A COLLECTION Of VER . BY CALIFORNIA POETS compiled air AUGUST IN S, MAC DONALD Cornell Huivmitg ptag BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Hcnrn W. Sage 1891 A.\*\ Ifavi .a,3.TO.IH.. 3777 Cornell University Library PS 571.C2M13 A collection ,*_«».&&!&&£& The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 924021 98581 1 A COLLECTION OF VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS FROM 1849 TO 1915 COMPILED BY AUGUSTIN S. MACDONALD "californiana" etc. A. M. ROBERTSON SAN FRANCISCO 1914 COPYRIGHtf. 1914 AUGUSTIN S. MACDONALD PEEFACE In this materialistic age a manifestation of sentiment seems to demand some explanation, if not an apology. The selections in this little anthology, the first of its kind on the Pacific Coast, were prepared with a view of making them as representative as possible and pleasing the many, rather than satisfying the few. The volume is in- tended simply as a note of introduction — a few poetical blossoms from California's garden of literature — in the hopes that, if sufficiently interesting, it will induce a wider acquaintanceship with the work of the various authors. I wish to express my appreciation to all those who have so generously contributed their verse as well as for the use of poems from privately printed books. Grateful acknowledg- ment is also due the following publishers, owners of copy- rights: Western — Messrs. A. M. Robertson, Paul Elder & Co., Whitaker & Ray-Wiggin Co., Blair-Murdock Co. and Hardy Publishing Co.; Eastern — Messrs. B. Huebsch for E. H. Griggs; Little, Brown & Co. for Helen Hunt Jackson; Charles Scribner's Sons for Robert Louis Stevenson and Juliet W. Tompkins; Doubleday, Page & Co. for Edwin Markham; Macmillan & Co. for Wallace Irwin; Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for the selections from Bret Harte and E. R. Sill published by special permission and Funk & Wagnalls for the poems of Richard Realf, copyrighted 1898. A. S. M. Oakland, California, November, 1914. CONTENTS Pioneer Period 1849 to 1869 PAGE California Bayard Taylor 1 The Golden Gate . . . "Caxton"—(W. H. Rhodes) 3 The Song of the Plume Anna M. Fitch 4 The Sabbath Bells John R. Ridge 6 . An Evening Song at Sea C. E. Havens 7 To the Sierras J. J. Owen 8 To My Mother Stephen C. Massett 9 The Lone Pine B. P. Avery 10 No Baby in the House Clara Dolliver 11 *- The Parting Hour* Edward Pollock 11 1- Truth G 12 The Whole Story J. F. Bowman 12 To My First Love Crowquill 13 ' Song of Labor : The Miner John Swett 14 Stanzas Sarah E. Carmichael 15 Hurrah for the Next that DieB . . Bartholomew Dowlimg 16 Scotland James Linen 18 Overland Period 1869 to 1889 PAGE Columbus Joaquin Miller 19 To Mrs. M ' Richard Realf 20 The Angelus ' .... F. Bret Harte 21 Madrigal Charles Warren Stoddard 22 Lines Mark Twain 22 Home Edward Rowland Sill 23 In Blossom Time Ina Coolbrith 24 Sweethearts and Wives Daniel O'Connell 25 Two Truths Helen Hunt Jackson 26 A Bird Sings In My Heart Irene Hardy 26 I Know Not How It Is With You . Robert Louis Stevenson 27 Politics Ambrose Bierce 28 El Vaquero Lucius Harwood Foote 28 California Skies Clarence Vrmy 29 Yosemite Daniel S. Richardson 30 Junipero Serra Richard Edward White 30 To the Colorado Desert. . . . Madge Morris Wagner 31 Musie Edward Robeson Taylor 32 Mankind* . Joaquin Miller 32 Indirection Richard Realf 33 Christmas in California* . . . Edward Rowland Sill 34 Luke F. Bret Harte 35 The Comet Charles Warren Stoddard 39 Belle of Monterey .... Einnim Havemeyer Tucker 40 "The Pride of Battery B" . . . Frank H. Gassaway 42 The Celestial Surgeon . . . Robert Louis Stevenson 44 CONTENTS Present Period 1890 to 1915 PAGE Invocation to California Charles Keeler 45 The Black Vulture George Sterling 46 Eesurgam David Lesser Lezinsky 46 Just California John S. McGroarty 47 The Happiest Heart John Vance Cheney 48 The Creed of Desire Bruce Porter 48 To San Francisco Samuel John Alexander 49 The Shrine of Song . . . Louis Alexander 'Robertson 50 The Rosary Robert Cameron Sogers 51 Lines ■ ■ ) Yone Noguchi 51 The Old Brooch Charles F. Lummis 52 The Wolves of the Sea Herbert Bashford 53 A Dream of Beauty Clark Ashton Smith 54 Women's Eyes Arthur William Ryder 54* The Goblin Laugh Edwin Markham 55 The Awakening ....... Christian Binkley 56 A Nosegay Augustin S. Macdonald 56 Appearances William Henry Hudson 57 The Grave of Pompey . . . Sister Anthony, S. N. D. 57 Viverols David Starr Jordan 58 A Memory . . . Carolus Ager (Charles Kellogg Field) 60 A Toast Gelett Burgess 60 To the Average Man Wallace Irwin 61 Twilight Town Ralph Erwin Gibbs 62 Growth of the Soul .... James Henry Maclafferty 63 To My Djk-well Lionel Josaphare 63 To a Star-Flower Edward Howard Griggs 64 Little Memories Nora May French 65 The Difference Augustin S. Macdonald 65 Lyric Howard V. Sutherland 66 Nirvana Bernard Westermann 67 Betrospection James Rawlins 67 Titans of Earth Harold Symmes 68 Quatrain Stanley Coghill 68 Sonnet Henriette de Saussure Blanding 69 When the Baby Died A. J. Waterhouse 70 A Wingless One Herman Scheffauer 71 Wireless Henry Anderson Lafler 71 The California Eschscholtzia . Amelia Woodward Truesdell 72 California Sunrise W. D. Crabb 73 Out in California C. Brown 73 A Flower of the First Charles S. Aiken 74 A Year from Now Sarah Keppel Vickery 75 Whem I Am Gone Isabel Pixley 75 My Betreat Albert J. Atkins 76 Whom Does She Love Arthur Wm. Ryder 76 Sisters of the Little Sorrows . Juliet Wilbor Tompkins 77 Daffodils Grace Hibbard 78 Confusion E. F. Green 79 An Indian Verse Hu Maxwell 79 CONTENTS PAGE The Stream of Life Lilian Lauferty 80 The Change Charles Philip Nettleton 80 The Spirit of California Bwfus Steele 81 Song of the Out-of-Doors .... Herbert Bashford 82 To William Vaughn Moody Herbert Heron 83 The Greatest of These Is Charity . Harriet M. Skidmore 83 Glose Upon a Ruba'iy Porter Garnett , 84 The Poet Ina Coolbrith 85 A Life Edward Howard Griggs 86 In the Redwood Canyons Lillian Shuey 86 California Augustin S. Macdonald 86 Night Sentries George Sterling 87 "Excerpts. PIONEER PERIOD 1849 to 1869 CALIFOENIA BAYAED TAYLOR fair young land, the youngest, fairest far Of which our world can boast— Whose guardian planet, evening's silver star, Illumes thy golden coast, — How art thou conquered, tamed in all the pride Of savage beauty still ! How brought, panther of the splendid hide, To know thy master's will ! No more thou sittest on thy tawny hills In indolent repose ; Or pourest the crystal of a thousand rills Down from thy house of snows. But where the wild oats wrapped thy knees in gold, The plowman drives his share, And where, through canons deep, thy streams are rolled, The miner's arm is bare. Yet in thy lap, thus rudely rent and torn, A. nobler seed shall be ; Mother of mighty men, thou shalt not mourn Thy lost virginity ! Thy human children shall restore the grace Gone with thy fallen pines ; The wild, barbaric beauty of thy face Shall round to classic lines. [1] VEBSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS And order, justice, social law shall curb Thy untamed energies ; And art and science, with their dreams superb, Replace thine ancient ease. The marble, sleeping in thy mountains now, Shall live in sculptures rare ; Thy native oak shall crown the sage's brow — Thy bay, the poet's hair. Thy tawny hills shall bleed their purple wine, Thy valleys yield their oil ; And music, with her eloquence divine, Persuade thy sons to toil. Till Hesper, as he trims his silver beam, No happier land shall see, And earth shall find her old Arcadian dream Restored again in thee ! [2] PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 » THE GOLDEN GATE "Caxton" — (w. h. rhodes) Old Thebes could boast of her gates of brass, As they grated on hinges hoary, And loosened their bolts for a monarch to pass, On his errands of guilt and glory. But their portals were closed on a nation of slaves, Kneeling low at the foot of a Pharaoh, And the Nile now waters an Egypt of graves, From sepulchral Phils, to Cairo. Eemorseless Time, in his journeyings on, Like Samson, at Gaza, of old, On his shoulders her hundred gates have bore, And covered their sheen with mold. But further than Ind, in the western world, Unknown to the sages olden, Young Freedom, at length, has her banner unfurled, In a city whose Gate is Golden. Its glittering bars are the breakers high, Its hinges are hills of granite, Its bolts are the winds, its arch is the sky, Its corner-stone a planet ! Inside of its portals no slave bows his head, To priestess of On or of Isis, Or covers the ground a monarch may tread, With the slime of a minion's kisses. But proud of his home in a city so fair, Enthroned on her hillocks seven, He stands like a Roman, and breathes the free air, And kneels to no God, but in heaven. No giant can tear from their pillars away, The Golden Gate of his glory, For as long as the winds and the waters play, It shall swing on its hinges hoary* [3] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS THE SONG OP THE FLUME ANNA M. FITCH Awake, awake ! for my track is red, With the glow of the coming day ; And with tinkling tread, from my dusty bed, I haste o 'er the hills away, Up from the valley, up from the plain, Up from the river's side ; For I come with a gush, and a torrent's rush, And there 's wealth in my swelling tide. I am fed by the melting rills that start Where the sparkling snow-peaks gleam, My voice is free, and with fiercest glee I leap in the sun's broad beam; Tho' torn from the channels deep and old, I have worn through the craggy hill, Yet I flow in pride, as my waters glide, And there's mirth in my music still. I sought the shore of the sounding sea, From the far Sierra's hight, With a starry breast, and a snow-capped crest I foamed in a path of light ; But they bore me thence in a winding way, The've fettered me like a slave, And as scarfs of old were exchanged for gold, So they barter my soil-stained wave. Thro * the deep tunnel, down the dark shaft, I search for the shining ore ; Hoist it away to the light of day, Which it never has seen before. Spade and shovel, mattock and pick, Ply them with eager haste ; For my golden shower is sold by the hour. And the drops are too dear to waste. [4 1 PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 Lift me aloft to the mountain's brow, Fathom the deep "blue vein," And I'll sift the soil for the shining spoil, As I sink to the valley again. The swell of my swarthy breast shall bear Pebble and rock away, Though they brave my strength, they shall yield at length, But the glittering gold shall stay. Mine is no stern and warrior march, No stormy trump and drum ; No banners gleam in my darkened stream, As with conquering step I come ; But I touch the tributary earth Till it owns a monarch's sway, And with eager hand, from a conquered land, I bear its wealth away. Awake, awake ! there are living hearts In tBe lands you've left afar; There are tearful eyes in the homes you prize As they gaze on the western star ; Then up from the valley, up from the hill, Up from the river's side ; For I come with a gush, and a torrent's rush, And there's wrath in my swelling tide. [5] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS THE SABBATH BELLS JOHN K. RIDGE The Sabbath bells are ringing With clear and cheerful notes, And from the steeple springing, Far off the music floats. To yonder mountain reaches, The ever rising strain, And Echo's dying speeches Repeat it o'er again. The summer woodlands filling, The solemn cadence rolls, And through the leaves is thrilling Like soft, pulsating souls. The air with rippling motion, Aeolian answer gives, And like a trembling ocean, Its outspread bosom heaves. The far horizon sweeping, Each tone majestic swells, And all the world is leaping Beneath the sounding bells. 'Tis solemn, yet 'tis cheerful, A clear and pleasant voice, ' That bids the sad and tearful Be hopeful and rejoice. Let Sabbath morns unclouded Still hear these tones of peace, For earth with woe is shrouded When Sabbath bells shall cease. [6] PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 AN EVENING SONG AT SEA C. E. HAVENS Sweet night, whence sweeter calm doth flow, Sweet solitude of sea and sky : Made sweeter far, because I know That thou with all sweet things must die ; — For beauty fades from .out the eye, And love itself will cease to be ; As summer winds from tropic shores, Die on the smooth unruffled sea. Now, Hesperus, evening star of love Flings o'er the waves a lane of light; And constellations from above Gleam out like di 'mond on the sight : And phosphor, glinting silver-white From out the deep and dimpled sea, Looks like another realm of stars In Heaven's inverted canopy. Sweet double star of love and rest, That usherest in the hour of sleep ; I watch in grief thy waning crest Go glimmering down the dusky deep. "While other stars their vespers keep, My longing thoughts revert to thee, And follow up, thy trail of light To other heavens beyond the sea. [7] VEBSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS TO THE SIERRAS J. J. OWEN Ye snow-capped mountains, basking in the sun, Like fleecy clouds that deck the summer skies, On you I gaze, when day's dull task is done, Till night shuts out your glories from my eyes. For stormy turmoil, and ambition's strife, I find in you a solace and a balm, — Derive a higher purpose, truer life, From your pale splendor, passionless and calm. Mellowed by distance, all your rugged cliffs, And deep ravines, in graceful outlines lie ; Each giant form in silent grandeur lifts Its hoary summit to the evening sky. I reck not of the wealth untold, concealed Beneath your glorious coronal of snows, "Whose budding treasure yet but scarce revealed, Should blossom into trade — a golden rose. A mighty realm is waking at your feet To life and beauty, from the lap of Time, With cities vast, where millions yet shall meet, And Peace shall reign in majesty sublime. Rock-ribbed Sierras, with your crests of snow, A type of manhood, ever strong and true, Whose heart with golden wealth should ever glow, Whose thoughts in purity should symbol you. [8] PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 TO MY MOTHER STEPHEN O. MASSETT My Mother ! canst thou see me now From the far-off fields of light — Canst thou in spirit come again, And bless me with thy sight ? Oh ! I can see thee, when these eyes Are closed in balmy sleep ; And reveling in happy dreams We sweet communion keep ! Years, years have passed, and life to me Has been but as a dream, Yet often have I yearned for thee, As sailing down its stream, Pond memory brings thee back again, As thou wert once to me : "When nestled in thy arms I lay, Or crept upon thy knee ! And when I saw thee in that sleep From which there is no waking, And felt as I then gazed on thee My very heart was breaking ; Oh ! can it be, that in that land, Where there is no more pain, We may once more united be, Never to part again 1 And shall we meet as we have met, And be as we have been — And shall I see thee on me smile, As I have sometimes seen ? Oh God ! if this it is to meet In Heaven's own land of light, Illume my path — direct my feet, And guide my steps aright ! [9] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS THE LONE PINE B. P. AVERY Sway thy top, thou ancient pine — Warrior of the storm commanding ! Lone upon the mountain standing, Whom no ivy's arms entwine. Melancholy souls like mine, 'Neath thy shadow passing slow, Love to hear thy plaintive moan ; 'Tis an echo of the woe Found in human breasts alone. Mournfully amid the ruins Of thy fellows standest thou, Like a column of some temple Living but in story now ; All around it, wildly scattered, Fallen walls and pillars shattered. Softly sighing through thy branches Sounds the wind, with fall and swell ; Now retreats, and now advances, Rousing fancy with its spell, Like the melody that chances On the ear from distant bell, Or the murmur that entrances Of the tinted sea-side shell. Lo ! musing on thy loneliness, Thy brethren seem again to rise ; On every hand a wilderness Shuts out the prospect of the skies. 'Tis verdure all, and deepest shade, no sound Disturbs the thoughtful silence, save A murmur such as rolls through Ocean cave, And rustling of dry leaves upon the ground. But while I listen with an awe profound, A glance dispels the visionary wood — A single tree remains where late ten thousand stood. [io: PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 NO BABY IN THE HOUSE CLARA DOLLIVER No baby in the house I know — 'Tis far too nice and clean ; No toys by careless fingers strewn Upon the floors are seen. *so finger-marks are on the panes, No scratches on the chairs, No wooden men set up in rows, Or marshaled off in pairs ; No little stockings to be darned, All ragged at the toes, No pile of mending to be done, Made up of baby-clothes ; No little troubles to be soothed, No little hands to fold ; No grimy fingers to be washed, No stories to be told ; No tender kisses to be given, No nick-names — ' ' Clove ' ' and ' ' Mouse ; ' No merry frolics after tea — No baby in the house. THE PARTING HOUR EDWARD POLLOCK There 's something in the ' ' parting hour, Will chill the warmest heart, Yet kindred, comrades, lovers, friends, Are fated all to part ; But this I 've seen — and many a pang Has pressed it on my mind — The one that goes is happier Than those he leaves behind. [ii] VEE8E BY CALIFORNIA POETS TKUTH G. Truth, like the diamond, is a fount of light, Beaming effulgent in the darkest night ; Error its ebon form may intervene, But still it beams as brightly, though unseen ; And though thus hid till centuries have past, The steady fire shall slay the foe at last. Dark clouds may sometimes veil its radiant form, And lightning rend it ; — but, amid the storm, The gem is undefiled, and its pure ray Brighter shall shine; like sunbeams on the day When storm, and cloud, and lightning pass away. THE WHOLE STORY J. F. BOWMAN When Jones was sixteen, he was bent On one day being President. At twenty-five, Jones thought that he Content as District Judge would be. At thirty, he was much elated When Mayor of Progtown nominated. But bootless all the nomination — His rival Tompkins graced the station. At forty-five, his dreams had fled ; Hope and Ambition, both were dead. When from his toils he found release, He died — a Justice of the Peace. youthful heart, so high and bold, Thus is thy brief, sad story told ! [12] PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 TO MY FIRST LOVE OHOWQTJILL This heart has beat to many a one, To many, passing fair ; But oh ! the Love which first it knew, Still lingers fondly there ; — Though brighter eyes have beamed on me,- And rosier lips I've prest, The Love which first I felt for thee — Yet dwells within my breast. Tho' softer skies are o'er me now, And stars shine brighter here ; Tho' Nature wears a sunny smile And birds sing all the year, Yet I would fain them all resign, To dwell once more with thee, For one sweet smile from lips like thine, Were dearer far to me. As memory clings around the spot, "Where first the breath we drew, And all our kindlier thoughts are placed On scenes that first we knew — So earliest Love still twines around The heart which beats to ours, As Summer's sweetest dew is found Upon the earliest flowers. [13] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS SONG OP LABOR; THE MINER JOHN SWETT The eastern sky is blushing red, The distant hill-top glowing ; The brook is murmuring in its bed, In idle frolics flowing ; 'Tis time the pickaxe and the spade, And iron "torn" were ringing, And with ourselves, the mountain stream, A song of labor singing. The mountain air is cool and fresh, Unclouded skies bend o'er us, Broad placers, rich in hidden gold, Lie temptingly before us ; We ask no magic Midas ' wand, Nor wizard rod divining, The pickaxe, spade and brawny hand Are sorcerers in mining. When labor ceases with the day, To simple fare returning, We gather in a merry group Around the camp-fires burning ; The mountain sod our Goueh at night, The stars shine bright above us, We think of home and fall asleep, To dream of those who love us. [14] PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 STANZAS SARAH E. CAEMICHAEL I love the music of the wave, I love the night wind's song ; I love to hear the storm king cheer His frenzied host along ; I love all nature 's thrilling tones, I love the notes of art — But better far, than all, I love The music of the heart. I love the tints of beauty laid Softly on leaf and flower ; The trembling light that gilds the night, And wraps the midnight hour ; I love the sunny warmth and light From the glad sunbeams stole — But better far, than all, I love The beauty of the soul. I prize all heaven's precious gifts, Laid on the earth or sea ; The lowliest flower that decks life's bower Is beautiful to me : I value every ray of light That gleams below — above ; But, oh ! I value more than these The smiles of those I love. 15] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS HURRAH FOR THE NEXT THAT DIES! BARTHOLOMEW DOWLING [This remarkable poem relates to revelry in India at a time when the English officers serving in that country -were being struck down by pestilence. It has been correctly styled "the very poetry of military despair."] We meet 'neath the sounding rafter, And the walls around are bare : As they shout back our peals of laughter, It seems as the dead were there. Then stand to your glasses ! — steady ! We drink 'fore our comrades' eyes; One cup to the dead already : Hurrah for the next that dies ! Not here are the goblets glowing, Not here is the vintage sweet ; 'Tis cold as our hearts are growing, And dark as the doom we meet. But stand to your glasses ! — steady ! And soon shall our pulses rise. One cup to the dead already : Hurrah for the next that dies ! There's many a hand that's shaking, And many a cheek that's sunk; But soon, though our hearts are breaking, They'll burn with the wine we've drunk. Then stand to your glasses ! — steady ! 'Tis here the revival lies ; Quaff a cup to the dead already : Hurrah for the next that dies ! Time was when we laughed at others ; We thought we were wiser then. Ha ! ha! let them think of their mothers, Who hope to see them again. [16] PIONEER PERIOD 1849 TO 1869 No ! Stand to your glasses ! — steady ! The thoughtless is here the wise ; One cup to the dead already : Hurrah for the next that dies ! Not a sigh for the lot that darkles, Not a tear for the friends that sink ; "We'll fall 'mid the wine-cup's sparkles, As mute as the wine we drink. Come ! Stand to your glasses ! — steady ! 'Tis this that the respite buys ; One cup to the dead already : Hurrah for the next that dies ! Who dreads to the dust returning ? "Who shrinks from the sable shore, "Where the high and haughty yearning Of the soul can sting no more 1 No ! Stand to your glasses ! — steady ! This world is a world of lies ; One cup to the dead already : Hurrah for the next that dies ! Cut off from the land that bore us, Betray 'd by the land we find, "When the brightest are gone before us, And the dullest are left behind. Stand ! — stand to your glasses ! — steady ! 'Tis all we have left to prize ; One cup to the dead already : Hurrah for the next that dies ! [17] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS SCQTLAND JAMES LINEN My country ! My country ! I'll love thee forever ! Fair land of my birth ; I forget thee will never : Though severed from thee by the deep-heaving main, Hope's whispers still tell me I'll see thee again — Truth reigning triumphant, by shores uninvaded, Thy beauty unshorn, and thy Thistle unf aded. When Summer makes Nature her glories disclose, When Winter is robed in her mantle of snows, And withers the flowerets that deck the gay scene, Thy Thistle stands forth in its garment of green. Proud emblem of freedom ! disdaining to crouch, The tyrant reels back at its deep-piercing touch ; He cannot, he dare not, its beauty deform, For boldly it stands 'mid the tempest and storm. Oh ! long may it wave on the green mountain side, Unfading as Truth in the strength of its pride : Then spare it, Time, from the wrecks of decay, Till Nature expires and the hills melt away. [18] "OVERLAND" PERIOD 1869 to 1889 COLUMBUS JOAQUIN MILLER Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules ; Before him on the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said : ' ' Now we must pray, For lo, the very stars are gone. Brave Adm'r'l speak; what shall I say?" "Why say: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on!' " "My men grow mutinous day by day ; My men grow ghastly wan and weak. ' ' The stout mate thought of home ; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. ' ' What shall I say, brave Adm 'r '1, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn ? ' ' ' ' Why you shall say at break of day : ' Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! ' " They sailed and sailed, as the winds might blow Until at last the blanched mate said : ' ' Why, not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forgot their way, For God from these dread seas is gone, Now speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say" — He said : ' ' Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! " They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate : ' ' This mad sea shows its teeth tonight. He curls his lips, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite ! [19] " OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word; What shall we do when hope is gone?" The words leapt as a leaping sword : ' ' Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! " Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — Alight! Alight! Alight! Alight! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled ! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. He gained a world ; he gave that world Its grandest lesson : " On ! sail on ! " TO MRS. M- On the birth of her first child RICHARD REALF When you lay shivering with the great excess Of mother-marvel at your child's first cry; When you looked up and saw him standing by, Leaning the strong unspeakable utterness Of all his soul upon you ; when you smiled, And your weak lips strove mightily to frame To a new song your new life's oriflamme, And presently the infinite words, ' ' Our child, ' ' Made a most musical murmur, as of breath Breathed by a poet's spirit— did you know The babe 's slight moan, that seemed so faint and low, Was God's voice speaking from dear Nazareth, Covering you up with that white light that lay On Mary and her young Christ in the hay ? [20] " OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 THE ANGELUS F. BEET HARTE Heard at the Mission Dolores, 1868 Bells of the Past, whose long-forgotten music Still fills the wide expanse, Tingeing the sober twilight of the Present "With color of romance : I hear your call, and see the sun descending On rock and wave and sand, As down the coast the Mission voices blending Girdle the heathen land. Within the circle of your incantation No blight nor mildew falls ; Nor fierce unrest, nor lust, nor low ambition Passes those airy walls. Borne on the swell of your long waves receding, I touch the farther Past, — I see the dying glow of Spanish glory, The sunset dream and last ! Before me rise the dome-shaped Mission towers, The white Presidio ; The swart commander in his leathern jerkin, The priest in stole of snow. Once more I see Portola's cross uplifting Above the setting sun ; And past the headland, northward, slowly drifting The freighted galleon. solemn bells ! whose consecrated masses Biecall the faith of old, — tinkling bells ! that lulled with twilight music The spiritual fold ! Your voices break and falter in the darkness, — Break, falter, and are still ; And veiled and mystic, like the Host descending, The sun sinks from the hill ! [,21] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS MADRIGAL CHARLES WARREN STODDARD A maid is seated by a brook, The sweetest of sweet creatures ; I pass that way with my good book, But cannot read, nor cease to look Upon her winsome features. Amongst the blushes on her cheek Her small white hand reposes, I am a shepherd, for I seek That willful lamb, with fleece so sleek, Feeding among the roses. LINES MARK TWAIN, ON HIS WIFE'S TOMBSTONE Warm summer sun, Shine kindly here. Warm southern wind, Blow softly here. Green sod above, Lie light, lie light. Good night, dear heart, Good night, good night. [22] " OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 HOME EDWARD ROWLAND SILL There lies a little city in the hills ; White are its roofs, dim is each dwelling's door, And peace with perfect rest its bosom fills. There the pure mist, the pity of the sea, Comes as a white, soft hand, and reaches o 'er And touches its still face most tenderly. Unstirred and calm, amid our shifting years, Lo ! where it lies, far from the clash and roar, With quiet distance blurred, as if thro ' tears. O heart, that prayest so for God to send Some loving messenger to go before And lead the way to where thy longings end, Be sure, be very sure, that soon will come His kindest angel, and through that still door Into the Infinite love will lead thee home. [23] • VERSE BY CALIFORNIA P0ET8 IN BLOSSOM TIME INA COOLBKITH It's my heart, my heart, To be out in the sun and sing — To sing and shout in the fields about, In the balm and the blossoming ! Sing loud, bird in the tree ; bird, sing loud in the sky, And honey-bees, blacken the clover beds — There is none of you glad as I. The leaves laugh low in the wind, Laugh low, with the wind at play ; And the odorous call of the flowers all Entices my soul away ! For but the world is fair, is fair — And but the world is sweet ! I will out in the gold of the blossoming mould, And sit at the Master's feet. And the love my heart would speak, 1 will fold in the lily's rim, That th' lips of the blossom, more pure and meek, May offer it up to Him. Then sing in the hedgerow green, thrush, skylark, sing in the blue; Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear, And my soul shall sing with you ! [24] OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 . SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES DANIEL O'CONNELL If sweethearts were sweethearts always, Whether as maid or wife, No drop would he half so pleasant In the mingled draught of life. But the sweetheart has smiles and blushes When the wife has frowns and sighs, And the wife's have a wrathful glitter For the glow of the sweetheart's eyes. If lovers were lovers always, The same to sweetheart and wife, Who would change for a future of Eden The joys of this checkered life ? But husbands grow grave and silent, And cares on the anxious brow Oft replace the sunshine that perished At the words of the marriage vow. Happy is he whose sweetheart Is wife and sweetheart still — Whose voice, as of old, can charm ; Whose kiss, as of old, can thrill ; Who has plucked the rose, to find ever Its beauty and fragrance increase, As the flush of passion is mellowed In love 's unmeasured peace ; Who sees in the step a lightness ; Who finds in the form a grace ; Who reads an unaltered brightness In the witchery of the face, Undimmed and unchanged. Ah ! happy Is he crowned with such a life, Who drinks the wife, pledging the sweetheart, And toasts in the sweetheart the wife. [25] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS TWO TRUTHS HELEN HUNT JACKSON "Darling," he said, "I never meant To hurt you;" and his eyes grew wet. ' ' I would not hurt you for -the world ! Am I to blame if I forget ? ' ' "Forgive my selfish tears !" she cried. "Forgive ! I knew that it was not That you would mean to hurt me, love ; I knew it was that you forgot ! ' ' But, all the same, deep in her heart Rankled this thought, and rankles yet : When love is at its best, one loves So much that he can not forget ! A BIRD SINGS IN MY HEART IRENE HARDY A bird sings in the garden of my heart, And all day long I hear its carol clear ; At night it folds its gentle wings so near, Its tender pulsings stir my blood and start The tears within my eyes to think Love's art Should stay her wings with me and make so dear The rude wild bowers of my demesne, nor fear But she should find her spirit's counterpart. All day I go resolved and thinking how To make more sweet for her that garden place ; How I will pluck away the weeds, the rose Of Love to plant there for her nesting-bough ; How I will school my heart to every grace That it may be her home, her one repose. [26] " OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 I KNOW NOT HOW IT IS WITH YOU EOBEET LOUIS STEVENSON I know not how it is with you — I love the first and last, The whole field of the present view, The whole flow of the past. One tittle of the things that are, Nor you should change nor I — One pebble in our path — one star In all our heaven of sky. Our lives, and every day and hour, One sympathy appear : One road, one garden- — every flower And every bramble dear. [27] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS POLITICS AMBROSE BIEBCE That land full surely hastens to its end Where public sycophants in homage bend The populace to natter, and repeat The doubled echoes of its loud conceit. Lowly their attitude but high their aim, They creep to eminence through paths of shame, Till fixed securely in the seats of pow'r, The dupes they flattered they at last devour. EL VAQUERO LUCIUS HABWOOD POOTE Tinged with the blood of Aztec lands, Sphinx-like, the tawny herdsman stands, A coiled reata in his hands. Devoid of hope, devoid of fear, Half brigand, and half cavalier, — This helot, with imperial grace, Wears ever on his tawny face • A sad, defiant look of pain. Left by the fierce iconoclast A living fragment of the past, — Greek of the Greeks he must remain. [28] " OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 CALIFORNIA SKIES CLARENCE URMY California skies ! Balm for the eyes ! Where orange trees or redwoods rise ; By Shasta's snow, Diego's sand, Or old Diablo 's dream set land; By San Francisco Bay so blue, Or down some cypress avenue Near Monterey ; by lake, Sierra rimmed, Or yet afar in valleys vineyard trimmed ; On plain where Ceres waves her wand, Or where Pomona fond And all her train in foothill orchards drowse Under low bending boughs — Look up ! And from the turquoise cup Drain dreams and rest ! Ah, none so blest As one who, weary of life's endless quest In this fair meadow, poppy pillowed, lies, Day dreaming 'neath these California skies — Balm for the eyes ! 29 VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS YOSEMITE DANIEL S. RICHARDSON In this deep cleft, so set apart — So close to Nature's throbbing heart — I stand in fear, For God is near. With wondering eyes, from dizzy trails, I look on floods and granite vales, And in them see Divinity. From towering cliffs and ice-hewn crown The arrow-feathered pines look down Where God alone Has set His throne. Be stili my soul ; the Presence greet. Unclasp the sandals from thy feet, For all around — 'Tis holy ground. JUNIPERO SERRA RICHARD EDWARD WHITE Within the ruined church at Carmel's bay, Beside the altar, with rank weeds o'ergrown, There's a grave unmarked with slab or stone, Where lies one who, lost sight of in our day, Yet bides his time ; and when have passed away Our would-be heroes, he will then be known, And glory's heritage at last will own, His title to which no one will gainsay. When life was nearing to an end, 'twas here, Seeking repose, the Padre Serra came ; Of our fair land he was the pioneer : And if the good alone were known to fame, Within our hearts his memory would be dear, And on our lips a household word his name. [30] " OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 TO THE COLORADO DESERT MADGE MORRIS WAGNER Thou brown, bare-breasted, voiceless mystery, Hot sphinx of nature, cactus-erowned, what hast thou done? Unclothed and mute as when the groans of chaos turned Thy naked burning bosom to the sun. The mountain silences have speech, the rivers sing. Thou answerest never unto anything. Pink-throated lizards pant in thy slim shade ; The horned toad runs rustling in the heat ; The shadowy gray coyote, born afraid, Steals to some brackish spring and laps, and prowls Away, and howls and howls and howls and howls, Until the solitude is shaken with an added loneliness. Thy sharp mescal shoots up a giant stalk, Its century of yearning, to the sunburnt skies, And drips rare honey from the lips Of yellow waxen flowers, and dies. Some lengthwise sun-dried shapes with feet and hands And thirsty mouths pressed on the sweltering sands, Mark here and there a gruesome graveless spot Where some one drank thy scorching hotness, and is not. God must have made thee in his anger, and forgot. [31] VEBSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS MUSIC EDWARD EOBESON TAYLOR The murmurous monotone of waving grain When winds are gently winging down the vale ; The storm-voiced billows drowning men bewail ; The pattering stroke of softly falling rain ; The sighing leaves that bend to every tale The breezes tell; the songster's lilting strain, Prom feeblest note of all the joyful train To rapturous burst of peerless nightingale ; — "What are all these, and all that human ear In sweetest concord from their kin can hear, But hints of deeper rhythms as yet unheard ; That in the soul ineffable of things An ordered Music, by the eternal word, Throughout the vast of space divinely sings. MANKIND JOAQUIN MILLER In men whom men pronounce divine, I find so much of sin and blot ; In men whom men denounce as ill I find so much of goodness still, I hesitate to draw the line Between the two, when God has not. [32] " OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 INDIRECTION EICHAHD KEAIjF Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer ; Rare is the roseburst of dawn, but the secret that clasps it is rarer ; Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is sweeter; And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning butmastered the meter Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the growing ; Never a river that flows, but a majesty scepters the flowing ; Never a Shakespeare that soared, but a stronger than he did enfold him, Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath foretold him. ' Back of the canvas that throbs the painter is hinted and hidden ; Into the statue that breathes the soul of the sculptor is bidden ; Under the joy that is felt lie the infinite issues of feeling ; Crowning the glory revealed is the glory that crowns the revealing. Greajt are the symbols of being, but that which is symboled is greater ; Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inward creator ; Back of the sound broods the silence, back of the gift stands the giving ; Back of the hand that receives thrill the sensitive nerves of receiving. [33] Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by the doing ; The heart of the wooer is warm, but warmer the heart of the wooing ; And up from the pits where these shiver, and up from the heights where those shine, Twin voices and shadows swim starward, and the essence of life is divine. VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by the doing ; heart of the wooing ; And up from the pits where these shiver, and up The heart of the wooer is warm, but warmer the from the heights where those shine, Twin voices and shadows swim starward, and the essence of life is divine. CHRISTMAS IN CALIFORNIA EDWAED ROWLAND SILL Can this be Christmas — sweet as May, With drowsy sun, and dreamy air, And new grass pointing out the way For flowers to follow, everywhere 1 Has time grown sleepy at his post, And let the exiled Summer back, Or is it her regretful ghost, Or witchcraft of the almanac ? Before me, on the wide, warm bay, A million azure ripples run ; Round me the sprouting palm-shoots lay Their shining lances to the sun. With glossy leaves that poise or swing, The callas their white cups unfold, And faintest chimes of odor ring From silver bells with tongues of gold. A languor of deliciousness Fills all the sea-enchanted clime ; And in the blue heavens meet, and kiss, The loitering clouds of summer-time. [34] OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 LUKE F. BEET HAETE Wot's that you're readin' ? — a novel? A novel, — well, dern my skin ! You a man grown and bearded and histin' such stuff ez that in, — Stuff about gals and their sweethearts ! No wonder you're thin ez a knife. Look at me ! — clar two hundred, — and never read one in my life ! That's my opinion o' novels. And ez to their lyin' round here', They belonged to the Jedge's daughter, — the Jedge who came up last year On account of his lungs and the mountains and the balsam o' pine and fir; And his daughter, — well, she read novels, and that's what's the matter with her. Yet she allers was sweet on the Jedge, and she stuck by him day and night, Alone in the cabin up yer, — till she grew like a ghost, all white. She wus only a slip of a thing, ez light and ez up and away Ez rifle-smoke blown through the woods, but she wasn 't my kind, — no way ! Speaking o' gals, d'ye mind that house ez you rise the hill, A mile and a half from White's, and jist above Mattingly's mill? You do 1 Well- now thar's a gal ! What, you saw her ? Oh, come now, thar, quit ! She was only bedevilin' you boys, for to me she don't cotton one bit. [35] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS Now she 's what I call a gal, — ez pretty and plump ez a quail ; Teeth ez white ez a hound's and they'd go through a tenpenny nail ; Eyes that kin snap like a cap. So she asked to know ' ' whar I was hid. ' ' She did ! Oh, it's jist like her sass, for she's peart ez a Katy-did. But what was I talking of ? — Oh, the Jedge and his daughter, — she read Novels the whole day long, and I reckon she read them abed, And sometimes she read them out loud to the Jedge on the porch where he sat, And 't was how "Lord Augustus" said this, and how ' ' Lady Blanche ' ' she said that. But the sickest of all that I heerd, was a yarn thet they read 'bout a chap, "Leather-stocking" by name, and a hunter chock full o' the greenest o' sap ; And they asked me to hear, but I says, "Miss Mabel, not any for me ; When I likes I kin sling my own lies, and thet chap and I shouldn't agree." Yet somehow or other she was always sayin' I brought her to mind Of folks about whom she had read, or suthin belike of thet kind, And thar warn't no end o' the names that she give me thet summer up there, "Robin Hood," "Leather-stocking," "Rob Roy," — Oh, I tell you, the critter was queer. And yet ef she hadn 't been spiled, she was harmless enough in her way. She could jabber in French to her dad, and they said that she knew how to play, [36] OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 And she worked me that shot-pouch up thar, — which the man doesn't live ez kin use, And slippers — you see 'em down yer — ez would cradle an Injin's pappoose. Yet along o' them novels, you see she was wastin' and mopin' away, And then she got shy with her tongue, and at last she had nothin' to say; And whenever I happened around, her face it was hid by a book, And it was n't until she left that she give me ez much ez a look. And this was the way it was. It was night when I kem up here To say to 'em all ' ' good by, ' ' for I reckoned to go for deer At "sun up" the day they left. So I shook 'em all round by the hand, 'Cept Mabel, and she was sick, ez they give me to understand. But jist ez I passed the house next morning at dawn, some one, Like a little waver o ' mist, got up on the hill with the sun ; Miss Mabel it was, all alone, — wrapped up in a mantle o ' lace, — And she stood there straight in the road, with a touch o' the sun in her face. And she looked me right in the eye, — I 'd seen suthin like it before When I hunted a wounded doe to the edge o ' the Clear Lake shore, And I had my knee on its neck, and jist was a raisin' my knife When it give me a look like that, and-L-well, it got off with its life. [37] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS "We are going to-day," she said, "and I thought I would say good-by To you in your own house, Luke,-7-these woods, and the bright blue sky ! You 've always been kind to us, Luke, and papa has found you still As good as the air he breathes, and wholesome as Laurel Tree Hill. "And we'll always think of you, Luke, as the thing we could not take away ; The balsam that dwells in the woods, the rainbow that lives in the spray. And you'll sometimes think of me, Luke, as you know you once used to say, A rifle-smoke blown through the woods, a moment, but never to stay. ' ' And then we shook hands. She turned, but a-suddent she tottered and fell, And I caught her sharp by the waist, and held her a minit, — well, It was only a minit, you know, that ez cold and ez white she lay Ez a snow-flake here on my breast, and then — well, she melted away — And was gone . . . And thar are her books ; but I says not any for me, Good enough may be for some, but them and I might n't agree. They spiled a decent gal ez might hev made some chap a wife, And look at me ! — elar two hundred, — and never read one in my life ! 38] " OVERLAND '■' PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 THE COMET CHARLES WARREN STODDARD Was it a star, Or was it a pearl, Loosed with a jar From its setting I' the coronet moon, And begetting, As it fell with a whirl — Whirling far — A splendor that faded too soon ? Was it a dream Of some splendid star born, That glowed with a gleam And a quiver That startled the night? Like a river That flowed to the moon It did seem, In its luminous, lustrous light. Was it a gem Transfixed with a ray From the burning, bright hem Of the wondrous, Terrible sun, or the moon ? Over us, under us, Nor night, no, nor day Hath its equal, bright gem, Fair feather of light, flown too soon. [39] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS BELLE OP MONTEEEY EESTNIM HAVEMEYER TUCKER In the old and timeworn casa With its white adobe walls, The court with its wild grown flowers, And the stone-paved Spanish halls, She lives — the slim, dark woman "With the pale Madonna face, And the brown hands ever weaving, Fold on fold of cobweb lace. Prom the town of San Francisco, To the shores of Carmel Bay, She was known "Donna Maria" As the "Belle of Monterey." The man whose youth had left him, The boy with fresh, fair face And the dark browed Hidalgo Strove to find in her heart his place. But though her lovers were legion, There was one apart from the rest, And of all the gay throng 'round her, She loved that man the best. But his home was not in the West-lands And his heart was with his home, So Donna Maria in her casa Lives year after year alone. And yesterday we found her With her inborn Spanish grace. She showed us her flower garden, And the quaint old foreign place. [40] " OVERLAND " PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 She brought out all her treasures, And from wrappings yellowed by time, There came that aroma of romance, Born only by Spain's sunny clime. The rebosas, the old mantillas, Fans, jewels, and rare fine lace, Told more of the past and its memories, Than that calm, passionless face. So to the treasured mementoes, She clings — the last of her race — And will die where she passed her girlhood Of her story leaving no trace. She waved us a last "Adois" From the casa's open door, Round which the tall, grim cacti Stood like sentinels of war. And her words like vespers linger, With the spell that about her lay Sweet, courtly Donna Maria The once "Belle of Monterey." [41] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS "THE PRIDE OP BATTERY B" FEANK H. GASSAWAT South Mountain towered on our right, Far off the river lay, And over on the wooded height We held their lines at bay. At last the mutt 'ring guns were stilled, The day died slow and wan. At last the gunners ' pipes were filled, The Sergeant's yarns began. "When, — -as the wind a moment blew Aside the fragrant flood Our brierwoods raised, — within our view A little maiden stood. A tiny tot of six or seven, From fireside fresh she seemed. Of such a little one in heaven I know one soldier dreamed. And, as we stared, her little hand Went to her curly head In grave salute. ' ' And who are you ? ' ' At length the Sergeant said. ' ' And where 's your home ? " he growled again. She lisped out, ' ' Who is me ? Why, don't you know? I'm little Jane, The Pride of Battery ' B. ' My home ? why, that was burned away, And pa and ma are dead, And so I ride the guns all day Along with Sergeant Ned, [42] OVERLAND » PERIOD 1869 TO 1889 And I've a drum that's not a toy, A cap with feathers, too, And I march beside the drummer hoy On Sundays at review ; But now our bacca's all give out, The men can't have their smoke, And so they're cross — why, even Ned Won't play with me and joke. And the big Colonel said to-day — I hate to hear him swear — He 'd give a leg for a good smoke Like the Yanks had over there. And so I thought when beat the drum, And the big guns were still, I 'd creep beneath the tent and come • Out here across the hill, And beg, good Mister Yankee men, You'd give me some Lone Jack, Please do — when we get some again I '11 surely bring it back. Indeed I will, for Ned — says he — If I do what I say I '11 be a General yet, may be, And ride a prancing bay. ' ' We brimmed her tiny apron o'er, , You should have heard her laugh As each man from his scanty store Shook out a gen'rous half. We gave her escort, till good-night The little waif we bid, Then watched her toddle out of sight ; Or else 'twas tears that hid [43] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS Her baby form, nor turned about A man, nor spoke a word Till after while a far, faint shout Upon the wind we heard ! We sent it back — then cast sad eye Upon the scene around. A baby's hand had touched the tie That brothers once had bound. That's all — save when the dawn awoke Again the work of hell. And through the sullen clouds of smoke The screaming missiles fell ; Our General often rubbed his glass, And marveled much to see Not a single shell that whole day fell In the lines of Battery "B !" THE CELESTIAL SURGEON ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON If I have faltered more or less In my great task of happiness ; If I have moved among my race And shown no glorious morning face ; If beams from happy human eyes Have moved me not ; if morning skies, Books, and my food, and summer rain Knocked on my sullen heart in vain : — Lord, Thy most pointed pleasure take And stab my spirit broad awake ; Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, Choose Thou, before that spirit die, A piercing pain, a killing sin, And to my dead heart run them in ! [44] PRESENT PERIOD 1890 to 1915 INVOCATION TO CALIFORNIA CHABLES KEELEK Guerdon of gold of the sun is thy treasure From glist'ning Sierra to foam of the ocean, "With fair flower-children in hosts beyond measure To yield thee their beauty with boundless devotion ! Royal the reaches of wheat in the valley ! Abundance has blessed the wide wastes of the plain, And hosts of the strong-handed harvesters rally At dawn-flush to garner the glittering grain. Full hang thy orchards with fruitage of summer, Thy citrons 'mid blossoms bless winter and spring, But autumn, the radiant year-cycle 's last comer, Bears, clustered in purple, the grape which is king. Gold, in thy rock-girded fastnesses hidden, The magic of science shall wrest from its store ; Insatiate progress, advancing, has bidden That bounty of earth be for man evermore : For man as a trust and a torch, not to squander In riotous revel through profitless years, But a power that bids him to pause and to ponder On being and beauty, on triumph and tears ! Here, here where the breezes of freedom are blowing, Shall beauty burst into full flow 'rage to-day, And the will to do right shall, in proud hearts, be growing, With might to command and with strength to obey. [45] VEBSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS THE BLACK VULTURE GEORGE STERLING Aloof upon the day's unmeasured dome, He holds unshared the silence of the sky. Far down his bleak, relentless eyes descry The eagle's empire and the falcon's home — Far down, the galleons of sunset roam ; His hazards on the sea of morning lie ; Serene, he hears the broken tempest sigh Where cold sierras gleam like scattered foam. And least of all he holds the human swarm — Unwitting now that envious men prepare To make their dream and its fulfilment one, When, poised above the caldrons of the storm, Their hearts, contemptuous of death, shall dare His roads between the thunder and the sun. RESURGAM DAVID LESSER LEZINSKY Ye days of April came so sweet — I seemed to hear the flowers ' feet Come running upward 'neath the sod- Yearning to lift their heads to God ! The days of April. [46] PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 JUST CALIFORNIA JOHN S. McGROARTY 'Twixt the seas and the deserts, 'Twixt the wastes and the waves, Between the sands of buried lands And the ocean's coral eaves, ' It lies not East nor "West, But like a scroll unfurled, "Where the hand of God hath hung it, Down the middle of the world. It lies where God hath spread it, In the gladness of his eyes, Like a flame of jeweled tapestry Beneath His shining skies, "With the green of woven meadows, And the hills in golden chains, The light of leaping rivers, And the flash of poppied plains. Days rise that gleam in glory, Days die with sunset's breeze, While from Cathay that was of old Sail countless argosies ; Morns break again in splendor 'er the giant, new-born "West, But of all the lands God fashioned, 'Tis this land is the best. Sun and dews that kiss it, Balmy winds that blow, The stars in clustered diadems Upon its peaks of snow ; The mighty mountains o 'er it, Below, the white seas swirled — Just California stretching down The middle of the world. [47] TERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS THE HAPPIEST HEART JOHN VANCE CHENEY Who drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day ; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown ; Ay, none shall nail so high his name Time will not tear it down. The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet, And left to Heaven the rest. THE CREED OF DESIRE BRUCE PORTER Still to be sure of the dawn — Still to be glad for the sea — Still to know fire of the blood : God keep these gifts in me ! Then — I shall cleave the dark ! Then, I shall breast the redoubt ! Then I shall glory the Lord — And go down to the grave with a shout ! [48] PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 TO SAN FRANCISCO SAMUEL JOHN ALEXANDER If we dreamed that we loved Her aforetime, 'twas the ghost of a dream ; for I vow By the splendour of God in the highest, we never have loved Her till now. When Love bears the trumpet of Honour, oh, highest and clearest he calls, "With the light of the naming of towers, and the sound of the rending of walls. When Love wears the purple of Sorrow, and kneels at the altar of Grief, Of the flowers that spring in his footsteps, the white flower of Service is chief. As a flower on the snow of Her bosom, as a star in the night of Her hair, We bring to our Mother such token as the time and elements spare. If we dreamed that we loved Her aforetime, adoring we kneel to Her now, When the golden fruit of the ages falls, swept by the wind from the bough. The beautiful dwelling is shattered, wherein, as a queen at the feast, In gems of the barbaric tropics and silks of the ultimate East, Our Mother sat throned and triumphant, with the wise and the great in their day. They were captains, and princes, and rulers ; but She, She was greater than they. We are sprung from the builders of nations ; by the souls of our fathers we swear, By the depths of the deeps that surround Her, by the height of the heights She may dare, Though the Twelve league in compact against Her, though the sea gods cry out in their wrath. [49] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS Though the earth gods, grown drunk of their fury, fling the hilltops abroad in Her path, Our Mother of masterful children shall sit on Her throne as of yore, "With Her old robes of purple about Her, and crowned with the crowns that She wore. She shall sit at the gates of the world, where the nations shall gather and meet, And the East and the West at Her bidding shall lie in a leash at Her feet. THE SHRINE OP SONG LOUIS ALEXANDER ROBERTSON In mute amazement oft I pause before The portals of Song's shrine and list to those "Whose music from its classic cloisters flows Adown the tide of Time for evermore. I see the place that no man may explore, Save him whose Art its life to Genius owes, On whose rapt lips the sacred cinder glows That teaches Song's sweet shibboleth and lore. Ah, it were heaven to enter in and kneel In some dim aisle, unnoticed and apart, "With thirsting soul to drink the sounds that shame My songs to silence ; then to rise and feel That my untutored lips had learnt the art That seats the singer in the House of Fame ! [50] PRESENT PERIOD 1890 TO 1915 THE ROSARY ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me : I count them over every one apart, My Eosary, my Rosary. Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, To still a heart in absence wrung : I tell each bead unto the end, And there a cross is hung ! memories that bless and burn ! O barren gain and bitter loss ! 1 kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn To kiss the cross ; sweetheart ! to kiss the cross. LINES YONE NOGUCHI I love the saintly chant of the winds touching their odorous fingers to the harp of the angel, spring ; I love the undiscording sound of thousands of birds, whose concord of song echoes on the rivulet afar ; I muse on the solemn mountain which waits in sound content for the time when the Lord calls forth ; I roam with the wings of high-raised fantasy in the pure Universe ; Oh, I chant of the Garden of Adam and Eve ! [51] VERSE BY CALIFORNIA POETS THE OLD BROOCH Written first in Spanish and then Englished by CHARLES F. LUMMIS "Ensuefio," osito osado, Dime,