal So7tg. 
 
 In his dreams he fell his knees upon. 
 And cried 'Tis the Highway of the Lord, 
 By seers foretold in His Holy Word!' 
 
 " Nay! Behold a miracle wrought again 
 To show His power to the sons of men! 
 A mighty Cathedral here doth stand. 
 By no human builders upreared or planned; 
 Whose groined arches upward spring. 
 Like the souls of the faithful worshiping; 
 With carving and tracery fine and fair. 
 No mortal graver's could with it compare; 
 
An Arboreal Song. 23 
 
 And through stained windows in wondrous 
 mood. 
 
 Glorious and changeful and rainbow-hued, 
 
 God's blessed sunshine doth pour and fall 
 
 Like a benediction upon it all! 
 
 " In his long-lost youth had the friar strayed 
 'Neath the fair Alhambra's classic shade; 
 In Valombrosa's leafy bowers 
 Hehadroamed through happy moonlit hours. 
 And his glowing heart had felt the thrall 
 Of the great Cathedrals on it fall, 
 But never such weird resistless spell 
 As this gracious marvelous miracle. 
 
24 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 ''Then the vision shifted, and, behold! 
 
 A host whose numbers could not be told, 
 
 Down the shadowy roadway hurrying press. 
 
 Like the Israelites from the wilderness. 
 
 And first in the long procession came 
 
 His own dear flock, whom he called by name. 
 
 And who passed him each with bended head 
 
 That his blessing hands might o'er them 
 spread. 
 
 The aged and youthful, the high and low. 
 
 Matron and maiden onward go; 
 
 To the marriage sacrament, side by side. 
 
 The happy bridegroom and blushing bride; 
 
An Arboreal Song. 25 
 
 "Little children who gaily went 
 
 With their infant brows so innocent; 
 
 The tender babe on its mother's breast 
 
 That the church's chrism on it might rest; 
 
 Weeping penitents hasting to fall 
 
 At the comforting confessional; 
 
 While creeping onward sad and slow 
 
 A mournful funeral train doth go. 
 
 That solemn masses be sung and said 
 
 To cheer the living, give peace to the dead. 
 
 And the good priest blessed them all as they 
 went 
 
 To the Church's Holy Sacrament. 
 
2 6 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 " But anon to the friar's view there came, 
 A surging crowd of an unknown name. — 
 An endless, hurrying, jostling throng. 
 Full of laughter and jest and song, — 
 The tread of a myriad coming feet. 
 The ceaseless tide of a city's street. 
 The stately coach and the lumbering wain; 
 And wheeled wonders he could not explain. 
 Which came with rumble and rush and roar. 
 Swarming with people, behind, before, 
 Above, within, and under too. 
 For aught that the puzzled friar knew ! 
 
An Arboreal Song. 27 
 
 " Horsemen and footmen rushing past 
 
 A river of travel so strange and vast 
 
 That Father de Catala's patient eye 
 
 Too weary grew for observancy, 
 
 And the changing figures seemed to be 
 
 But the puppet shows of jugglery ! 
 
 Only his dim eye still could see, 
 
 That many a fainting pilgrim stayed 
 
 For a blissful rest 'neath the pleasant shade ; 
 
 And he read in many a lingering eye 
 
 Sweet gratitude for his ministry, 
 
2 8 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 " Or heard a benison bestowed 
 
 On the unknown builders of the road. 
 
 ''Then an angel touched him and softly said, 
 ' A hundred years in thy dreams have fled ! 
 Lift up thy eyes, and thou shalt know 
 The changes time shall surely show.' 
 
 ''Then, far as his charmed gaze could stray. 
 The ' Happy Valley' all smiling lay. 
 Beautiful dwellings stood half revealed. 
 Yet by vine and blossom half concealed. 
 Lowliest cottage or lordliest hall 
 The clustering roses embrace them all. 
 
30 An Arboreal So7ig. 
 
 " For his dear familiar Mission home 
 The stately College high reared its dome; 
 While near and far in the sunny air 
 Fair church spires pointed the way of prayer ; 
 And ever still by the Church's side 
 The Halls of Learning stood open wide. 
 O'er the sky of his dream his old words ran, 
 'For the glory of God and the good of man !' 
 Afar where the wild rank mustard grew 
 Shone the waving harvest's golden hue. 
 While purple vintage and fruit-bowed tree 
 In the friar's dream spread temptingly. 
 
An Arboreal Song. 31 
 
 '' ' The Garden of Eden !' aloud he cried, 
 ' May no serpent of Evil there abide !' 
 
 " The matin bell was loudly ringing, — 
 
 ' Now may the dear saints pardon me/ 
 Cried the holy man from his pallet springing, 
 'If my dream was wrought by Diablerie !' 
 He crossed himself on his bended knee. 
 And the peace of Heaven blessed him there. 
 As from guileless heart he breathed his prayer. 
 And cheerful rang his voice in the singing. 
 
32 Aft Arboreal Song. 
 
 ''The friar's years went onward gliding. 
 But the beauteous Vision did ne'er depart. 
 
 Like an angel presence still abiding. 
 
 It cheered forever that faithful heart. 
 
 And those who loved him and shared his 
 going 
 
 To care for the willows day by day. 
 
 Would hear him say as he watched their 
 growing, 
 
 ' My blessed Vision ! My Beautiful Way!' 
 
34 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 ''Till the Pueblos rang with the grateful 
 praising 
 
 Of the road where the pleasant shadows 
 lay. 
 
 And the people named it in happy phrasing 
 
 ' The Alameda !'— The Beautiful Way ! 
 
 " The Mission Fathers are gone, — 
 Peace to the saintly dead ! 
 
 Its walls have crumbled down. 
 And the Neophytes all are fled. 
 
 " I too am my end anear/' 
 
 And the sere leaves shook anew, 
 
 " Falling are my brothers dear, — 
 But the Friar's Vision was true !" 
 
An Arboreal Song. 35 
 
 The Rune of the Tree was done. 
 
 But my thoughts still sang to me. 
 
 As leaves go whispering on 
 
 Though the breeze of the morn 
 doth flee. 
 
 Gone are the fathers all ! 
 
 In the chapel's crypt they lie, 
 Where no tender rain may fall. 
 
 Or gleam from our sunny sky. 
 
36 An Arboreal Song. 
 
 No sculptured marble doth show 
 
 Each old historic name; 
 No blazoned window doth glow 
 
 With the record of their fame. 
 
 But their living monument stands to-day 
 In The Alameda — The Beautiful Way ! 
 
im« 
 
 
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