THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Acres of f l~',;,f>fa 
 140 Vadis Art.
 
 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 
 AND ADDED ROMANCES
 
 MISS 1 
 
 THE BELLS OF 
 CAPISTRANO 
 
 AND OTHER ROMANCES OF THE 
 SPANISH DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 
 
 S. H. M. BYERS 
 
 Drawings by Langdon Smith 
 
 
 POTTER BROTHERS COMPAN 7 Y, PUBLISHERS 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
 
 COPYRIGHTED 
 
 All Right! Reserved 
 
 FOURTH EDITIOX 
 
 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 Grafton Publishing Corporation 
 
 Los Angeles, California
 
 /5>99 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 9 
 
 GLORIETTA ; OR THE CITY OF FAIR DREAMS 47 
 
 LA FAVORITA 69 
 
 A MADONNA OF THE RANCH 83 
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE 99 
 
 AT SAN DIEGO 123 
 
 IN ARCADIA 127 
 
 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY. . , 161 
 
 BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The Honeymoon 
 
 With Fire and Sword 
 
 Collected Poems 
 
 A Layman's Life of Jesus, 
 Twenty Years in Europe. 
 
 .$1.00 
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 . 1.00 
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 For sale by 
 
 POTTER BROTHERS COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 
 Los Angeles, California 
 
 563820 
 
 LISRARf
 
 Junidero Serra 
 
 Junipero Serra, the founder and first President of the Califor 
 nia Missions, was born on the Island of Majarca in 1713. He 
 became a noted man in Spain and Mexico, and almost every 
 honor of the Church had awaited him had he not preferred to 
 renounce everything and devote his great zeal and talents to 
 the Christianizing of the California Indians. 
 
 His establishment and conduct of the famous Missions were 
 the stepping stones for the white people on the Pacific Coast. 
 Serra died in 1784, and his body rests near the altar of San 
 Carlos Mission, at Monterey. The ruined Missions along the 
 Coast are his monument.
 
 Foreword 
 
 The California missions were established by 
 Spanish Friars in the middle and towards the 
 end of the eighteenth century. Capistrano 
 itself was dedicated November 1, 1776. It 
 is near the sea, at the village of San Juan 
 Capistrano, between Los Angeles and San 
 Diego. There were twenty-one missions, all 
 told, along the California coast. They were 
 connected by a road called "El Camino Real," 
 or The King's Highway. California then be 
 longed to Spain. It was the most romantic 
 period of its existence. Most of the missions 
 are in ruins; but they are the most picturesque 
 ruins on this continent. 
 
 Capistrano mission was destroyed by an 
 earthquake December 8, 1812. Forty persons 
 were killed. 
 
 The descriptions of life at the missions, as 
 told in these poems, are from authentic sources.
 
 CAPISTRANO MISSION
 
 The Bells of Capistrano 
 
 Wouldst see a ruin of enchanting beauty, 
 And hear a story of its old-time splendor, 
 When all the land along the coast was Spanish, 
 Save the wild natives bivouacked in the forests? 
 Then turn thy steps to San Juan Capistrano, 
 Go there by moonlight, almost any season, 
 There is no winter in that golden climate, 
 Where blooms the rose in April or December. 
 
 There by the waters of the great Pacific, 
 Its back upon the mountains and the desert, 
 Stands the old ruin, silent in the moonlight. 
 Climb to some eminence and look about you, 
 Look when the moon is highest in the heavens, 
 And falls full on the mission's great quadrangle, 
 Illuminating all the dream-like, slender arches; 
 Each column lights, and all the corridors; 
 Or fills with glory yonder falling transept, 
 And thou wilt see a very lovely vision. 
 The nearby hills lie sleeping in the moonlight; 
 Below you is a fair and fertile valley, 
 All rich in lemon trees, and groves of walnut; 
 A little farther, the Pacific Ocean; 
 All waveless now, but glinting in the moonlight 
 As if a glory had been cast upon it. 
 No sound is heard except a gentle river 
 Or else a mocking-bird there sweetly singing. 
 
 * * * 
 
 On such a night one summer evening, sitting 
 Beneath that pepper tree before the mission, 
 I and the old Alcalde talked together. 
 There was a village wedding on that evening
 
 10 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Within the chapel of that broken ruin, 
 And when it all was done the bells were ringing; 
 Two merry boys down on the grass were pulling 
 The long bell ropes that reached up to the tower. 
 A pretty sight it was there in the moonlight, 
 These barefoot boys who rang the wedding marches, 
 While hills and valleys echoed back the music, 
 The bride, a dark-eyed Spanish girl, and pretty, 
 Walked out on roses strewn by little maidens, 
 And as the bells died off far up the valley 
 Guitars were heard, and castanets, and viols 
 
 Down at the inn where they would dance till morning. 
 
 * * * 
 
 "It all reminds me," said the old Alcalde, 
 u Of that old tale I promised once to tell you. 
 That pretty bride you saw that village maiden, 
 Could trace her line far back to greater people- 
 Such as Francisco, he the sweet musician, 
 And fair Dolores, loveliest of the valley, 
 
 W T hen all the coast was famous for its beauties." 
 
 * * * 
 
 Well, here's the story told at Capistrano, 
 You must have read in parchments old and faded, 
 How on a time a Spanish ruler, hearing 
 Of this bright land bv the Pacific Ocean, 
 Then all in heathendom, and half discovered, 
 Sent ships and priests to claim the blessed country. 
 Resides, they were to build great mission houses 
 Here by the mountains and along the ocean 
 And when they could, convert the native heathen. 
 It was no race of wild and fierce born warriors 
 Lived in these mountains at the first beginning, 
 But simple people, weak, and little knowing. 
 
 Well, so thev came, these pious priests and soldiers, 
 Built these great missions northward by the ocean;
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 11 
 
 And built a road "The King's Highway" they 
 called it, 
 
 Two hundred leagues, thus linking all together. 
 
 This was the seventh ; and, you know the story 
 
 How friars came, brought with them bells, and vest 
 ments 
 
 As was their habit in the first beginning 
 
 And started thus a mission in the desert. 
 
 First hung the bells on trees to call the heathen, 
 
 Then built rude huts of reeds and spreading bushes; 
 
 Had started, only, when a cry of danger 
 
 From other missions made them hurry to them. 
 
 Then leaving all, they went to San Diego. 
 
 The bells they left behind them in the forest, 
 
 Hid from the Indians and unholy people; 
 
 For they were sacred most as gifts from heaven 
 
 Blessed by the Pope, and by the friars worshipped; 
 
 A great white cross they planted in the valley, 
 
 Then left the place their pious tears had watered. 
 
 ***## 
 
 A year went by, and stranger friars followed. 
 
 The cross still stood there, beckoning to the heathen, 
 
 Its great white arms forever skyward stretching; 
 
 For very fear the red man left it standing 
 
 Told awful tales of strange things happening near it, 
 
 Of groaning hills, and smoke up in the mountains, 
 
 And fires that blazed upon them at the midnight. 
 
 The bells were gone, and no soul answered whither ; 
 If in the sand, or in some gloomy canyon. 
 Or if, perhaps, deep in the ocean's bosom, 
 For he was dead who only knew the secret. 
 So other bells were borrowed for the mission; 
 And once again the cry went to the heathen. 
 Who, seeing now the good life of the friars, 
 Themselves became a kinder race of people;
 
 12 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Came to the cross by thousands at the mission; 
 Joined in the friars' labor, and the building; 
 Learned many crafts, and helped in many places; 
 A simple folk, that did the friars' bidding. 
 
 Day in, day out, the people carried burdens; 
 
 With simple tools they worked, and delved, and 
 
 quarried; 
 
 Made tiles of clay, and cut trees in the forest; 
 So, laboring on, the mission was completed. 
 Then other friars came and their assistants, 
 And teachers came, across the farthest ocean; 
 And every craft was taught to men and women ; 
 The busy loom, and shuttle, sounded ever; 
 And schools began, and every craft and calling 
 None dared be idle, neither man nor woman; 
 For next to serving God, was honest labor. 
 
 So taught the priests, and gave themselves example; 
 
 And next to these the art of being joyous; 
 
 Indoors, or out, the busy hands kept moving; 
 
 The loom, and spindles, occupied the women, 
 
 And tilling ground gave men their daily labor; 
 
 This, and the vineyards, and the herds of cattle; 
 
 Toil brought them sleep, and sleep new-born endeavor. 
 
 The rising sun saw all within the chapel; 
 
 An early mass a little song, and music, 
 
 Some simple breakfast, made of beans, and barley, 
 
 And then the fields rejoiced to see them coming; 
 
 A noon-day rest, an evening rendered joyous 
 
 By song, and dance, and games for men and women. 
 
 Sometimes a flute was heard out in the garden; 
 
 It was Francisco he, the sweet musician, 
 
 The mission chorister for all the singers.
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 13 
 
 Straight from Castile he came, his music with him. 
 
 One thought he had some day to be a friar 
 
 A priest, perhaps, who knows, perhaps a cardinal; 
 
 Such things had been and might it not still happen? 
 
 That was his room, there by the right hand corner 
 
 The second door beyond the mission portal. 
 
 It was inborn in him, I think, this music 
 
 But much from nature, too, he must have captured; 
 
 Birds, and the waterfalls, and every gladness 
 
 To him had melodies of untold sweetness; 
 
 But most his flute afforded joyous rapture. 
 
 Dark-eyed, dark-haired, and very young, and Spanish, 
 
 And handsome, too, almost beyond expressing; 
 
 Fra Angelo a face like his had painted 
 
 But, giving wings, had made an angel of him. 
 
 Music his joy, not even love nor passion 
 
 Had touched his heart, or changed his true devotion. 
 
 Not love he knew, nor any of love's pleasures 
 
 Not love he knew, nor any of love's sorrows. 
 
 There still was time. Who knows to read his future? 
 
 He loved his music, day and night and morning; 
 
 And so, at last, not one of all the missions 
 
 Could boast a choir like that of Capistrano. 
 
 Nor anywhere was the Te Deum chanted, 
 
 The high mass sung in such a glorious fashion, 
 
 As when Francisco and his choir of singers 
 
 Filled all the mission with enchanting music. 
 
 The very hills seemed listening and in gladness, 
 
 As if they heard the violins and viols, 
 
 The flutes and drums, the castanets and voices, 
 
 But most of all the voice of fair Dolores. 
 
 She, from far Carmelo, the blessed valley, 
 
 Had come to learn of him the sweet musician. 
 
 At far rancherias they knew her beauty,
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 15 
 
 At rich estates where lived the exiled Spanish; 
 For such there were on all the sea-line border. 
 
 Now on a time came gay Antonio riding 
 
 His great white stallion to the mission service; 
 
 His silver spurs, and jewelled bridle shining, 
 
 His great sombrero, decked with gold and ribbon, 
 
 His silken vest, and trousers made of velvet; 
 
 Down low he bowed, and crossed himself, and entered. 
 
 Dolores saw him, thought him very splendid 
 
 But turned a little seeing he was looking 
 
 Straight at her face, where she was standing singing, 
 
 Ashamed to be so gazed at there in public, 
 
 Yet in her heart a little proud at knowing 
 
 It was her beauty kept him looking at her. 
 
 For where was woman yet that needed telling 
 
 If anyone were looking at her beauty? 
 
 And she was beautiful, and good as beautiful, 
 
 For goodness, too, is but a kind of beauty; 
 
 Without it beauty is not even beautiful. 
 
 Fair face she had and hair all richly golden, 
 
 And eyes like violets in the early May time. 
 
 And this was he, Antonio, the handsome, 
 With raven hair, and eyes black as the midnight. 
 A hundred times had she not heard his praises! 
 The finest rider, too, in all the valley; 
 Possessed of lands that reached clear to the ocean; 
 Exiled from Spain when Bonaparte was ruler, 
 When despots' heels were on his country's border. 
 Once on a time, in some great broil or other, 
 He took a fort, and won the young king's favor. 
 Great grants received, of lands in California. 
 
 Then came the French, and drove the king to exile; 
 Antonio, too, was chased across the ocean
 
 16 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Where now he lived among his mountain acres, 
 Lord of great fields beyond all computation, 
 Square miles of valley, reaching north and southward, 
 Square miles of mesa, chaparral and mountain, 
 Where roamed his droves of horses and of cattle. 
 Dolores saw him when he was not looking, 
 Saw all the richness of his velvet costume, 
 The gold and silver of his spurs and bridle, 
 Saw the white stallion prancing there and pawing, 
 Best blood of Monterey's world-famous horses; 
 Saw him, Antonio, the handsome rider 
 The princely bow he made in passing by her; 
 Saw all and wondered what fair maid would win him; 
 And as he rode far off, and up the valley, 
 Still, longing, looked, and wondered who would win 
 him. 
 
 Now he rode off and onward in the valley, 
 
 Forever thinking of the mission music, 
 
 And why it was his soul was so ecstatic? 
 
 Or why the world seemed better now and brighter? 
 
 Men had been smitten in a single moment, 
 
 Such sudden ways love often has of doing; 
 
 And so Antonio, though he did not know it, 
 
 Had got a wound almost beyond explaining. 
 
 A change there was, but words cannot express it, 
 
 Some subtle thing awakened other feelings; 
 
 The wild rose, somehow, had another meaning, 
 
 And if a bird sang from some bush or olive, 
 
 His mind went back to yonder chapel's music. 
 
 Alone he was, yet one sweet face was with him, 
 
 As 't were a spirit in the air beside him; 
 
 So he went on, and upward in the valley; 
 Went to his home and waited, all impatient, 
 A certain festival down at the mission,
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 17 
 
 When all the people came to games and races; 
 Came from the mission down at San Diego, 
 From San Obispo, and a dozen others; 
 She, too, would come, somehow he knew and waited. 
 
 The spring had come with all its birds and flowers, 
 Such spring as. comes to that fair climate only, 
 With almond blooms and gold acacia blossoms, 
 Bright orange groves, and walnut trees and lemon, 
 And ocean breezes sweeping up the valley, 
 And sunshine lying on the hills forever, 
 And misty mountains leaning up to heaven- 
 Such was the scene that made life there delicious. 
 
 Still at the mission, like a beehive's humming, 
 Each soul was busy with its love and labor; 
 Some in the shops a hundred things were doing- 
 Some saying prayers, and some reciting lessons, 
 For every neophyte must work or study, 
 Converted souls must know that labor's holy. 
 The idle Indian soon became a helper- 
 Learned trades, and crafts, as well as prayers and masses, 
 Still watched the herds upon a hundred hillsides. 
 
 ***** 
 
 In an enclosure, like an eastern harem, 
 Or old-time nunnery, well-kept and guarded, 
 The women toiled at many a lighter calling 
 With busy shuttle and the needle going, 
 Clothed all the people Hving at the mission- 
 Made stuffs to sell, bright Indian robes, and blankets, 
 Strange baskets wove, of bulrush and wild grasses. 
 
 . 4 4t 4 
 
 The girls their music had, as well as labor, 
 For pleasure there was hand-maid still of toiling, 
 And all knew music, flute, or voice, or viol, 
 The sweet guitar at every night was thrumming;
 
 18 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And often times Dolores taught them Spanish, 
 Or thought out plans for this thing, or for that thing, 
 Helped find new shapes for baskets and for blankets, 
 New bead work taught them for their belts and sandals, 
 And pretty ways for them the Indian maidens; 
 Or stories told them of the old-time Spanish, 
 And other tales of that famed city northwards, 
 Of Monterey and how the people lived there- 
 Soft, luxury-loving, as the lotus eaters ; 
 How pearls were found there in its glorious waters, 
 Enriching thousands living but for pleasure; 
 Of haciendas, in the hills, and valleys, 
 And richer lords than any Spanish nobles, 
 Dressed all in velvet, and with rich sombreros 
 And one she thought of, while she yet was speaking. 
 Told of the jewels worn by dark-eyed women, 
 Great strings of pearls, each worth a prince's ransom; 
 Of sudden fortunes made in mines forgotten, 
 Or by vast herds of horses and of cattle. 
 How some from Spain had brought their fortunes with 
 
 them, 
 
 Brought, too, their manners, and their Spanish customs, 
 Till all the coast was but a Spanish province. 
 Then tales she told of Carmelo the holy, 
 Her own fair home there in the blessed valley. 
 Told of Junipero the Christian leader, 
 Who built the missions for the heathen people; 
 
 And thus she won the hearts of all the maidens. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Francisco now was busier than ever, 
 Preparing all things for the great fiesta; 
 A hundred neophytes in chorus training, 
 Young clever souls with castanets and viols. 
 And dancing, too, that was almost religion; 
 Were they not Spanish, they, and all the people, 
 Save yonder natives on the hills and desert,

 
 20 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Was this not Spain, and all its customs Spanish? 
 Would they not come, the dark-eyed Spanish ladies, 
 From haciendas by the sea or mountains, 
 From Monterey, too, and the farther border! 
 
 So day by day went on the getting ready. 
 
 Dolores helped in all the gladsome labor, 
 
 A favored one, as niece of him the Padre, 
 
 Child of his brother in Carmelo valley. 
 
 Her duty was, beside her music lessons, 
 
 To be the guardian of the churches' treasures - 
 
 The silken stoles, the chasubles all golden, 
 
 The altar cloths, with silver all embroidered, 
 
 The silver candlesticks from Spain brought over; 
 
 To gather roses for the mission altar 
 
 "The lady sacristan," the friars called her. 
 
 A pleasant labor, too, was now Francisco's, 
 
 With fair Dolores in the work assisting. 
 
 Quick thought was hers, so many things devising, 
 
 Flags and festoons from arch and column swinging, 
 
 And yellow poppies banked on cooling waters. 
 
 Strange feelings now Francisco's soul were moving, 
 Strange but delightful, and beyond expressing. 
 No thoughts had he of love for any woman, 
 For he was pledged, some happy day or other, 
 To be a priest with no thought but of serving. 
 Yet somehow still grew pleasanter the labor, 
 Somehow he lingered in Dolores' presence, 
 Not knowing why, save that it was so pleasant, 
 Did things twice over that he might be near her, 
 Still stayed and stayed, nor knew why he was staying. 
 
 Perhaps Dolores could herself have guessed it, 
 Girls are so quick at knowing things so subtle;
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 21 
 
 Besides, she, too, had feelings, more than tender, 
 Although Francisco never once had seen it, 
 So hid were they in other thoughts and fancies 
 Of one she saw, his great sombrero waving, 
 And wondered who if any one would win him, 
 Not knowing then that she herself had won him. 
 
 The day was done, the Angelus was ringing, 
 Francisco heard, and led the chapel music, 
 Then all the night lay thinking of Dolores. 
 And when the da\vn another day was bringing 
 Across the hills, and downward to the valley, 
 Lighting anew the olive groves, and orchards, 
 And casting gold upon the waking ocean, 
 He wandered fieldwards past the Indians' cabins- 
 Adobe huts with roofs of reeds and grasses, 
 Looked at the river from the canyons leaping; 
 Still went and wandered by the cliffs of ocean; 
 Looked at the ships with mission-cargoes loading, 
 Saw pelts of oxen by the thousands loaded, 
 Thrown from the cliffs down to the waiting sailors, 
 Great tons of wheat and barley brought for shipment, 
 And casks of oil, and wine, from their own vineyards; 
 Then turned his steps and went a little hillwards 
 Each moment thinking of the fair Dolores, 
 Of things three days now burning in his bosom 
 Of that old hope some day to be a friar; 
 How now the vow was somehow slipping from him, 
 As slips the dew in sunshine from the grasses; 
 And in its place a beauteous face, and figure, 
 Still roamed in happiness across the meadows- 
 Saw nothing fair that did not mind him of her, 
 Thought out sweet names by which sometimes to call 
 
 her, 
 
 "The poppy girl," or "Golden-haired Dolores." 
 Wild roses grew beside him on the heather
 
 22 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 They were so fair, he wondered would they please her- 
 Then plucking many, "This will deck her bosom, 
 This double one will suit her hair so golden," 
 Then poppies plucked, the great wild yellow poppies, 
 And peach tree blossoms clustered with the others, 
 And many more, not knowing why he did it. 
 All these he took and found the sweet Dolores, 
 And almost bashful gave to her the poppies, 
 The roses, too ; she took them, smiling sweetly. 
 "You knew my fancy for the yellow poppies?" 
 Demurely said she, glancing softly at him. 
 "But this one's yours, Francisco let me fix it," 
 And reaching towards him with the pretty blossom, 
 Her eyes now shining, looking clearly at him, 
 Her lily hand just touched his cheek a moment ; 
 A sudden thrill went through Francisco's being 
 And in that thrill love had its way, as ever; 
 There was no need of any further telling. 
 
 That day the festival had its beginning, 
 
 And, when Dolores in the choir was singing, 
 
 The golden poppies lay upon her bosom. 
 
 The mass once sung, the happy people gathered 
 
 Around the mission for the games, and dances, 
 
 From every valley and the far rancherias 
 
 They came by hundreds bringing gifts, and prizes, 
 
 So, too, the Indians from the inland country, 
 
 And scattering seed, the sign-word of their friendship. 
 
 Now rang the bells, the signal all was ready. 
 First came the races of the Indian maidens, 
 Half-naked women, from the neighboring desert, 
 Against the girls now at the mission living. 
 Then games of ball the desert girls excelling 
 By very strength, a hundred plaudits winning.
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 23 
 
 A little pause, the great event was coming 
 Out on the plaza, seawards from the mission, 
 The bear and bull fight was about commencing. 
 Gifts had been offered by the mission friars 
 For some wild beast, the fiercer one, the better. 
 And many days the mission youths had hunted 
 In wood and canyon till at last they found him, 
 A wild grey monster, savage and ferocious. 
 All unawares they sprang on him with lassoes, 
 And brought him growling to the safe enclosure. 
 Around the square the excited people waited, 
 Priests in their robes, and dark-eyed Spanish women 
 From far pueblos and old Spanish ranches. 
 A hundred youths in festal day apparel, 
 With jingling spurs, and jewel-mounted saddles 
 Sat on their steeds, encircling all the plaza, 
 Receiving smiles and their own smiles returning. 
 There, too, Antonio most of all was noticed, 
 On his white stallion, gold and lace apparelled, 
 His broad sombrero with its jeweled ribbon, 
 His dark eyes glancing when he saw Dolores 
 There on a bench, Francisco sitting near her, 
 And golden poppies fastened on her bosom, 
 Ten times as handsome as she ever had been. 
 He spurred his stallion, galloped nearer to her, 
 Waved his sombrero, as he once had waved it 
 That other morning when she saw him passing 
 And wondering thought who is the maid to win him 
 Not knowing still, that she herself would win him. 
 
 A moment more the signal bells were ringing; 
 The mission portals to the plaza opened, 
 There was a cheer, and waving fans and banners; 
 The great black bull was slowly coming forward- 
 Back in the patio, decked in flowers and ribbons, 
 He had been waiting for the sign of battle.
 
 24 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Amazed he looked a moment at the people, 
 
 Then sudden saw the monster thing before him, 
 
 A grizzly pile of hair, and claws, and clutches. 
 
 The bear arose and on his hind feet standing, 
 
 Reached out his arms as if to do him honor, 
 
 Blinked his small eyes, and calmly stood and waited. 
 
 His very calmness scared the bull a moment, 
 
 Not knowing quite if he should run or battle; 
 
 Then shut his eyes, and bent his great neck downward, 
 
 And with his horns lunged at the thing before him 
 
 A little missed the bear was quickly on him, 
 
 His mighty arms around his neck were pressing, 
 
 His awful teeth deep in his throat imbedded 
 
 With roar of pain around the ring he started, 
 
 Grim as grim death, the bear held on the harder, 
 
 Till, by sheer dragging once his hold was broken, 
 
 And bruin rolled a little distance from him. 
 
 Again the bull with a terrific bellow 
 
 Plunged at the beast with his red eyes distended; 
 
 Again the bear as in a vise has caught him, 
 
 And bear and bull roll in the dust together. 
 
 It was not long, for bruin all exhausted, 
 
 By loss of blood lay still a little moment, 
 
 When, with a roar the bull in pain and maddened, 
 
 Rushed on his prey, and goring, left him dying. 
 
 There was a cheer, a thousand people rising, 
 
 And cheers once more, and all the bells were ringing. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Now changed the scene, the horse-race is beginning, 
 A league of road straight northward from the mission- 
 There all the crowds again are come together. 
 One thought alone moves everv man or woman, 
 One idol only worshipped in the province; 
 Next to religion, were the people's horses. 
 "Who loves his horse alone can love a woman- 
 It was a saying in the Spanish province.
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 25 
 
 No Arab flying on the wasted desert 
 Had better steeds, or better knew to ride them 
 Men's lives were spent so wholly in the saddle; 
 Their greatest treasure often was expended 
 On jewelled trappings for the horse and rider; 
 And he was rich who rode his jewelled saddle, 
 Though he were homeless else, and wholly friendless. 
 And fleet they were, these California horses, 
 Fleet as the wind on mountain or in desert; 
 And all one's riches oft were staked upon them. 
 And so today, one saw great bags of silver 
 On carts piled up, and at the roadside waiting, 
 There to be gambled on a favorite racer. 
 An hour or so, and fortunes most had vanished 
 Lost on this horse, or that one, in the racing. 
 Then came the last the piece de resistance 
 The horses running without any rider. 
 Ten splendid steeds stood stripped there for the starting, 
 White stallions, known as swiftest of the valley; 
 Antonio's horse was there among the many; 
 No bridles theirs, nor saddles, nor yet riders- 
 Just bells, and spurs, to madden them to running. 
 ***** 
 
 The signal fires, and wildly they are started, 
 Not knowing where, save that they must be flying; 
 Like a tornado they have passed the people, 
 Who hold their breath too moved for any cheering; 
 One league, two leagues and faster fly the horses, 
 Great clouds of dust the races most obscuring 
 One runner now is leading all the others- 
 Just by one neck, Antonio's horse is winning 
 And with a bound the final goal he crosses. 
 A shot announces that the race is over; 
 A thousand throats the victor's horse are cheering, 
 And he is led among the crowds of people. 
 He walks on roses scattered now before him.
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 27 
 
 As comes a hero from the battle's thunder. 
 Dolores, too, has cast a flower before him; 
 Antonio sees it with a smile of gladness, 
 Picks up the rose, and kissing throws it to her, 
 Then leading now, the splendid steed before her, 
 With a great bow, and all so courteous looking, 
 Presents the stallion to the fair Dolores. 
 u Oh, signorita, look, your gladsome beauty 
 This day eclipses every beauty present, 
 The horse is yours. You know it is a custom 
 Who wins a race must make some gift or other 
 To her he deems most fair of any women. 
 Adieu! Adieu!" he waved his great sombrero, 
 And left Dolores standing there and blushing. 
 Still on her arm the silver bridle rested, 
 A little while she stroked the horse's shoulder, 
 Then saw Antonio passing to the plaza 
 And wondered still if any maid would win him. 
 
 * * 
 
 The day is done, the Angelus is ringing, 
 
 An evening prayer, and then the feast and dances. 
 
 Francisco's choir, with castanets and viols, 
 
 His many singers have already gathered 
 
 Where hang the lanterns from the palms and peppers. 
 
 The wilder Indians, from the hills and canyons, 
 
 Have started homeward, going up the valley, 
 
 Save two or three now hiding in the bushes. 
 
 Bright is the scene and brighter yet the dances; 
 
 Gay cavaliers, and wondrous dark-eyed women, 
 
 And brown-robed priests, and olive-colored maidens, 
 
 Young neophytes, the children of the mission, 
 
 And soldiers, guardsmen of the mission people, 
 
 And sailors coming from the ships at anchor. 
 
 Some danced the waltz, and some the gay bolero, 
 
 Still others in the wild fandango reveled. 
 
 And there were smiles and pressing hands and whispers,
 
 28 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And praise of eyes that shone in soft replying. 
 
 Dolores, radiant as the scene before her, 
 
 Danced till the midnight with her two adorers, 
 
 And on her breast the golden poppies carried 
 
 Yet, in her mind, she saw a gay sombrero, 
 
 And heard the words "most beauteous of women." 
 
 Francisco, often as his music let him 
 
 Beheld her, fairest there of all the dancers; 
 
 Beheld the poppies, too, and rested happy. 
 
 But 'twas Antonio who danced so often. 
 
 And kissed her hand as every dance was finished, 
 
 Looked at the poppies resting on her bosom, 
 
 Nor guessed, one moment, what could be their meaning. 
 
 Once, when the music ceased a little moment, 
 Dolores went out in the moonlight walking, 
 A little neophyte her sole companion. 
 Scarce fifty paces from the dancers going, 
 They heard low talking, then a footstep nearing 
 Three painted Indians from the roses springing, 
 Quick as an eagle unexpected pounces 
 Upon his prey, so pounced they on Dolores. 
 There was a cry, the neophyte came screaming 
 "Dolores killed, the Indians have got her." 
 
 Loud rang the bells, "The Indians were uprising," 
 
 So \vent the cry alarming all the valley. 
 
 A little while the child, her senses gaining, 
 
 Told how she knew the faces of the villains. 
 
 Of her own tribe they were up in the mountains, 
 
 There were but three, and lived alone by plunder. 
 
 Before the dawn, a hundred were pursuing, 
 
 On foot, on horseback, priests and friends and soldiers. 
 
 All day they hunted in the woods and canyon. 
 
 And not a trace of either man or woman, 
 
 With hope most gone the people half distracted
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 29 
 
 Gave up the hunt, "Dolores has been murdered." 
 Francisco bravely kept up hope and sought her. 
 Footsore and weary through the forest went he, 
 By paths scarce known to any but the Indians, 
 Nor found a sign of where she might be hidden. 
 
 Antonio, too, on a white stallion sought her, 
 
 Dashed to the canyon with its dark recesses, 
 
 Flew to the edges of the far-off desert. 
 
 Once saw some trace of bandits in the mountains, 
 
 Rode faster yet, determined to overtake them, 
 
 And kill them ere they reached their secret cavern. 
 
 It was a plan if anyone should find her, 
 
 Dead or alive, the mission bells should tell it. 
 
 With heavy heart Francisco still was searching, 
 
 Sad and alone deep in the hills and forest, 
 
 When all at once the bells rang in the valley. 
 
 "Found! Found!" he cried, and hastened toward the 
 
 mission. 
 
 An Indian boy had signaled from the canyon, 
 That she was found and all went out to meet her. 
 Francisco, too, and saw Antonio coming 
 On a white horse, Dolores on before him. 
 A mad'ning thought a moment overwhelmed him, 
 Yet thanked he God to know she had been rescued. 
 
 Two days, and then the festival renewing, 
 
 All sang and danced in fair Dolores' honor; 
 
 A little pale she was, yet fairer most than ever. 
 
 Antonio told them how he saved Dolores 
 
 With that swift horse, he caught the bandits flying, 
 
 And fighting slew them there within the canyon, 
 
 Just as they reached their far and secret cavern. 
 
 It was most morning now, and yet they reveled, 
 Or wandered singing down beside the river.
 
 30 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 There by its bank Antonio and Dolores 
 
 Sat down and talked of this her great adventure. 
 
 With thankful gratitude, beyond expressing, 
 
 Dolores prayed all blessings should come to him. 
 
 Antonio heard and took her hand and kissed it, 
 
 Told of his love, born that first day he saw her. 
 
 Would she be his, heaven's blessings would be on him. 
 
 "You have been kind," was all Dolores answered, 
 
 "While life shall last this day will be remembered." 
 
 Then there was silence, and a quick heart-beating 
 
 A burning struggle in Dolores 1 bosom, 
 
 She dared not speak the thing she would have spoken ; 
 
 And when again, with burning words he urged her, 
 
 "Pray, wait a little," was her only answer 
 
 "I will go home to Carmelo tomorrow." 
 
 There I will weigh it all, so thought she silent, 
 
 And farther gave not any word of answer, 
 
 But slowly walked with him back toward the plaza. 
 
 The stars were down, the dawn was almost breaking; 
 
 The music ceased, and yet Antonio pressed her; 
 
 Told of the dangers he had passed to save her; 
 
 Told how the king would some day yet restore him 
 
 His Spanish rights, his titles and his castle; 
 
 Told how some day they two would walk together 
 
 Besides a lake within his Spanish garden. 
 
 Dolores heard, but gave no certain answer, 
 
 Her thoughts confused with all the past day's doings. 
 
 Her thoughts of that bright day when first she saw him, 
 
 Then suddenly, as seeking some delaying 
 
 "Wait just a little," smiling, when she said it, 
 
 "Once on a time, beside this very river, 
 
 A little party of us young folks gathered. 
 
 And I had suitors pressing for an answer. 
 
 And I held daisies, counting them all over, 
 
 Each petal gave some pretty little answer,
 
 32 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Yet leaving doubt if either of them loved me. 
 
 'He loves me, loves me not,' you've seen them do it. 
 
 Well, that was when the fine new church was founded, 
 
 The dear old bells, long lost, were now so wanted, 
 
 The Padre said no other bells would answer, 
 
 These ones were sacred, for the Pope had blessed them. 
 
 So all the valley here was put at searching, 
 
 For many days, and no soul ever found them, 
 
 And there was sorrow here in all the valley. 
 
 Then, lovers pressing me, I made a promise; 
 
 The daisies first I threw into the river, 
 
 Their little play had settled nothing for me. 
 
 'Whoever finds the missing bells, and brings them 
 
 To yonder tower the day that it is finished,' 
 
 I said it laughingly, 'him, I will marry.' 
 
 And so you see that I have made a promise; 
 
 I am fast bounden till the church is finished, 
 
 But if the bells are not then there and ringing, 
 
 I am released, and am no longer bounden. 
 
 Wait but till then, and you shall have an answer." 
 
 Antonio laughed, "If that be all, Dolores, 
 
 Then never day will come that you are married. 
 
 The bells, men say, were cast into the ocean. 
 
 But, true, or no, let us a compact enter; 
 
 Give me one word, and, if, by chance, tomorrow, 
 
 Or any time before the church is finished, 
 
 Some happy soul should find the missing treasure, 
 
 That moment I release you from the promise." 
 
 So they walked on, still talking, toward the mission. 
 
 "Good night," Dolores said, "or rather morning," 
 
 And did not know, or scarcely, she had promised. 
 
 They stayed good friends, Francisco and Dolores. 
 "Fate was unfriendly to me then as ever," 
 So said he wandering on the flowering meadows. 
 "I should have known how far she was above me,
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 33 
 
 I, a musician only, he, a lordly noble. 
 I should have kept the vow to some day enter 
 The holy service of the Lord and Master. 
 But, somehow, love all resolution conquers. 
 I was but human loved her without knowing 
 And I am glad I never told her of it. 
 She never knew for certain that I loved her; 
 Nor had I any right to think of loving; 
 Save one dear glance she gave me on that morning 
 She placed the yellow poppies on my shoulder, 
 What right had I to think she ever loved me?" 
 So, m.any days, Francisco tried to think it 
 He "had no right," and so would overcome it- 
 Yet went on loving spite of pain and promise. 
 
 That very day Dolores had departed. 
 
 By chance, a ship bound northward, stopped a little; 
 
 To Monterey 'twas bound; Carmelo near it, 
 
 And so she went scarce knowing she was promised. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Antonio now came to the mission often, 
 Perhaps the memory of that morning drew him, 
 When first he saw Dolores in the chapel! 
 Its patron now, and many gifts he brought it, 
 And often helping, showed the mission Indians 
 New ways of doing, sent skilled people to them. 
 So hurried, too, the great church they were building. 
 It had been years, so slow the work proceeded 
 The only church of stone in all the province; 
 And stone by stone the whole was slowly carried 
 From yonder canyon by the men and women. 
 A little while the temple would be finished, 
 A house of God there standing by the mountains, 
 A house of God that looked forever seawards, 
 The bells alone they were not yet discovered.
 
 34 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Once more they hunted for them northward, southward, 
 
 So zealous all, Antonio most was fearing 
 
 They might yet find them, somewhere, always thinking 
 
 Of that strange promise made by fair Dolores; 
 
 And also thinking what himself had promised, 
 
 And so he hurried every day the building. 
 
 They were good friends, Antonio and Francisco, 
 
 And oftentimes Francisco heard him praising 
 
 Dolores' beauty, and her thousand virtues, 
 
 Nor let him know how his own heart was beating; 
 
 Nor guessed Antonio once a thought of danger. 
 
 The time was near, the church was most completed ; 
 
 Antonio's perfect rapture was approaching, 
 
 She would be there be at the dedication, 
 
 Her voice would add to all the festive pleasure; 
 
 And then the day, the one day of all others, 
 
 Was it not coming with delight and music! 
 
 Then came the word no ship would soon be sailing 
 From Monterey toward Capistrano mission, 
 Not for a month would any ship sail southwards. 
 Dismayed, the friars talked with one another, 
 She must be here, our fairest, greatest singer, 
 The Padre, too, the head priest of the mission, 
 Would see his niece at this the great occasion, 
 And said, "Francisco, you I trust to bring her, 
 And some companion she may choose beside her." 
 Then came Antonio, too, and urged Francisco, 
 "Are we not friends go you and bring Dolores." 
 But did not dream they ever had been lovers. 
 "Ride to Carmelo, on the king's great highway, 
 
 Tomorrow take the fleetest of my horses." 
 
 ***** 
 
 Astounded was he, yet he could not show it 
 
 A thousand thoughts went through Francisco's bosom 
 
 He made excuse "he was at home much needed ;
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 35 
 
 There were rehearsals of the music waiting." 
 
 Said this, said that, Antonio but insisted. 
 
 And so he went along the king's great highway, 
 
 Along the seaside and beside the mountains, 
 
 The sea no more perturbed than were his feelings. 
 
 One afternoon, among the roses walking, 
 
 Up at Carmelo, where the sea was shining, 
 
 Dolores saw him coming in the garden; 
 
 And, so surprised, she wondered at his coming, 
 
 A little while they wandered through the garden, 
 
 Glad of this chance to look upon each other, 
 
 Yet neither speaking of the thing the nearest. 
 
 For both were bounden, she who'd made her promise 
 
 And he whom trust had sent upon this errand. 
 
 Once they climbed up a hillside from the valley, 
 
 There saw the ocean glistening bright before them. 
 
 Saw aisles of pine and heard their low-toned music, 
 
 Saw gentle hills with every blossom glowing, 
 
 A babbling river dancing to the ocean. 
 
 There lay Carmelo, heaven's own hand had touched it, 
 
 And made it beautiful above all others. 
 
 Its sun-kissed gardens and its snow-white lilies, 
 
 Its clustering roses and its field of poppies, 
 
 Made all the air a something so delicious 
 
 That every lover loved Carmelo valley. 
 
 Great memories, too, around the place were clinging, 
 
 There Junipero lived the good, the holy 
 
 The master hand, the soul of all the missions, 
 
 He who had brought salvation to the heathen. 
 
 Beneath a slab there in San Carlos mission, 
 
 Hid all in roses, he is softly sleeping, 
 
 Whose name in tender hearts will burn forever. 
 
 Three days in joy the happy lovers lingered, 
 
 For they were lovers, spite of bounden duty.
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 37 
 
 Each loved in silence though he dare not tell it, 
 
 Nor break a vow, for both of them were bounden. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "Tomorrow we shall ride," Francisco said it 
 
 "Down El Camino, there, the beauteous highway. 
 
 Down the long way past sea and hill and mission, 
 
 To Capistrano. He will there be waiting." 
 
 Dolores. smiled a little then a shadow 
 
 Fell on her face and hid what she was feeling. 
 
 And so they rode onwards on the highway, 
 
 Along the seashore, listening to its music, 
 
 She on the great white horse Antonio gave her, 
 
 Francisco riding on a coal black stallion, 
 
 With gorgeous saddles both, and jeweled bridles; 
 
 Had she been queen she had not then been greater. 
 
 Antonio's name was known at every mission. 
 
 Dolores, too, fair golden-haired Dolores; 
 
 Not less Francisco, he the famed musician. 
 
 A hundred leagues, not less, the happy journey. 
 
 So they rode on, at every mission waiting, 
 
 (For all men knew Antonio's bride was coming), 
 
 A troop of girls, young neophytes, would meet them, 
 
 Pelt them with roses, scatter palms before them, 
 
 Sing joyous songs and lead them to the mission; 
 
 There feast and toast and Castanet and viol, 
 
 Brought to a close each day of sweetest travel. 
 
 Sometimes they met a barefoot pilgrim friar 
 
 Making his way to Carmelo, or farther, 
 
 Who made the cross, and blessed them, ever saying, 
 
 "May God be with you as you fare together." 
 
 Four happy days like bees on roses sipping, 
 
 The lovers traveled by the sweet sea's border, 
 
 Yet not of love had either one yet spoken, 
 
 For each one knew he to a vow was bounden. 
 
 But once at noon they passed a field of poppies 
 
 All golden glinting, by the seaside growing;
 
 38 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Francisco saw them, leaped from off his stallion 
 And brought a nosegay to the happy maiden. 
 "My fancy yet, and you have not forgotten," 
 She smiling said, and placed them on her bosom. 
 Yet was it true, a thought was ever with her 
 That heavier grew as now the journey ended; 
 Spite of the joy the golden days had brought her, 
 The very poppies made it all the harder; 
 And all the time there riding by Francisco, 
 She thought in silence of a half-made promise; 
 Thought of that night there by the little river, 
 Antonio's pleading and her half-made promise; 
 How he had saved her from an unknown terror; 
 Then saw Francisco riding there beside her, 
 Felt something tearing every heartstring from her, 
 Love, and that promise, struggling with each other. 
 So they rode on and still no word was spoken. 
 ***** 
 
 Francisco, too, now as the day was closing, 
 Felt as awakened from a pleasant vision 
 A moment's joy, and then the dream departing 
 Left only shadow as the journey ended. 
 He had lacked courage; up there at Carmelo 
 He should have spoken ventured all to have her; 
 The trust he held, was it not forced upon him? 
 It was too late; he saw, as in a vision, 
 A marriage feast, Antonio and Dolores 
 Walk down an aisle with orange blossoms fragrant. 
 ***** 
 
 So they rode on and yet no word was spoken. 
 A little while, and now the sun was setting, 
 Drowning itself in the Pacific Ocean, 
 With such a trail of glory left behind it 
 As only comes to sunsets in that region.
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO ^ 
 
 It was clear moonlight now at Capistrano 
 When these two lovers stopped before the mission. 
 Antonio welcomed them, he had been waiting, 
 And helped Dolores from her silken saddle, 
 And helping saw the golden yellow poppies, 
 Few words were said, Antonio, without telling, 
 Knew from that moment that he had a rival. 
 
 Francisco took the horses toward the river, 
 
 To give them water where the stream was clearest, 
 
 For now it was receded almost wholly 
 
 From a great drouth that fell upon the valley. 
 
 And while the horses stood there in the water, 
 
 Or in the sand where he himself was standing, 
 
 Their hoofs struck on some iron thing or other. 
 
 With both his hands Francisco delved a little 
 
 Down in the sand, when lo! there, deep imbedded, 
 
 He found the bells of Capistrano mission! 
 
 'Twas like a dream or some sweet thing from heaven. 
 
 A thousand joys, all in one joy together; 
 
 Now he could speak was it not her own promise 
 
 Who found the bells her hand should have forever? 
 
 And in her eyes had he not sometimes read it 
 
 The hope that he might find the hidden treasure? 
 
 That she had loved and never dared to tell it? 
 
 ***** 
 
 Then in the moonlight friars came and labored 
 
 With all the mission glad almost to crying 
 
 So thankful \vere they for the thing that happened. 
 
 That very night, through all the little valley, 
 
 The news was spread like prairie fires in autumn, 
 
 And eager hands in long procession forming, 
 
 Now bore the bells in gladness to the mission. 
 
 High mass was sung at davbreak of the morning, 
 
 "Regina Salve," 'twas Dolores singing. 
 
 Antonio heard her, as he did that morning
 
 40 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 When first he saw her at the mission chapel 
 
 The day he waved his great sombrero to her. 
 
 The service out, the two went to the river; 
 
 To that same spot where in the moonlight walking 
 
 She once had promised without scarcely knowing. 
 
 Antonio spoke, "Bright honor's left, Dolores, 
 
 Here is the spot, our trysting place last summer. 
 
 The promise, half-enforced, you scarcely granted, 
 
 I saw tonight was thankfulness, not passion ; 
 
 I was love-blind, too strong my great devotion. 
 
 We both have vowed, nor shall my vow be broken ; 
 
 The bells are found, you are no longer bounden. 
 
 Take one you love, there, I release you wholly; 
 
 Nor you nor I are any longer bounden." 
 
 He strode his horse and rode far up the valley. 
 
 And no one knew Antonio's heart was broken. 
 
 Dolores lingered, saw him disappearing, 
 
 With moistened eyes turned slowly toward the mission. 
 
 And that great weight was slowly lifted from her. 
 
 That day, almost, Francisco and Dolores 
 
 Walked o'er the hills and pretty vales together. 
 
 Then said Francisco, "Long, so long, I've waited. 
 
 May I not speak now, that you are not bounden? 
 
 There at Carmelo once I almost ventured, 
 
 And then I thought, the trust I had was holy, 
 
 Antonio trusted me, I dared not say it; 
 
 And when I gave the poppies to you, also, 
 
 I was most minded then to tell you frankly. 
 
 Again I thought, some other one might love you, 
 
 Might find the bells, and you would keep your promise. 
 
 Now I speak out; I love you, dear Dolores. 
 
 The bells are here and I would hear them ringing 
 
 On that dear day when we two shall be wedded."
 
 BELLS OF CAPISTRANO 41 
 
 And so the bells were kept a little, silent; 
 Although the church was finished now, and waiting, 
 Till on a day these lovers twain were married. 
 Then all at once the bells rang out their music, 
 And all the valley joined in song and dancing. 
 
 Without a change weeks passed there at the mission, 
 The old routine of labor and religion; 
 Save that the mission now was growing richer; 
 Great herds of cattle grazed upon the mountains, 
 And flocks of sheep that never could be numbered, 
 And crowds of Indians came and were converted. 
 Then came that day that made this place a ruin- 
 When all the coast of the Pacific Ocean 
 For one short, awful moment, rocked and trembled, 
 And all the missions shook to their foundation. 
 But this one most, felt yonder earthquake's coming, 
 The twilight mass of a December morning 
 Was being sung there in the finished temple, 
 When all at once, the church dome reeled a little, 
 The roof spread open, showed the sky above it, 
 Then with a crash the whole fell down together. 
 
 For many days the buried ones were sought for; 
 Some said, Antonio, too, was buried with them, 
 But none were certain, in the dread confusion. 
 The hunt for lost ones was at last abandoned; 
 The little graveyard there, behind the mission, 
 Already full; but on a day when the great mass was 
 
 singing 
 
 For souls of all who had so sadly perished, 
 A ship came by, its captain had a letter- 
 Dolores' name was quickly seen upon it; 
 'Twas from Antonio, written ere the earthquake 
 Had cast the mission in a sea of sorrow. 
 "Once sudden news," so ran it, "took him northwards,
 
 42 
 
 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Nor gave him time for any farewell message. 
 
 And now he wrote to say he was not angry; 
 
 She had done well to marry where her heart was, 
 
 And now he knew 'twas gratitude, not passion 
 
 That made her promise to be bounden to him." 
 
 So went the letter, telling news from Spainwards, 
 
 "He had been given back his castles, titles, 
 
 So had no use for lands so very distant; 
 
 His valley rancho, reaching west, and seaward, 
 
 She must accept it as her wedding present; 
 
 And so they would be friends forever after."
 
 GLORIETTA; Or the CITY OF FAIR DREAMS
 
 NOTE: 
 
 There was a time when beautiful Monterey by the 
 Sea was the capital of California. The people there, as 
 all along the Pacific Coast, were mostly Spanish with 
 Spanish customs, dress, and manners. The old Mission 
 houses were still in their glory, and Monterey, then the 
 gem of the Pacific, was a very gay and luxurious little 
 capital. It was not surpassed for beauty anywhere on 
 the Pacific.
 
 Glorietta; or the City of Fair Dreams 
 
 Oh, many, many years ago this tale 
 
 Had its beginning by a charmed sea, 
 So beautiful it seemed; the bending sail, 
 
 And the blue sky, like that of Italy. 
 There grew the palm and there the lemon tree, 
 
 And every flower that's beautiful to see. 
 
 Outside the bay the mighty ocean rolled 
 In liquid mountains, or in glist'ning sea, 
 
 And moonlight nights some wondrous story told 
 To listening forests and to meadowed lea; 
 
 And lovers, walking in the moonlight, heard 
 
 Their sweethearts' voices when the sea was stirred. 
 
 Such was the scene, where the fair city stood, 
 By poets called "The City of Fair Dreams," 
 
 Between the forest and the shining flood; 
 And even now, to strangers' eyes there seems 
 
 Some lingering glory of that happy day 
 When all was merry in old Monterey. 
 
 'Twas at a time when Spanish friars bore 
 For many years their long and kindly sway 
 
 In grand old Missions stretched along the shore 
 From San Diego to Francisco Bay. 
 
 Then all was Spanish manners, speech and dress- 
 Save the wild Indians in the wilderness. 
 
 'Twas just as if some island in the past 
 Had drifted off from its beloved Spain, 
 
 And by some wondrous miracle been cast 
 Along the shores of the Pacific main: 
 
 Or was't Arcadia that had been lost, 
 
 And by some chance had hitherward been tossed?
 
 48 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Be it as it may, it was a lovely land, 
 
 And joyous people lived along its coast; 
 
 There dance and music wandered hand in hand. 
 And, next to these, their horses were their boast, 
 
 No Arab tenting in the desert airs 
 
 Had steeds so swift, so beautiful as theirs. 
 
 He was not poor who had his desert steed, 
 With silver spangles hung on neck and breast, 
 
 Bejeweled saddle, beautiful, indeed, 
 
 And wondrous spurs outshining all the rest. 
 
 It was a sight sometimes to look upon, 
 
 These New-world knights and their caparison. 
 
 Famed \vas the land for other things as well, 
 Famed for fair women, beauteous to behold, 
 
 With great black eyes, and olive skins to tell 
 Castilian blood; and forms of fairest mold. 
 
 Of one of these, had I a harp to sing, 
 I'd tell a tale not all imagining. 
 
 For there was one, a child almost in years, 
 Some sixteen summers only had been hers, 
 
 But in that clime of rose-leaf and of tears, 
 Love wakens early and its passion stirs. 
 
 So, Glorietta, soft as any dove, 
 
 Just laughed and loved, yet never thought of love. 
 
 Till on a day when Ivan came to woo, 
 A fisher's lad, he was, down by the bay, 
 
 Who dived for pearls of many a heavenly hue 
 That in the bottom of the ocean lay; 
 
 And here and there a pretty shell he took 
 To Glorietta with a lover's look.
 
 GLORIETTA 49 
 
 Though well she prized these pretty courtesies, 
 There was a gulf that stretched betwixt the two, 
 
 A stream unbridged, and bridgeless, most, as seas, 
 Without a road that any lover knew. 
 
 For what was he? A common fisher's son, 
 And she, the heiress of a Spanish don. 
 
 O! she was young, and beautiful of face, 
 
 With melting eyes, a joy to look upon, 
 Big, black and deep, like her Castilian race; 
 
 Who looked too long was sure to be undone. 
 That Ivan learned, although he was so young, 
 
 Yet loved, the sting with which he had been stung. 
 
 Her hair such hair in two great braids fell down 
 Like twisted ropes, black as the ebon night. 
 
 Upon her beautiful but girlish gown 
 
 Of simple rose, bedecked with lilies white. 
 
 Hearts had been cold, or ice, or something worse, 
 Not to be moved by eyes and hair like hers. 
 
 She was akin to the Don Carlos line; 
 
 Though orphaned young she might have riches still, 
 For the Alcalde, now Count Valentine, 
 
 Had many lands and herds on every hill. 
 He was her guardian, and could well endow 
 
 Such rose of beauty as he saw her now. 
 
 Upon the hill where his gray palace stood 
 Fair flowers grew of every hue and kind; 
 
 The bougainvillea, with its purpling flood, 
 In drifted banks the walls and porches lined. 
 
 But Glorietta, far beyond compare, 
 Was fairest yet of any flower there.
 
 50 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And when the harvest of the vine was on 
 In the sweet autumns of that blessed clime, 
 
 When summer's heats and summer's suns were gone 
 And frosts just touched the orange and the lime, 
 
 Then manly youths were to the labor pressed, 
 And Ivan, too, was there among the rest. 
 
 So it fell out, as in that long ago, 
 
 When Ruth and Boaz in the harvest met, 
 
 Love had its way, or Ivan wished it so, 
 And cast himself in Glorietta's net, 
 
 Just at the moment when she brought the wine 
 Sent to the gard'ners by Count Valentine. 
 
 'Twas like a dream, the sudden joy, to him! 
 
 Not many grapes he gathered on that day, 
 Nor on the next, for other things now drew 
 
 His one attention in another way, 
 And oftener now did Glorietta bear 
 
 Her jugs of wine out to the gard'ners there. 
 
 And once, unconsciously, the jug she held 
 To Ivan's lips, that he might drink his fill, 
 
 As if by accident his face she touched, 
 
 And quick he felt it, the immortal thrill, 
 
 Such thrill as comes but once to any soul, 
 Or rich or poor, it is love's sweetest toll. 
 
 So days went on, the vintage was not done, 
 And every day young Ivan there would be 
 
 To gather grapes in the sweet autumn sun, 
 Or pick the lemons from the lemon tree; 
 
 But most to see his sweetheart, and adore, 
 And every day she welcomed him the more.
 
 52 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 There was an arbor on the palace ground, 
 Hid all in roses of sweet loveliness, 
 
 Where all was silence save the gentle sound 
 Of little brooklets and the wind's caress. 
 
 There Glorietta at the noontide came: 
 
 Who wonders now that Ivan did the same! 
 
 So in sweet converse flew the blessed noon, 
 While they sat looking in each other's eyes, 
 
 Amazed an hour could pass away so soon. 
 But time to lovers very quickly flies; 
 
 Not much their feast on either bread or wine, 
 On other things, 'tis said, do lovers dine. 
 
 Yes, talk they had, and maybe, kisses, some. 
 
 For they were glad of life and everything: 
 Youth must be so delicious it can come, 
 
 And this was now the flower of their spring. 
 Give love a bower, in vines and roses drest, 
 
 And melting eyes, and love will do the rest. 
 
 There, in their moments of felicity, 
 
 Young Ivan told her of a thousand things; 
 
 Of the pearl-divers and the sapphire sea, 
 And the great fishes that had shining wings ; 
 
 Of caverns told, and rocks that overhung 
 
 The ocean caves where the pearl-fishes clung. 
 
 How he himself the dangers underwent 
 Of diving down, his trusty knife in hand, 
 
 To cut them loose from walls and caverns rent, 
 Then sudden rise and cast them on the sand: 
 
 No rainbow hues more glorious could be 
 Than these, the children of the azure sea.
 
 GLORIETTA 53 
 
 How he had seen a grotto wonderful 
 
 Down in the ocean with the waves above, 
 
 Not e'en the shrieking of the sad sea-gull 
 Was ever heard in this enchanted cove. 
 
 Like Desdemona, Glorietta heard, 
 
 And breathed a sigh at every other word. 
 
 How, fearing not, again and yet again, 
 
 He dared the dangers that around him were, 
 
 Not in some hope of some poor little gain, 
 But for a pearl that was most worthy her; 
 
 And then he reached to give it, with a kiss 
 But hark! a step, and ended all their bliss! 
 
 It was the Count, his face in purple rage. 
 
 Some evil soul had whispered in his ear, 
 How every day these lovers did engage 
 
 In guilty amours, and he'd find them here. 
 Few words were said, there was not much to say; 
 
 The place, the kiss, were they not plain as day? 
 
 He railed a little, Glorietta heard: 
 
 "I had no one to guide, and I was young," 
 
 Her eyes were weeping, but no other word; 
 The Count, he better too had held his tongue! 
 
 He was himself not over good, they say, 
 Among th' elite of lovely Monterey. 
 
 Be as it may, he had his Spanish pride; 
 
 No kin of his might ever think to wed 
 With lowly fisher-folk, or be the bride 
 
 Of one who labored for his daily bread. 
 That very day he made his plans to send 
 
 Young Glorietta to a distant friend.
 
 54 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 He had a cousin, rich and proud and lone, 
 
 Who with a sister by the desert dwelt; 
 What took him there had never quite been known, 
 
 If fate or love with him had coldly dealt. 
 Don Eldorado was the cousin's name, 
 
 A bit romantic and once known to fame. 
 
 "There Glorietta will be safe awhile," 
 
 Thought the Alcalde, when she reached the place, 
 And thinking so, a long and happy smile 
 
 At times illumined the Alcalde's face. 
 "Time conquers love, at least so I have read, 
 
 And Ivan well may think her lost or dead." 
 
 For it was planned that never any word 
 
 Should pass between them now forever more. 
 Just how 'twas done no mortal ever heard, 
 
 But things like these were often done before- 
 Some false arrest, some prison far away, 
 
 Or, at the worst, there still would be the bay, 
 
 A little while, though broke of heart at first, 
 And Glorietta almost loved the scene 
 
 When on her eyes the great wild desert* burst 
 Like two vast seas, with mountains in between. 
 
 The porphyry hills, the red sea-walls that rise, 
 Seemed fit for gates to some sweet paradise. 
 
 'Twas in the morning, and God's great blue tent 
 Spread over mountains and the desert land; 
 
 A sapphire glory every moment lent 
 Some lovelier color to the desert sand; 
 
 A little while, and then the mountains seem 
 A mystic phantom, a forgotten dream. 
 
 NOTE The Mojave and the Colorado deserts are really the same thing. A chain 
 of the Sierra Madre mountains cuts the vast plain in two parts.
 
 GLORIETTA 55 
 
 Once, on a height, alone, she stood and gazed 
 On violet mountains and the desert sea. 
 
 A sudden sun above the desert blazed, 
 
 U O World!" she cried, "thou wert all joy to me 
 
 Were this to last, with never any tear, , 
 And Ivan standing close beside me here." 
 
 Now, Eldorado, though not very young, 
 
 Kept in his breast some fires not yet gone out, 
 
 Saw Glorietta, and that moment flung 
 Himself before her, dead in love, no doubt. 
 
 Love at first sight, I've sometimes heard it said, 
 Affects the heart, but oftener the head. 
 
 Be it as it may, he surely was most kind 
 
 To Glorietta, never dreaming how 
 Her heart with Ivan there was left behind, 
 
 Nor saw the shade that often crossed her brow. 
 One thought was his, and that he could not hide, 
 
 The hope that quickly she would be his bride. 
 
 Each hour he thought some pleasant thing to do 
 
 To please her fancy or to kill the time; 
 Rode on the hills, looked on the desert view, 
 
 Or climbed the canyons glorious and sublime, 
 Where thundering down some torrent came to bless 
 
 The flowering wastes, the desert's loveliness. 
 
 
 
 And lovelier things he thought of, and less grand,. 
 The purple sage-brush that was everywhere, 
 
 The yellow poppy of the sun and sand, 
 Enchanting contrast to her raven hair; 
 
 And Manzanita berries, crimson red. 
 
 And purple heather from the desert's bed.
 
 GLORIETTA 57 
 
 And desert holly of the sanded wild, 
 
 Frost-white and fair as ever fair could be, 
 
 Sun-born but lone, the desert's loveliest child, 
 Its curling leaves God's own embroidery. 
 
 All these were hers, and others yet the while, 
 All cheaply purchased by a single smile. 
 
 Day in, day out, the old new lover came; 
 
 Was it not time to answer yes, or nay? 
 Like fair Penelope, who did the same, 
 
 She prayed, delaying just another day, 
 And still in hopes she yet might surely know 
 
 If Ivan really were alive, or no. 
 
 Just then a letter from her guardian came; 
 
 A perfect thunderbolt it must have been, 
 Full of complaining, and of every blame, 
 
 What under heaven was it she could mean? 
 "Could it be so, such cold ingratitude, 
 
 Towards one who always was so kind and good? 
 
 "Oft he had heard of how his cousin sought 
 Her hand in marriage, and of her delay: 
 
 He was amazed, for was this cousin not 
 What any girl could like most any day? 
 
 Rich, and genteel, and good to look upon, 
 And then, still more, he was a Spanish don. 
 
 "Then, as to Ivan, heaven only knew 
 
 What had become of him; perhaps a shark 
 
 Had simply swallowed him; such things they do! 
 There were great dangers down in caverns dark, 
 
 And anyway, her passion for him must 
 
 Long since have turned to ashes and to dust."
 
 58 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 There seemed no choice; that, Glorietta saw, 
 This unloved marriage was a thing foregone. 
 
 Her guardian's wishes, were they not a law? 
 She was as helpless as a mountain fawn, 
 
 And yet she waited still another day, 
 And never answered either yes or nay. 
 
 At last she spoke. It was a ruse to find 
 
 If Ivan really were alive or dead. 
 "It seems to me that I could speak my mind 
 
 If I were only in my home," she said. 
 "There in our garden by the crystal bay, 
 
 There I could answer either yea or nay." 
 
 "Let it be so! Tomorrow," he replied, 
 Not guessing all her reasons nor the why; 
 
 "On my fleet steeds across the hills we'll ride." 
 He did not notice Glorietta sigh. 
 
 He had forgotten, too, about the slip 
 
 That sometimes happens 'twixt the cup and lip. 
 
 Next day it was a pretty cavalcade 
 
 That crossed the mountains westward to the sea. 
 The Don, his sister, and the beauteous maid, 
 
 And some retainers, only two or three. 
 A hundred miles was nothing then to ride, 
 
 At least to win so beautiful a bride! 
 
 A little while, and now in Monterey, 
 The dear old city by the sounding sea, 
 
 There was great talk among the young and gay 
 Of an event that very soon would be. 
 
 "The Don was rich," that much the gossips said, 
 "And Glorietta had come home to wed."
 
 GLORIETTA 59 
 
 Not in whole years had there been such a stir. 
 
 The Alcalde's ward was now a beauty, grown, 
 All eyes were turned for but a glimpse of her 
 
 Or the great Don who claimed her for his own. 
 A little while, and wedding bells would ring, 
 
 And guests be bidden to the revelling. 
 
 Now there was searching of old wardrobes through 
 For gowns unique, and rich, of long ago; 
 
 Gold satin skirts, and rare mantillas, too, 
 
 And high-heeled boots with gold or silver bow; 
 
 Queer combs from Spain, and jewels rare and bright, 
 To wear on Glorietta's wedding night. 
 
 It was proclaimed among the ladies all, 
 To be au fait one must be gaily dressed, 
 
 And there would be a Spanish carnival, 
 To make this wedding seem the very best. 
 
 The men also, in picturesque array, 
 
 Expectant waited for the wedding day. 
 
 Young Ivan, meantime, had been lost to view; 
 
 No trace of him could Glorietta find, 
 And now there seemed no other thing to do 
 
 Than wed the Don, though much against her mind; 
 So, though in tears, she gave a half consent, 
 
 And all was fixed, just as her guardian meant. 
 
 The day has come, the sun will soon be down, 
 A hundred guests on horseback gaily ride 
 
 Up to the palace, quite outside the town, 
 
 To greet the bridegroom and to kiss the bride; 
 
 As was the custom in the days of yore, 
 Each rider held his fair one on before.
 
 60 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Down by the sea the glad old mission bells 
 Ring out a sweet, a half voluptuous chime. 
 
 The saintly friar there a moment tells 
 
 His beads to heaven in his dear, happy time: 
 
 Then turns his steps, he must be there to say 
 The nuptial vows on this their wedding day. 
 
 At her high window Glorietta stood, 
 And saw the riders in their glad array, 
 
 Yet felt that moment that she almost could 
 Have thrown herself into the shining bay: 
 
 All seemed a mockery to her, the scene, 
 
 Not less her wedding dress of gold and green. 
 
 Out on the lawn a bright pavillion showed, 
 Hung round with flags, and open at the side, 
 
 Already circled by the common crowd, 
 
 For all would see the bridegroom and the bride. 
 
 Half in the dark one silent figure leant 
 Against the curtains of th' illumined tent. 
 
 A little while, and look! The priest has come, 
 And bride and groom walk slowly down the line. 
 
 In a few words she is bid welcome home, 
 By the Alcalde, old Count Valentine. 
 
 In smiles and tears, she waits the solemn word: 
 Yet listen, now, a singer's voice is heard. 
 
 A pretty custom in the land they had, 
 
 That girlhood friends about the bride should be, 
 
 To sing some song, some pretty words, nor sad, 
 To wish her joy and all felicity, 
 
 Before the one and final word is said, 
 
 Before the priest pronounced her duly wed.
 
 62 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And so to-night the singers come and sing, 
 
 And to a lute some verses improvise; 
 Some happy thought, perhaps some little thing, 
 
 Each for herself some pretty couplet tries, 
 Then hands the lute to her who next her is, 
 
 Who smiling sings of future ecstacies. 
 
 Meanwhile the bride, who is all listening 
 To honied phrases she is glad to hear, 
 
 Herself prepares some pretty song to sing, 
 For see, the lute to her is coming near! 
 
 That moment look, her eyes are quickly bent 
 On that lone figure by the curtained tent. 
 
 Half in the shadow, halfway in the light, 
 Two sad dark eyes are looking straight at hers. 
 
 Heavens! it is Ivan, come this very night! 
 A sudden joy her inmost bosom stirs; 
 
 She dare not speak, a hundred wait around, 
 And he were dead if near the palace found. 
 
 Quick beat her heart, it was her turn to sing, 
 
 A prayer she breathed for guidance. What to do? 
 
 Her voice she feared had sudden taken wing, 
 
 And Ivan's eyes were piercing through and through. 
 
 Oh! would some saint in all Love's calendar 
 That moment come and pitying smile on her. 
 
 She waits a little then an Indian air 
 Came to her mind that he had often sung. 
 
 Not one would know it of the many there, 
 For it was only of the Indian tongue. 
 
 She took the lute and sang a melody 
 Of love beside the Manzanita tree:
 
 GLORIETTA 63 
 
 The moon's above the ocean now, 
 
 Then hasten love, to me, 
 And keep the vow you made beside 
 
 The Manzanita tree. 
 
 The stars across the heavens sweep, 
 
 As faithful as can be. 
 Let us be faithful, too, beside 
 
 The Manzanita tree. 
 
 The mist is on the mountain top, 
 
 The mist is on the lea, 
 Tonight, tonight, we meet beside 
 
 The Manzanita tree. 
 
 The Manzanita berry's ripe, 
 
 And red as red can be, 
 O who would not go loving by 
 
 The Manzanita tree. 
 
 What if another claim my hand, 
 My heart, my heart's with thee, 
 
 So we will meet tonight beside 
 The Manzanita tree. 
 
 Each sigh, each thought, the listening lover heard, 
 And knows the meaning of the song she sings, 
 
 And ere the priest has said the solemn word 
 A steed all saddled to the gate he brings: 
 
 A sign, a gesture, from her lover there, 
 
 And they are gone, and no one knoweth where.
 
 64 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And they have mounted on the swiftest horse, 
 The fleetest steed the Alcalde ever owned, 
 
 They ford the Carmel in its swiftest course, 
 
 The old sea-bay behind them moaned and moaned, 
 
 And many a cypress gnarled by storm and wind 
 There in the moonlight they have left behind. 
 
 Into the mountains, all the night they rode, 
 On narrow ways, along the canyon's side, 
 
 Where moon and stars no more the pathway showed, 
 Till the bright dawn the flying lovers ride, 
 
 Then change their course, for path there now is none, 
 And leave the horse and climb the rocks alone. 
 
 And still a day, now downward toward the sea, 
 
 Some ignis fatuus beckons them along; 
 Though tired of limb and hungry they may be, 
 
 They think they hear some soft, sweet siren's song- 
 It is the sea-wave's voice alone they hear, 
 Forever sweet to any lover's ear. 
 
 And they have reached the hemmed-in ocean's shore, 
 Cliffs right and left, behind them but despair. 
 
 Are they pursued, there is not any more 
 
 The smallest hope of further flight than there: 
 
 But see! a ship is yonder passing by, 
 Or is't a phantom of the mist and sky? 
 
 Full-sailed it rides, yet scarcely passes on 
 " 'Tis not a league," cried Ivan, "from the shore, 
 
 Trust to my arms: a thousand times I've gone 
 Down in the deeps and braved the ocean's roar. 
 
 Here it is calm, and yonder ship may prove 
 A rest from flight, a refuge place for love."
 
 66 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANTO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And they are gone into the mist and wave, 
 Far out of sight of each pursuing one. 
 
 If in the sea they find a lovers' grave, 
 
 Now who may know, since mist and ship are gone 
 
 Time and the sea, no matter, kind or rude, 
 Can cover all, pursuers, and pursued. 
 
 Still, from yon cliff, where fisher-folk repair, 
 On moonlight nights the ocean to behold, 
 
 'Tis said they see, if but the mist be there, 
 A ship all shining like the ship of old, 
 
 And on the deck a lady walks serene, 
 
 Still in her wedding dress, of gold and green.
 
 LA FAVORITA
 
 La Favorita 
 A Tale of the Spanish Days in California. 
 
 Twas in the golden summer-time, 
 
 When mocking-birds their carols sung, 
 
 And friars heard the soothing rhyme, 
 Soft as their own Castilian tongue. 
 
 The mission bells of San Jose 
 In yonder valley sounded near, 
 
 And echoing hills all seemed to say, 
 "Ave Maria, welcome here!" 
 
 'Twas in the golden summer-time, 
 
 There where the summers longest stay, 
 
 A friar pilgrim sought to climb 
 The mountain road to Monterey. 
 
 The purple wings of morning fanned 
 The golden poppies everywhere, 
 
 And by the sea and on the land 
 The roses scented all the air. 
 
 'Twas in that sweet, delicious clime, 
 Where June goes ling'ring on and on, 
 
 Where cold nor storm nor winter-time 
 May bid the roses to be gone. 
 
 So on the king's highway he went 
 Toward yonder fair horizon's rim; 
 
 Above him shone God's azure tent, 
 
 And all the world seemed made for him.
 
 70 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 It was Vincenzio, knight of God, 
 Defender of the missions, when 
 
 His lifted cross had overawed 
 
 The swords of twice a hundred men ; 
 
 A saintly man, and pure of heart, 
 Along the shores there was a tale 
 
 That once, when pilgriming apart, 
 His eyes had seen the Holy Grail. 
 
 Not this alone ; his voice, his eye, 
 Such mystic power possessed, a zeal 
 
 For that Christ cross he held on high; 
 No soul withstood his heart's appeal. 
 
 Brown-robed and sandaled, staff in hand, 
 
 At times he rested by the sea, 
 Looked at the sea-waves come to land, 
 
 Looked at the sea's infinity. 
 
 And thought of that most holy shrine 
 Whereto his pilgrimage was bent; 
 
 "Dear Serra's grave, O Dios mine, 
 There I would kneel and be content. 1 ' 
 
 A little while his feet have pressed 
 That heaven-born valley of delight; 
 
 Sweet Carmel vale, nor east nor west 
 Are hills so green or scenes so bright. 
 
 There in San Carlos' shrine he knelt, 
 
 He crossed him twice and meekly prayed; 
 
 When sudden on his cowl he felt 
 
 A \voman's hand and sprang dismayed.
 
 LA FAVORITA 71 
 
 No ghost too fair the being seemed, 
 With heavenly eyes and golden hair; 
 
 He knew not if he slept and dreamed, 
 Or if it were an angel there. 
 
 "Thou knoiv'st not 'who I am," she said, 
 "But here in dear Carmelo's shrine 
 
 I too would humbly bow my head 
 And bid thee hear this tale of mine. 
 
 "Outside these doors three cavaliers 
 
 Impatient wait to claim my hand; 
 And they are armed with sword or spears, 
 
 And each is lord on sea or land. 
 
 "Not much I love, nor heart have I ; 
 
 I have a hundred loves withstood; 
 And he I choose will surely die; 
 
 That much is writ in Spanish blood. 
 
 "For, spite of loves my fairness won, 
 
 Still I was never yet content; 
 Like chaff they seemed when all was done; 
 
 Like chaff they came, like chaff they went. 
 
 "And all the time my thoughts have run 
 
 On a strange promise that I made, 
 And how tomorrow's setting sun 
 
 Will set upon a heart dismayed." 
 
 ***** 
 
 "I know thee well," the friar spoke; 
 
 "Thou art that far-famed Isabel, 
 La Favorita; she who broke 
 
 More hearts than all my beads could telL"
 
 72 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 In truth she was that Isabel; 
 
 No one so beauteous far or near; 
 Where'er she went she cast a spell 
 
 On humble folk or cavalier. 
 
 The sky's blue light was in her eyes; 
 
 Such loveliness of cheeks she had 
 As in the rose's petals lies; 
 
 A face men seeing once were glad. 
 
 If Spanish ships sailed down the shore, 
 The Spanish sailors all would say, 
 
 "Oh, let us have one look the more 
 At Isabel of Monterey." 
 
 The brown-robed friars passing by 
 Would count a bead or two for her, 
 
 Say "Ave Maria" with a sigh, 
 Almost forgetting who they were. 
 
 At festival and rout and ball 
 
 Her satin slippers skimmed the floor; 
 
 One felt he had no heart at all, 
 Or else he felt it throb the more. 
 
 What though it was a land where reigned 
 A hundred beauties everywhere? 
 
 He had been blind, or else had feigned, 
 Who saw another like to her. 
 
 What though it was a land where men 
 Were rich in pearls from yonder bay, 
 
 Where gold lay hid in every glen, 
 And ladies shone in fine array?
 
 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 She would be finer than them all 
 In pearls and gems and rich attire, 
 
 That when she entered rout or ball 
 The dancers stopped but to admire. 
 
 She would have jewels such as shone 
 In fair Loretto's sacred shrine; 
 
 "Why should some wooden image own 
 A hundred pearls outshining mine?" 
 
 And so it was one afternoon 
 Down on the plaza by the sea, 
 
 She walked and heard the sea-waves' tune; 
 The sea-waves kept her company. 
 
 When suddenly three lovers came; 
 
 They had been suitors many days; 
 They told her of her beauty's fame, 
 
 Her ears heard nothing but their praise. 
 
 But they were weary of delay, 
 And would she not be less unkind 
 
 And, whether yes or whether nay, 
 
 Now tell them what was in her mind? 
 
 She smiled and jestingly replied, 
 "Tomorrow night's th' Alcalde's ball; 
 
 There in the dancing I'll decide 
 
 Which is the knightliest knight of all. 
 
 "I have great love for jeweled rings 
 
 And pearls most precious in the land; 
 Who best of these tomorrow brings, 
 
 Tomorrow night shall have my hand." 
 
 * * *
 
 LA FAVORITA 75 
 
 And this is she, fair Isabel, 
 
 Now kneeling at the altar rail; 
 Each act, each word, she fain would tell ; 
 
 The friar listened to her tale. 
 
 Again she spoke: "Dear Father, look! 
 
 My suitors wait outside the door ; 
 No more delaying will they brook, 
 
 This day I have, and one day more." 
 
 A light illumed the friar's face, 
 
 A light as if from heaven sent; 
 Not once before in all her days 
 
 Had look so strange on her been bent. 
 
 Sweet were his eyes so soft and brown, 
 
 Such eyes as angels might possess, 
 Or such as Raphael's pictures crown 
 
 When looked at in their loveliness. 
 
 She heard his voice; and never yet 
 
 Had kinder, sweeter tones been heard; 
 
 What wonder if her eyes were wet, 
 Or that her soul was deeply stirred? 
 
 A moment, and she seemed to think 
 
 Life's curtain parted, as it were, 
 And she herself upon some brink, 
 
 And those deep eyes were pitying her. 
 
 The friar, list'ning, seemed to know 
 The thing that was her heart's desire: 
 
 On the great morrow should she go 
 To sell her soul for gold and hire?
 
 76 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 "Thou seekest for guidance? Maiden ! go ! 
 
 Keep thou the promise lightly given; 
 What words to answer thou shalt know; 
 
 There shall be light that hour from heaven.' 
 
 As in a dream she left the place; 
 
 A something spoke within her breast; 
 She felt the bright eyes on her face, 
 
 They told of peace and calm and rest. 
 
 The sun was set; the candles shone 
 
 In the Alcalde's hall of state, 
 And torchlights back and forth were blown 
 
 Among the roses by the gate. 
 
 Within was festival and dance 
 And sound of flute and Castanet; 
 
 And dark eyes glowed as if by chance 
 On darker eyes more glowing yet. 
 
 A little while the feast was on, 
 
 The tables groaned with fruits and wine, 
 
 And through the windows from the lawn 
 Came breath of rose and eglantine; 
 
 And look! Among the guests was one 
 A brown-robed priest of quiet mien; 
 
 He had come late, this silent one, 
 And softly joined the happy scene. 
 
 And now 'twas whispered round the board: 
 "This very night we all shall hear 
 
 Which of the knights with star and sword 
 La Favorita holds most dear."
 
 78 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Soon, too, amid the toasts and wine, 
 The lovers entered in the hall; 
 
 The first one's gifts were lands and kine, 
 'Twere wearisome to name them all. 
 
 The second spoke: "Great pearls have I, 
 Like those Loretto's self doth wear; 
 
 Sweet counterfeits I'd have them lie 
 Upon my sweet heart's golden hair." 
 
 Proud rose the third: "No copies mine, 
 No counterfeits by fairy elves; 
 
 Last night I came from yonder shrine, 
 I bring Loretto's pearls themselves." 
 
 A thrill of horror ran around, 
 As to the door a guardsman came, 
 
 With burning words and voice profound 
 He called the guilty lover's name. 
 
 "Five nights ago the sacristan 
 At far LorettoXchurch was slain; 
 
 Hast thou the pearls? Thou art the man; 
 Upon thy soul the guilt is lain!" 
 
 Dumb and in rage the lover stood, 
 The shackles clanked upon his feet; 
 
 The guests all crossed themselves, for blood 
 Seemed on the bread, the wine, the meat. 
 
 And look! Now rises at the board 
 Yon silent friar, cross in hand; 
 
 His tender eyes, his tenderer word, 
 At once the assembled guests command.
 
 LA FAVORITA 79 
 
 Kindly he speaks: "Fair Isabel, 
 
 Thou seest now how vain is pride; 
 There's but one pearl that doth excel, 
 
 There is no other pearl beside." 
 
 "Well didst thou pledge thy life to give 
 For the one pearl the highest priced; 
 
 More high than all behold and live! 
 I bring thee here the tears of Christ!" 
 
 As comes sometimes without a thought 
 
 Some mem'ry of forgotten things, 
 As if the mind a moment caught 
 
 A glimpse of the old happenings 
 
 So, suddenly, to Isabel 
 
 Came thoughts again of yonder shrine, 
 Again she felt the holy spell, 
 
 The eyes, the voice, almost divine. 
 
 And they are calling her again, 
 The Shrine, the cross, of yesterday; 
 
 With tears, as falls the summer rain, 
 
 "Here are my pearls," they heard her say. 
 
 "I will do penance for my pride; 
 
 There is a convent by the shore, 
 There many days will I abide 
 
 In doing service for the poor." 
 
 And yonder where the sea-waves moan 
 
 By yonder convent, on the hill, 
 Fair Isabel is fondly known; 
 
 She is La Favorita still.
 
 80 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And often on the king's highway 
 A friar pilgrim waves his hand; 
 
 He waves it twice, as if to say 
 
 "Your pearl is noblest in the land."
 
 A MADONNA OF THE RANCH
 
 A Madonna of the Ranch 
 
 Where Sierra Madre's mountains look in gladness on 
 
 the sea, 
 And the scented air floats upward from the lime and 
 
 orange tree, 
 Where the whole land seems a garden, all abloom with 
 
 fruit and flowers, 
 And the sky that bends above it is a lovelier sky than 
 
 ours, 
 
 Stretching there along the ocean for a hundred leagues 
 
 or so, 
 Are the grand old mission ruins of the strange and 
 
 long ago. 
 Here and there a pilgrim passing, thinking of the days 
 
 agone, 
 When these half-forgotten ruins were as splendid as the 
 
 dawn- 
 Breathes a sigh half exclamation that a people should 
 
 forget 
 
 Such a heritage of glory, ere its sun be wholly set! 
 Never make a seeming struggle, ere the struggle be too 
 
 late, 
 For the saving of the temples that have glorified the 
 
 state. 
 
 In the name of Junipero, him who laid the stepping- 
 stone 
 For a grandeur and a glory that you proudly call your 
 
 own- 
 Let a cry go to the mountains, and from mountains back 
 
 to sea. 
 That these ruins be re-builded for a future vet to be.
 
 84 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Be re-builded in the beauty of each arch and belfry low 
 Pedro Benedetto painted in the strange and long ago. 
 In my mind again I see him, in the long sweet summer 
 
 days, 
 Cowled and hooded at the mission, now in painting, 
 
 now in praise. 
 
 Never yet had Grecian statue half so beautiful a face, 
 Never Phidias had chiseled such a form of strength 
 
 and grace 
 As the outlines, half-discovered, in the thin old robe 
 
 he wore, 
 Painting pictures of the padres standing in the mission 
 
 door. 
 
 Little wonder that the missions by the coast-line up 
 
 and down 
 Saw and praised the new Adonis, in the old Franciscan 
 
 gown. 
 Not so much as priest they praised him; 'twas the gift 
 
 he had to paint, 
 And they thought him somewhat worldly, and not born 
 
 to be a saint. 
 
 In the old ranchero mansions he was welcomed every 
 
 where, 
 
 And the black-eyed senoritas saw no padre to compare. 
 At the old Presidio dances he was there among the 
 
 When the guardsmen rode at races, he could ride as fast 
 as they. 
 
 There was something in his manner that was very hani 
 
 to guess; 
 Like a secret one discloses, yet keeps hidden none the 
 
 less.
 
 A MADONNA OF THE RANCH 85 
 
 Very mortal one had called him not to praise nor yet 
 
 condemn- 
 Not too holy to be human, good as many priests were 
 
 then. 
 
 Love it seemed he never thought of, save for beauty 
 
 as it lay 
 
 In the color on the canvas that he painted day by day. 
 All the life about the missions, brown-robed padres 
 
 kneeling there 
 And the neophyte processions as they went to early 
 
 prayer. 
 
 These, and brown-faced Indian maidens in the sunshine 
 
 on the sand, 
 Weaving blankets, making baskets, pounding out their 
 
 corn by hand. 
 All he painted, and the missions, not in ruins falling 
 
 low, 
 But in noble mission grandeur of the days of long ago; 
 
 Sketched great herds of grazing cattle, vast in numbers 
 
 everywhere, 
 With the young vacqueros guarding from the mountain 
 
 lion's snare. 
 Painted saints, and boy-like angels, on the mission walls 
 
 within, 
 And the brown-robed padres walking ere the vespers 
 
 would begin. 
 
 Painted threshers with the oxen tramping out the har 
 vest grain, 
 
 As they did in days of Boaz, they were doing now again. 
 
 As they did in gray old Egypt, in a time most out of 
 mind, 
 
 So they tossed the new grain upwards to be winnowed 
 by the wind.
 
 86 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Painted sunsets full of glory, such as only there are seen, 
 Like the crimson gates of heaven when the ocean is 
 
 serene. 
 Sketched the guardsmen of the mission, at the old 
 
 Presidio, 
 And the Indians of the desert where the holly-bushes 
 
 grow. 
 
 Painted black-eyed senoritas from the ranches far and 
 
 near, 
 And the fleet and wondrous horses of the new-world 
 
 cavalier; 
 Silver-spurred and gay rancheros hast'ing to the coming 
 
 race, 
 To the bull-fight, and the bear-fight, at the old-time 
 
 fighting place. 
 
 All, he painted, when the labors of the mission would 
 
 allow, 
 Yesterday some Indian maiden, some young caballero 
 
 now. 
 
 Yet he found not in the faces on the canvas that he drew, 
 Any soul behind the picture, any eyes that looked him 
 
 through. 
 
 "I would paint the virgin mother on this canvas white 
 
 of mine, 
 Just a pure sweet country maiden like the girls in 
 
 Palestine." 
 Long he sought for it, the one face that in very truth 
 
 could be 
 All his waking mind could fancy, all his dreaming eyes 
 
 could see. 
 
 Long he waited, dreamed and waited, till the sunset 
 of a day
 
 88 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 When the vesper bells were ringing in a sweet half- 
 saddened way- 
 Came a footstep, almost noiseless, to the open mission 
 
 door, 
 
 Came a fair and girlish figure bearing gifts for yonder 
 poor. 
 
 In her hands were golden poppies, in her face a beauty 
 
 lay 
 Like the roses and the lilies that she gathered by the 
 
 way. 
 Thrice she came, the lovely Inez, when the vesper bells 
 
 would ring, 
 Came the same soft footstep answering to the old bells 
 
 caroling. 
 
 Thrice she came, and quick departed, leaving little 
 
 gifts of love, 
 While the vesper bells kept ringing in the old bell 
 
 tower above. 
 Just a glimpse, and Benedetto in that fleeting moment 
 
 felt 
 She was here, the one he dreamed of, here were eyes 
 
 that seemed to melt. 
 
 Here were eyes of gladsome splendor, here were cheeks 
 
 of such a hue 
 
 Not a blush-rose in the garden ever lovelier color knew. 
 Just a tint of brave brown olive in a face beyond 
 
 compare- 
 Just a harmony of color with the midnight of her hair. 
 
 "He must go," the padres said it, "he must find from 
 
 whence she came, 
 He, the youngest, he must thank her, in the oldest 
 
 padre's name."
 
 A MADONNA OF THE RANCH 89 
 
 Not for long he sought to find her; not for long does 
 
 beauty hide- 
 Being conscious it is beauty, knowing how 'tis glorified. 
 
 Where the great ranch of her father stretched for 
 twenty miles and more, 
 
 Where the old adobe mansion looked straight down 
 ward to the shore, 
 
 Where in half-way Spanish splendor lived the rich old 
 ranchero, 
 
 Like an old Castilian noble of the long, longtime ago, 
 
 There where swept the purple blossoms from the bou- 
 
 gainvillea vine, 
 
 Where the lemon on the terrace cast an odor half divine, 
 There he found her, with her pigeons, by the gray old 
 
 .terrace wall, 
 Talking with them as companions, with a name for 
 
 each and all. 
 
 Once that greetings kind were over, through the garden 
 
 aisles they go, 
 Talking of the grand old missions, looking on the sea 
 
 below. 
 Talking of the olive orchards, of the herds of sheep 
 
 and kine, 
 Of the golden yellow poppies, and the purple-laden 
 
 vine, 
 
 Of "El Camino Real," stretching yonder by the sea, 
 
 Where the brown-robed padres pilgrimed with their 
 thoughts for company, 
 
 Where the cavaliers rode gaily to some evening ser 
 enade, 
 
 While some senorita waited at the half-closed window 
 shade.
 
 90 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Heard their silver-mounted bridles as they jingled light 
 
 and gay, 
 Saw the all-beribboned gallants as they galloped on 
 
 the way. 
 Yonder, too, beheld the ranches of her father's kith 
 
 and kin, 
 Owners of the boundless acres where the Indians once 
 
 had been. 
 
 Once they gazed to where the purple of the far-off 
 islands were, 
 
 Though they talked of isles and ocean, yet his thoughts 
 were all of her. 
 
 "Might he paint her? 'Twere a treasure for the mis 
 sions beyond bound, 
 
 He would paint her on the terrace, with her pigeons 
 all around. 
 
 He would paint her with the poppies, gold and yellow, 
 
 on her breast, 
 And her hair all loose and tangled by the soft winds 
 
 of the west." 
 Deep she blushed, all seeming happy, as she answered, 
 
 soft and low, 
 "If my simple face be worthy, then I answer, be it so." 
 
 So he painted on the terrace, where the orange blossoms 
 
 fell, 
 Never yet in all his painting had he painted half so 
 
 well. 
 Every grace of face and figure, every charm her being 
 
 knew, 
 In a soft idyllic beauty on the happy canvas grew. 
 
 Day by day he came and painted at the dear accustomed 
 place,
 
 92 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Finding ever some new beauty in the gladness of her 
 
 face. 
 Feeling ever some new feeling, something stranger to 
 
 his heart, 
 Something not of paint and brushes, something not 
 
 akin to art. 
 
 In her face the rapturous colors, like enchantment rose 
 
 and fell, 
 In her eyes there seemed a secret that her lips might 
 
 never tell. 
 Once he touched the golden yellow of the poppies that 
 
 she wore, 
 And a thrill went through his being that he never felt 
 
 before. 
 
 Was it love? He dared not think it he a priest of 
 
 solemn vow, 
 He would thrust it from his bosom, he would put it 
 
 from him now. 
 Yet he painted on, forgetting all the danger that could 
 
 lie 
 In the crimson of her blushes, in the starlight of her eye. 
 
 To herself it seemed as dreaming, as she watched the 
 
 painter's hand, 
 Saw herself as if transfigured by some wondrous magic 
 
 wand. 
 Once she heard the far-off music of the low wind in 
 
 the firs, 
 Never dreaming while she listened that his soul passed 
 
 into hers 
 
 Till a day, when all was finished, and the painter was 
 
 alone, 
 Gazing on the perfect picture, that was sweet love's 
 
 very own
 
 A MADONNA OF THE RANCH 93 
 
 She beheld him kneel and kiss it, from her vine-clad 
 
 hiding place, 
 
 As Pygmalion kissed the marble of his Galatea's face- 
 So he kissed the perfect likeness, on the eyes, and lips, 
 
 and hair, 
 
 Never knowing, she, he painted, stood behind him smil 
 ing there. 
 Till the soft leaves, all a-rustle, like the footsteps of 
 
 an elf, 
 
 Made him half forget the picture when he saw her 
 very self. 
 
 Deep confused, she spake and said it: "Now I know 
 
 you love me well, 
 Long I, too, have kept a secret; you have broken here 
 
 the spell, 
 Am I she for whom you're longing? Dare you, then, 
 
 to love me so? 
 Dare you break the cords that bind you? Would you 
 
 rather let me go?" 
 
 "Hear me, lovely Inez, listen: I was born in old Se 
 ville, 
 
 I a p,riest at one and twenty, I a priest against my will. 
 
 Orphaned as a child, a guardian taught me all the 
 church's rules, 
 
 I should be a priest or nothing, and consented, fool of 
 fools. 
 
 "I whose gifts had made me famous in the salons of 
 
 the great, 
 Never then had been a football, in the fickle hands of 
 
 Fate. 
 I was fettered down to routine, all was narrow that I 
 
 knew;
 
 A MADONNA OF THE RANCH 95 
 
 In your face was heaven's gladness; I was born again 
 in you. 
 
 "Is it sin, then, if, recanting, I undo the cord that held 
 Kept me where my life belonged not, where for long 
 
 I had rebelled? 
 I am loved; what is there greater? Gift that heaven 
 
 to mortals gave, 
 Strong are vows, but love is stronger; love can reach 
 
 beyond the grave. 
 
 "Who shall care what comes tomorrow, if but love 
 
 itself remain, 
 Binding into one forever souls that yesterday were 
 
 twain! 
 Would I rather that you leave me? Heaven itself 
 
 can answer No; 
 While your eyes are shining on me, every joy is here 
 
 below. 
 
 "Stood the gates of heaven open, bidding me to enter 
 
 there, 
 
 Where all things are as enchanted, perfumes gladden 
 ing all the air- 
 Leaving thee behind, I would not, though the lights 
 
 forever shone, 
 
 Though the angels were about me, yet I still would be 
 alone. 
 
 "Let us go; the world's advancing, thought has broad 
 ened everywhere; 
 
 Heaven is reached by good deeds only, not alone by 
 psalms and prayer. 
 
 In the new world that we'll live in, love itself shall 
 master be,
 
 96 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And I still will be a painter, finding fame for three and 
 
 me." 
 
 In the records of the missions, Pedro's name no more 
 
 appears 
 
 It is gone; the padres lost it in the going of the years. 
 But in Seville there are pictures of the missions known 
 
 to fame, 
 On the lower right-hand corner still is Benedetto's 
 
 name. 
 
 And among them one is fairer, greater far than all the 
 
 rest; 
 It is Inez of the missions, with the poppies on her 
 
 breast. 
 
 And the stranger passing sees it, and he stops to gaze 
 
 awhile, 
 Looking at the perfect beauty that upon him seems 
 
 to smile, 
 And a something seems to tell him from the days that 
 
 long are flown, 
 "He who painted this sweet picture, painted it for love 
 
 alone."
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE
 
 The Feast of the Pinon Tree 
 
 (NoTE The Pinon tree (pronounced Peenyon) is of the nut pine variety in the 
 Sierra Mountains. John Muir, the naturalist, describes it as about forty feet high, 
 with wide extending branches. Its cones are a foot long, and filled with the most 
 delicious nuts or seeds. The tree produces a prodigious quantity of nuts, and the 
 total crop has been at times estimated to equal half the wheat crop of California. 
 These nuts are often the principal food of the Mono, Carson, and other tribes of 
 mountain Indians. The cones are opened by roasting in the fire. Festivals and 
 dances are held around the tree at the gathering-time every autumn. It is a wonder 
 fully unique spectacle. The tree is held almost sacred by the Indians, and many a 
 white man has been killed for cutting it down.) 
 
 We were all in the ship's forecastle, 
 
 With never a thing to do, 
 For the decks were washed and the sails all set, 
 
 And the ship like a sea-bird flew. 
 
 We were close to the world's equator, 
 
 With strange thoughts in our mind 
 Of the strange new stars above us, 
 
 And the dear stars left behind. 
 
 It was now farewell to Venus, 
 
 To the Great Bear, and the rest, 
 To Orion's belt, and the North Star, 
 
 And the Dog Star in the west. 
 
 And away in the dim horizon, 
 
 Strange stars in the heavens blazed, 
 'Twas the Southern Cross there shining, 
 
 And we stood on the deck and gazed. 
 
 And a new star-world was around us, 
 
 From the midnight till the dawn 
 And the red sun rose at morning, 
 
 And the wind with the night was gone.
 
 100 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 When like to an infant's cradle, 
 
 The blue sea rose and fell, 
 And we heard the black whale's breathing 
 
 Like the sob of a sea's low swell. 
 
 And we saw on the quiet waters 
 
 The smooth low billows toss, 
 A great white bird there sleeping; 
 
 'Twas the white-winged Albatross. 
 
 And never on land or ocean 
 Was there seen a lovelier thing 
 
 Than the beautiful bird there sleeping 
 With its head beneath its wing. 
 
 And we sailors looked and wondered, 
 And thought of the isles of spice, 
 
 And the bird with its white wings folded, 
 Like the angels of Paradise. 
 
 And we wondered if it were dreaming 
 
 Out there on the sea alone 
 Of another bird, still fairer, 
 
 Somewhere in a Southern zone. 
 
 For spite of our wild sea-roving, 
 
 And spite of our sailors' air, 
 There was that that touched us somehow 
 
 In the lone bird sleeping there. 
 
 p Then we talked of the lands out yonder 
 
 By the far Pacific's shore 
 Of the homes w r e had left behind us, 
 And the stars we might see no more.
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE 101 
 
 And so in the ship's forecastle, 
 
 With never a thing to do, 
 Each shipmate told some story 
 
 Of the land we were going to. 
 
 Of the strange old Spanish missions, 
 
 Of the friars robed in brown, 
 And the old bells with their music 
 
 When the sun was going down. 
 
 And the youngest shipmate told us 
 
 A tale that he once had heard, 
 For it all came back to his memory 
 
 On seeing the great white bird. 
 
 So we gave him the seat of honor, 
 
 And waited a little spell, 
 As we sat on our chests and listened 
 
 For the story he had to tell. 
 
 * * * 
 
 "It was twenty years, in the April 
 
 And I was a lad in Spain, 
 When I shipped on a Spanish clipper 
 
 For the far Pacific main. 
 
 Perhaps it was gain we sought for, 
 
 Wherever the trade might be, 
 And we steered straight west and southwards, 
 
 For a new Spain by the sea. 
 
 For the land of the rose and palm tree 
 
 The orange blooms and the lime 
 Where the mocking-birds were singing 
 
 The whole sweet summer time.
 
 102 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 So we voyaged west and southwards, 
 
 And ever on deck was one, 
 A dark-eyed youth of twenty, 
 
 And browned by a Spanish sun. 
 
 'Twas little he talked with the ship's crew, 
 
 But often he seemed to be 
 Alone with the skipper talking 
 
 And we guessed at some mystery. 
 
 He was dressed like a village huntsman, 
 
 In garb of the plainest green, 
 Nor a simpler garb, nor a plainer, 
 
 No sailor had ever seen. 
 
 And a wonderful silver bugle, 
 
 As polished and bright as day, 
 Swung gaily down from the ribbon 
 
 That over his shoulder lay. 
 
 And on the bugle a picture 
 
 A bird, with its wings across, 
 Like the bird we had seen on the ocean, 
 
 The beautiful albatross. 
 
 'Twas a gypsy's gift, the bugle, 
 
 With the albatross design, 
 "And it bears a charm," she told him, 
 
 "For a wonderful love of thine." 
 
 Philippe, the skipper called him, 
 
 And that was all we knew 
 But we sailors loved to listen 
 
 Whenever his bugle blew.
 
 104 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 So around Cape Horn we wrestled 
 
 With many a wind unkind; 
 'Twas a sad, tempestuous ocean, 
 
 But at last it was left behind. 
 
 Then a calm set in on the ocean, 
 
 Yet a dear wind tried to blow 
 From the nearby California 
 
 Where the lime and the orange grow. 
 
 And we almost saw the palm trees, 
 
 So near we were to the land, 
 While an odorous air came to us 
 
 Like the odors of Samercand. 
 
 And ever at times Philippe, 
 
 When the ship was going free, 
 Blew soft notes on his bugle 
 
 To the glad and listening sea. 
 
 Till back from the sunset islands 
 
 The echoing answers came, 
 While the wind went down on the ocean, 
 
 And the sun went down in a flame. 
 
 And again the breezes quickened, 
 
 And quicker the dear ship flew, 
 While we thought of the strange one with us, 
 
 And the land we were going to. 
 
 There was still a bit of the twilight, 
 
 And we heard the stranger say 
 "It is there I would be landed, 
 
 By the cove, and the little bay."
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE 105 
 
 So the ship lay to for a little, 
 
 And the gig-boat went ashore, 
 And we left him there on the sea-sand, 
 
 Nor asked would we see him more. 
 
 Nor not so strange we thought it 
 
 A thing like that to do 
 For many a man thus wandered 
 
 From the old Spain to the new. 
 
 There alone on the sand we left him, 
 
 With never a comrade nigh, 
 With only the darkness around him, 
 
 And a great red moon in the sky. 
 
 But not till the ship sailed homewards 
 
 Did ever we sailors find 
 The strange things that had happened 
 
 To him we had left behind. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Through a little valley upwards, 
 
 Away from the sea he went, 
 But the high hills hid the red moon 
 
 And the little light that it lent. 
 
 It was midnight's black in the mountains 
 
 And a fog was over the sea, 
 And the coyote's bark in the darkness 
 
 Was his only company. 
 
 And at last, worn out and weary, 
 
 To the side of a tree he crept, 
 And in spite of the wild things 'round him 
 
 Till the dawn of the day he slept.
 
 106 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Till the dawn of the day; but listen! 
 
 The leaves at his side were stirred, 
 And his heart almost went from him 
 
 When the voice of a man was heard. 
 
 For just a moment he listened, 
 
 Then opened his eyes apace, 
 And behold! a brown-robed friar 
 
 Stood looking him in the face! 
 
 "What lost?" 'twas the friar speaking, 
 
 And reaching a tender hand 
 "May the heavens greet you, brother, 
 
 Whatever may be your land. 
 
 "Let me share with you the little 
 That's left of this bread of mine, 
 
 And drink of the cooling water. 
 And taste of this grateful wine. 
 
 "It is sure that no bed of roses 
 Was yours in the night that's by, 
 
 With the fog down there on the ocean, 
 And the stars gone out of the sky. 
 
 "And the noise of the preparation! 
 
 You surely have heard it all, 
 For half of the night they were gathering 
 
 To a wonderful festival." 
 
 "To a festival! holy father, 
 
 And what is the thing you say? 
 Is some strange magic around me? 
 
 Do I walk in my sleep by day?"
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE 107 
 
 "What, you never heard it, brother?" 
 
 Amazed, the friar said 
 "How the wild folk come here autumns, 
 
 To gather their winter bread. 
 
 "And that there by the sloping hillside, 
 
 In the sight of the shining sea 
 They dance, they laugh and they call it 
 
 The feast of the Pinon tree. 
 
 "At noon by the bells of the mission, 
 
 A league, not more, from here, 
 And the strange wild feast commences, 
 
 You can almost hear them cheer. 
 
 " 'Tis a wild yet timid people, 
 
 And fond of the song and dance; 
 We may cross by the pine grove yonder 
 
 And see them all by chance." 
 
 So they went from the darkening forest 
 
 A little towards the sea, 
 To a gentle slope where they saw a smoke 
 
 By a great gray pinon tree. 
 
 And around the tree in the dances 
 
 The unclad people swung 
 To a music weird and wondrous, 
 
 To the songs that the maiden sung. 
 
 And the nimblest youths among them, 
 
 Most like young bears thev were, 
 Climbed far on the old tree's branches 
 
 To gather the brown cones there.
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE 109 
 
 'Twas the rarest cone for the fairest, 
 
 Far sweeter than all the rest, 
 Each tore from its branch and tossed it 
 
 To the maid that he loved the best. 
 
 With a spring and a bound she caught it, 
 
 And smiled on her heart's desire, 
 And the big brown cone was roasted 
 
 Till it burst its fruit in the fire. 
 
 Till it burst in a luscious plenty 
 
 The food that is prized of all 
 And the maid with the richest pine-cone 
 
 Is the queen of the festival. 
 
 So with games and the dance and the music, 
 
 In sight of the shining sea, 
 There was love of the wild-man's loving 
 
 At the feast of the pinon tree. 
 
 And the ranchers came on horseback, 
 
 To look at the strange wild show, 
 From the brown hills by the mountains, 
 
 And the green vales down below. 
 
 On their swift wild horses riding 
 
 For a twenty miles and more, 
 With silver bells on their bridles, 
 
 And their sweethearts on before. 
 
 'Twas the days of the old ranchero, 
 
 Spanish, and rich, and grand, 
 With his herds on a hundred hillsides, 
 
 On his thousands of acres of land.
 
 110 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 So they came and sat in a circle, 
 
 On horseback looking on; 
 There were youths and black-eyed maidens, 
 
 There were eyes as brown as the fawn. 
 
 On a little knoll that was nearest, 
 
 Philippo wondering stayed, 
 As he gazed on the whirling dances, 
 
 And the games that the wild ones played. 
 
 Till a girl on a snow-white charger 
 
 Rode by in her loveliness 
 With hair as black as the midnight. 
 
 All down on her snow-white dress. 
 
 And he saw her, and loved that instant, 
 Who never had loved till then, 
 
 Felt that first fire in his bosom 
 That never can flame again. 
 
 If she only would look now towards him, 
 Would turn and but look his wav 
 
 She would read in his eyes the passion, 
 And the things that his lips would say. 
 
 And the soul of his soul said to him 
 
 There is never a spot so green 
 That is worth that I ever tread on, 
 
 Save the spot where her feet have been. 
 
 Nor a bliss, nor a joy, nor a gladness, 
 Nor a thing that a heart could stir, 
 
 Unless the joy, and the gladness, 
 Are all to be shared by her.
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE 111 
 
 So he longed for a look that was nearer, 
 
 But never she turned her face, 
 Though she looked at the dancers dancing 
 
 In the beautiful greenwood place. 
 
 And he thought, I will blow my bugle 
 
 She'll hear it and look around; 
 So he blew just a little love-tune, 
 
 And she startled to hear the sound. 
 
 'Twas a Spanish air of the old time, 
 
 To pay for a little glance, 
 And she turned her face for a moment 
 
 And smiled, as it were, by chance. 
 
 * * * 
 
 "We will go," said the friar, kindly, 
 
 "The feast and the dance are done, 
 And the mission bells are ringing 
 
 For a good night to the sun." 
 
 And again they walked in the forest 
 
 The friar, and he, alone, 
 But his thoughts went ever backwards 
 
 To the eyes he would call his own. 
 
 Nor the strange things all about him 
 
 Had interest for him then, 
 Not the Indian maids at their weaving, 
 
 Nor the half-tamed Indian men. 
 
 Nor the mission there in the distance, 
 
 With its walls white as the snow, 
 And the long, low-arched cloisters 
 
 Where the friars loved to go.
 
 112 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Nor the vast flocks on the hill-sides, 
 With the shepherds watching there, 
 
 Nor the neophyte processions 
 
 On their way to the chapel prayer. 
 
 Nor the soft sweet tones of music 
 
 Of the chapel choristers, 
 Nor the Indians at the altar rail, 
 
 For his thoughts they all were hers. 
 
 For a while in the cloistered mission 
 
 He was a stranger guest, 
 But the thought of the passing vision 
 
 Forever was in his breast. 
 
 And he looked at his silver bugle, 
 "No more will I ask my bread 
 
 At the kind old friar's table 
 I'll earn it with this instead. 
 
 "At the guardhouse of the mission, 
 
 My bugle I there shall blow, 
 And I'll sound the call for the soldiers 
 
 At the old Presidio." 
 
 In a little while, and the friars 
 
 Such tones from a bugle heard, 
 It seemed like voices chanting, 
 
 Or the songs of the mocking-bird. 
 
 For the liquid notes of the bugle 
 
 Such wonderful music made, 
 It seemed the soul of the music 
 
 Was the soul of the one that played.
 
 114 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Yet a something would often sadden 
 The smile that the bugler wore, 
 
 When he thought of the day in the forest, 
 And the face he might see no more. 
 
 And he does not know while waiting 
 
 That far on the green hillsides 
 On a wild and snow-white charger 
 
 A beautiful maiden rides. 
 
 On the great ranch of her father. 
 That stretched like a king's domain, 
 
 Past the vast herds on the hillsides, 
 Past the great flocks on the plain. 
 
 And she sometimes thinks of a lover, 
 
 That some day is to be, 
 Who will come like a prince and take her 
 
 To a beautiful home by the sea. 
 
 But she oftener thinks of another 
 
 Whose eyes once on her turned 
 Till a thrill went through her bosom, 
 
 And the blush on her cheek had burned. 
 
 "Corinne"- ('twas her father speaking), 
 "In a month, and the day is near, 
 
 When the good ship will be sailing, 
 And the prince will soon be here. 
 
 "I have thought all day of the promise 
 
 To the best friend that I had 
 (His only child was a bov then 
 But the prettiest little lad),
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE 115 
 
 "That whenever the time had ripened, 
 
 And it is this very spring, 
 You two should be sworn sweethearts, 
 
 And be married by book and ring." 
 
 * * * 
 
 Still again she rides on the hillsides, 
 
 Where the grass with dew is wet, 
 And she thinks again of the dark eyes, 
 
 And she hears that bugle yet. 
 
 * * * 
 
 At the old Presidio yonder, 
 
 The days go slow and long, 
 But the bugler sounds his bugle, 
 
 And the hills give back the song. 
 
 And he yearns for eyes that he sees not, 
 
 One look at a radiant face, 
 And he sometimes goes to that forest 
 
 As it were to a trysting place. 
 
 But the cold gray ashes only 
 
 Remain of the fires that were, 
 Though the hot fire in his bosom 
 
 Will burn forever for her. 
 
 Still, still in the summer evenings, 
 
 His bugle notes are heard ; 
 They hear them out on the ranches, 
 
 And the rancher's heart is stirred. 
 
 And they ride from the shining foothills 
 
 To the old Presidio, 
 Just to look at the Spanish soldiers 
 
 And to hear the bugle blow.
 
 116 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 For 'twas nothing then to gallop 
 
 A twenty miles and more, 
 Just to dance in the wild bolero 
 
 On some distant ranchman's floor. 
 
 Or to see the brown-robed fiars 
 When the vesper bells would ring, 
 
 Or to hear the low sweet voices 
 When the choristers would sing. 
 
 For the lives they led were joyous, 
 
 A horse that almost flew, 
 And the open glade, and one fair maid, 
 
 Were the greatest joys they knew. 
 
 So it happened once, when blowing 
 
 The evening's bugle call, 
 While the passers-by all listened 
 
 To the echoes rise and fall, 
 
 That Philippe saw below him 
 
 A girl all loveliness 
 With her hair like the midnight, flowing 
 
 And loose on her snow-white dress. 
 
 It was she, it was she the longed-for, 
 
 For a moment he was dumb 
 In the sight of the lovely vision 
 
 That again to his eyes had come. 
 
 Again, with his lips on the bugle 
 
 In a wonderful melody- 
 He plays the strain that he played there 
 
 On that day at the pinon tree.
 
 118 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And she hears, and a white hand waving 
 
 Has answered the bugle tone 
 For the soul of the player playing 
 
 That day passed into her own. 
 
 So now, and these two are lovers, 
 
 And never a day is done 
 But they think how a bugle's music 
 
 Has melted their hearts in one. 
 
 
 
 And away to the fields they've wandered, 
 These two, where the blue bells grow, 
 And she loves to hear the bugle 
 
 At the old Presidio. 
 
 * * * 
 
 But the prince, and his ship where are they? 
 
 The morrow they're in the bay, 
 And the friars, dressed in friars' robes, 
 
 Will watch for them, and pray. 
 
 While away on the hills the ranchmen 
 Will saddle their steeds and come, 
 
 And the neophytes at the mission 
 Will march to the beating drum. 
 
 But look! it's the ship already! 
 
 With colors all aglow 
 And Philippe's there with his bugle 
 
 From the old Presidio. 
 
 In a moment more and the ship's boat 
 
 Has come close to the land 
 And the skipper he sees Philippo, 
 
 Has kissed him on the hand.
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PINON TREE 119 
 
 And he calls him "prince," and smiling 
 
 He gladly would have him tell 
 Of that dark night at the seashore, 
 
 Of his love had it prospered well? 
 
 And the people hear in gladness 
 
 The things that the skipper has said, 
 While the prince with the silver bugle 
 
 To the mission door is led. 
 
 * * * 
 
 'Twas a merry time that midnight, 
 
 In the mission festal place, 
 When the bugler boy sat gazing 
 
 In joy at his lady's face. 
 
 When he told her between the wine cups 
 
 How he'd left his dear Cadiz, 
 To see for himself a fair one, 
 
 That was destined to be his. 
 
 How, disguised as a bugler only, 
 
 He had wandered into the land, 
 How a kind priest found him sleeping 
 
 With his bugle in his hand. 
 
 How the day, almost, that he landed, 
 
 To the pinon tree he came, 
 And the sight of a lovely vision 
 
 Had set his soul aflame. 
 
 How the errand that brought him hither, 
 
 And the face he had come to see, 
 Were all forgot that morning 
 
 At the feast of the pinon tree.
 
 120 
 
 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 How a wonderful fate was with him, 
 And a new joy to him came, 
 
 For lo! the face he had sought for 
 And her own face was the same. 
 
 And he touched his glass to the fair one, 
 And he saw in her eyes the glance, 
 
 The same soft look and tender, 
 
 That he saw that day at the dance. 
 
 * * 
 
 In a castle at lovely Cadiz, 
 O'erhung with roses and moss. 
 
 There's a beautiful silver bugle 
 With the wings of an albatross. 
 
 And a lady in dreams there hears it, 
 As plain as plain can be 
 
 In the same love-tune that won her, 
 That day by the pinon tree.
 
 AT SAN DIEGO
 
 At San Diego 
 
 I hear the bells, the mission bells 
 
 Of San Diego town; 
 Across the bay the echo swells, 
 
 And over the hills so brown, 
 And into the valleys and canyons deep, 
 
 When the sun is going down. 
 
 I think I hear the friars still, 
 
 The saintly priests of Spain, 
 Come down the valley and round the hill, 
 
 From the mission walls again; 
 And I hear them chant as they used to chant, 
 
 To the mission bells' refrain. 
 
 I see the palm tree's stately head 
 
 Beside the mission wall, 
 The bending stream by mountains fed, 
 
 The canyon deep, the waterfall, 
 And hill, and palm, and valley fair, 
 
 And God's own mountains watching all. 
 
 And San Miguel lifts high his dome 
 
 Far over rock and tree, 
 The wild deer and the eagle's home, 
 
 The mountains at his knee, 
 While Loma bathes his rocky breast 
 
 Deep in the western sea. 
 
 I see the ships, the Spanish ships, 
 
 Ride in the western bay, 
 Where safe at last from wind and gale 
 
 The pride of sea kings lay. 
 And the friars see them, and think of home, 
 
 As they cross themselves and pray.
 
 124 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And far along the valley's sweep 
 
 I hear the vesper chime, 
 And out of canyons dark and deep 
 
 Comes back the mystic rhyme ; 
 And not a soul but prayeth there, 
 
 For it is holy time. 
 
 Gone are the halls where long ago 
 
 There dwelt that brotherhood, 
 And bare brown walls and arches low 
 
 Mark where the mission stood, 
 And the moping owl makes there his home, 
 
 Where he feedeth his hungry brood. 
 
 Miguel still lifts his lofty head 
 
 Above the mountains gray. 
 And Loma Point still makes his bed 
 
 Far in the western bay; 
 But the times are changed, and the days are dead, 
 
 And the friars where are they? 
 
 Changed, changed is all save yonder sea, 
 
 And yonder mountains brown, 
 The breakers' deep-toned symphony 
 
 When the tide is going down, 
 And the voices of the mission bells 
 
 Of San Diego town.
 
 IN ARCADIA 
 A LEGEND OF SAN LUIS REY 
 
 "It seemed to us from the ship, that this 
 was some new Arcadia, so joyous the peo 
 ple seemed, and care-free." Spanish Diary.
 
 In Arcadia A Legend of San Luis Rey 
 
 NOTE San Luis Rey Name of one of the loveliest and most prosperous missions 
 of the Spanish days of California. It was named for Louis the 9th, the French Cru 
 sader. It is situated among the beautiful hills five miles back from Oceanside, 45 
 miles north of San Diego. It is one of the few missions that is now something more 
 than ruins. 
 
 Life at San Luis Rey as at all the missions in the days of the friars was pious, 
 self-sacrificing, and strenuous; devoted wholly to converting and training the Indians* 
 
 Away from the missions, everybody seems to have lived only for a good time 
 ease, idleness, enjoyment, excitement and amusement in a semi-barbaric way. That 
 was life to them. In a sense it was half Arcadian, and will never be seen again. 
 
 Edwin Markham, the poet, in his California history asks: "Had there ever 
 before been such an epoch as that since the light of the golden age faded from the 
 hills and the valleys of the earth?" 
 
 There is a land who has not heard of it? 
 
 Where shines the sun all the sweet seasons through; 
 
 There is no winter there; the mountains sit 
 Forever gazing on the ocean's blue, 
 In silence gazing in their purple hue, 
 
 As if they'd hear the sea-tides come and go 
 
 Across the sands a thousand feet below. 
 
 Far in the West that lovely country is, 
 Where the Sierras stretch their tops along, 
 
 Where mocking-birds in ecstacy of bliss, 
 By night or day, in many a happv throng, 
 Delight the soul with melody and song 
 
 The lark itself might stop its flight to hear 
 
 Its song re-echoed in a voice so dear. 
 
 The golden years pass swiftly in that clime, 
 As once they passed in davs now far away, 
 
 And singers sing about that olden time 
 When like a dream the land in quiet lay, 
 And love and beauty had their happy day, 
 
 And no one thought of how things came or went, 
 
 In the old days, for all men were content.
 
 128 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Of days like these the story I would tell, 
 Yon Spanish days, by the Pacific shore, 
 
 When on the land and on the people fell 
 A love for joyance, as in time of yore, 
 A love of joyance never known before ; 
 
 Whatever came, they took what heaven sent 
 
 In the old days when all men were content. 
 
 Imagine then a hundred years have gone, 
 And Spanish Dons are rulers on the coast, 
 
 Whose vast domains for leagues stretch on and on 
 Where wander herds and flocks a mighty host; 
 Towns there were none, or very few at most. 
 
 But here and there a grand old mission stood 
 Whose very ruins yet should be our pride; 
 
 Half church, half castle, in their solitude, 
 
 They were as landmarks all the country wide, 
 Where friars told of Him the crucified. 
 
 An old-time highway stretched along the coast, 
 The Royal Road, they often call it yet; 
 
 A mountain pass it often was at most, 
 
 Where the lone seashore and the mountain met; 
 And there it was the mission homes were set. 
 
 A long day's journey lay from each to each, 
 Of these God's houses in the solitude, 
 
 And travelers glad the kindly homes to reach, 
 Found rest and friends where'er a mission stood- 
 And no one paid for lodgment or for food. 
 
 Just their companionship, that was enough; 
 
 And many a time, as 't were some country inn, 
 With night all dark, and winds a little rough,
 
 IN ARCADIA 129 
 
 By a bright fire they shortly would begin 
 Some tales to tell of strange things they had seen. 
 
 Thus on a night at old San Luis Rey, 
 Back from the sea it stands, a league or so, 
 
 Some travelers weary with the burning day 
 Passed round the cup to make the hours go, 
 Though 'twas the time when cocks begin to crow. 
 
 When most had given their stories, or a song, 
 Had wakened hearts as by some magic spell, 
 
 One who was silent all the evening long, 
 Spoke up and said: "I have a tale to tell 
 That near this house once on a time befell." 
 
 Strange as it seems of that night's company, 
 And its strange tales, I but remember his; 
 
 And hard the task likely enough for me 
 To give it here, nor give one thing amiss, 
 For of all arts the hardest one is this. 
 
 A clapping hands, a filling up the bowl- 
 Each listener's eyes the strange narrator scan, 
 
 A little cough to emphasize the whole, 
 A sup or two, and then the tale began; 
 And memory says, that thus the story ran. 
 
 THE STORY 
 
 It happened once, yet not so long ago, 
 A Spanish noble lived within this land 
 
 And rich he was with woolly flocks, and lo, 
 
 His acres stretched from mountains to the strand; 
 And herds he had, and serfs on every hand.
 
 130 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANTO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 For half the Indians in the mountains then 
 Were tamed to servitude, and gladly thought 
 
 It some great honor just to serve such men ; 
 So all the labor of his fields they wrought, 
 And watched the herds that mountain lions sought. 
 
 His house was such as rich hidalgos knew 
 
 Built of adobe, round an open square, 
 With long arched corridors, that opened to 
 
 Low rooms as dark as prisons often were; 
 
 Its gates and walls had an old Moorish air. 
 
 Inside the square, a cooling fountain played 
 
 Where pigeons washed their plumage at the noon, 
 
 And lilies, white as wings of angels, made 
 Obeisance to the plashing water's tune 
 That rose and fell in the sweet winds of June. 
 
 "Not very grand his house," one might have said; 
 Yet grand enough there in the vale alone 
 
 The low-built walls, the red-tiled roof had made 
 A kind of splendor all its very own, 
 And such as fit this half-way tropic zone. 
 
 Around the place a hundred live oaks stood, 
 And holly trees, too, scattered all the way, 
 
 And southern palms their fronds just trembling shook 
 In the soft breeze that seemed a sea-born lay 
 Blown from the waters of the shining bay. 
 
 In easy idleness their days were spent 
 Who lived in that fair valley by the sea; 
 
 As in a dream the seasons came and went. 
 Not much they knew of toil or industry, 
 Their herds brought wealth if wealth there need 
 to be.
 
 IN ARCADIA 131 
 
 The dance, the race, the bull-fight's bloody rings 
 Made fierce enjoyment for them every one; 
 
 They loved a horse above all other things, 
 And fleeter ones were not beneath the sun 
 And great was he who rode the swiftest one. 
 
 They were like birds that spring from bough to bough, 
 Scarce knowing where tomorrow's bread should be 
 
 Asking of earth enough just for the now, 
 So they had dance, and joyous revelry, 
 And their bright skies and music's melody. 
 
 The soft guitars and flutes, were they not more 
 Than piled-up gold, or ships or anything 
 
 Could not one night beside the ocean's shore 
 To simple lives a greater rapture bring 
 With dancing girls and mocking birds to sing? 
 
 Nor use had they for very much of gold, 
 
 Though their attire was splendid every way; 
 
 The passing ships brought riches most untold, 
 Silks from Japan and jewels from Cathay, 
 And pearls they had from their own shining bay. 
 
 And so it was from many a rude abode 
 
 Stepped stately girls, dressed as for carnival 
 
 Red-vested gallants to their sweethearts rode 
 In velvet gear, all golden laced, as well, 
 While gay serapas round their shoulders fell. 
 
 No coming ship from Spain, or anywhere, 
 But gladly traded for the rancher's stuff; 
 
 Shiploads of hides, and tallow, sold them there, 
 
 Were thrown by Indians down the deep sea bluff 
 The slaughtered herds gave for such trade enough.
 
 IN ARCADIA 133 
 
 Nature, to them, a wondrous bounty gave; 
 
 She fed their flocks as from a boundless store; 
 No fruit or flower the heart might ever crave 
 
 But shed abundance on their lovely shore; 
 
 They had content, and no one asked for more. 
 
 They had the mountains and the shining sea, 
 And the lone desert, calling to them there, 
 
 Strange as is death in its great mystery; 
 These, and the skies they had, forever fair; 
 To gaze on them itself was most a prayer. 
 
 In scenes like these Antonio passed his days, 
 From his own acres scarce he need to ride; 
 
 Mountains and lake, and valleys most were his 
 Ten leagues in length and half as many wide 
 Roamed his great herds from sea to mountain side. 
 
 Well, there he lived, this Spanish nobleman, 
 One son he had, a handsome cavalier 
 
 At rout or dance he was the noticed one, 
 There was no one quite like him anywhere 
 At all the ranches, were they far or near. 
 
 There was no knight so very debonair 
 
 Towards every one of all fair womankind; 
 
 Yet no one face to him had been so fair 
 But half disdain was oftenest in his mind; 
 And one to love he had not cared to find. 
 
 Love's roses oft were scattered at his feet; 
 
 Too oft he'd seen them bud and bloom and fade, 
 
 Ever to think of love that was complete 
 Such as sometimes a holy incense made 
 When it and life were on the altar laid.
 
 134 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Sometimes he wondered much if love could bring 
 Delights for which he never yet had yearned, 
 
 Or was it but some very painful thing, 
 
 Some fitful fire that but a moment burned 
 And then went out or into ashes turned! 
 
 Then woman's love; was it not but a whim 
 To be admired? that was her only cue 
 
 And failing this she is quick done with him 
 Who fondly, blindly has a heart to woo, 
 And kneels before her as mad lovers do. 
 
 Though to all love he was indifferent, 
 Yet loved he Beauty for its sake alone; 
 
 For well he knew the gods to Beauty lent 
 A something greater than of king or throne, 
 A gift as great as was their very own. 
 
 Yet one thing still, he never yet had known, 
 
 Or knowing half, had lost it, to begin- 
 That Beauty's charms, though wonderful to own, 
 And conqueror, most, it ever yet hath been 
 Yet Love's a thing that's harder yet to win. 
 
 Much had he read of lovers, and their pain; 
 Were not the books writ full of things so drear, 
 
 Of lovers scorned, who in the sea would fain 
 Forget the faces they had held so dear, 
 And every hope they ever yet had here? 
 
 Had he not heard the wisest sometimes say: 
 "In all your giving, be it less or more, 
 
 Give anything, but not your heart away, 
 Nor keep for love too much an open door 
 Lest grief come in where joy had been before."
 
 IN ARCADIA 135 
 
 Perhaps too much of the sweet world he'd had 
 Too many smiles from women much to care 
 
 If anything could make him very glad, 
 Or even sorrowful, such men there are, 
 Made so by fate, or some unlucky star. 
 
 But once, while riding by the ocean side, 
 
 His thoughts on races that his horse had won, 
 
 A beauteous thing upon the sand he spied, 
 And caught it quickly as he galloped on; 
 They could do that, in the bright days agone. 
 
 It was a belt of silk and filigree, 
 
 And six white pearls shone on it side by side; 
 
 And close to these, two black pearls did he see; 
 Amazed he was, and saw them wonder-eyed: 
 "Some fair one's pearls," he thought, "some woman's 
 pride." 
 
 And she whose form such a fair thing had worn, 
 She must herself be beauteous to behold 
 
 And long he looked at it, almost forlorn, 
 Thinking what loveliness it did enfold, 
 And could it speak, what romance had it told. 
 
 He held it long and all caressingly 
 
 Gazed on its pearls, so beautifully set; 
 
 Had he not read, in some book over sea: 
 
 "Who finds a pearl makes Cupid in his debt!" 
 And these black pearls were ten times rarer yet. 
 
 Once too he'd read: "Who finds a precious thing 
 And places it that very self-same night 
 
 Beneath his head, the moon all shimmering, 
 And the Great Bear shining full and bright- 
 Will see a face of very great delight."
 
 136 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 As did his race, so too Luigi did 
 
 Thought much of dreams and omens read aright- 
 
 A lure there seemed for all things deeply hid 
 And most for things seen in the pale moonlight, 
 Or when gray owls were hooting in the night. 
 
 So on that evening he could scarcely wait 
 Until the stars began their watch to keep, 
 
 Or yonder moon shone on his father's gate 
 
 Where soft the night-winds had begun to sweep, 
 Till deep he fell in a delicious sleep. 
 
 He had but slept a little hour or so, 
 
 When, in his dreams, a gentle noise he heard 
 
 Like rustling leaves when gentle breezes blow, 
 Or moving wings of some most lovely bird 
 Or silken skirts now coming hitherward. 
 
 That instant there a lovely vision stood 
 Close by his bed, bidding him rise and go 
 
 On a great quest, by town, or field, or wood, 
 And find that maid whose belt it was, for lo! 
 Her like in loveliness one could not know. 
 
 "Give her the belt as the most beauteous one 
 Of womankind, or here or anywhere 
 
 For not beneath the moon, or any sun, 
 
 Wherever loved and beauteous women are, 
 Is one so radiant, so divinely fair." 
 
 He took his dream as 'twere a great command 
 That he should go and seek her everywhere, 
 
 And know at last if in that happy land, 
 
 Where beauty languished in the amorous air, 
 There really was a face so wondrous fair.
 
 IN ARCADIA 137 
 
 So deep impressed with that thing of his dream 
 His life all suddenly a change took on, 
 
 Some moving hand mysteriously would seem 
 To beckon him that moment to be gone, 
 Nor scarcely wait the coming of the dawn. 
 
 If so indeed she the most lovely is 
 
 Of all the fair in this land east or west, 
 I would pursue it were it but for this 
 
 For beauty's sake nor weary in the quest 
 
 To see a face that's so divinely blest. 
 
 It was the May, the month of hearts' desire, 
 And sapphire skies were bending overhead, 
 
 The far-off fields with color seemed on fire, 
 The dear wild rose a wondrous odor shed, 
 And rosewood blooms the ground had carpeted. 
 
 Arrayed in costume of those days agone, 
 
 On such a morn Luigi mounted steed, 
 And the glad journey bravely started on 
 
 Not caring much to where it yet might lead 
 
 If at the last it only should succeed. 
 
 Strange things he saw now in his journeying 
 Of those old times and of the people's ways; 
 
 Still here with us oft remnants of them cling 
 Telling strange things of yonder Spanish days, 
 Though age has dimmed them in a misty haze. 
 
 Each day he traveled on his wondrous quest, 
 The more he saw the land's simplicity 
 
 A pastoral folk, with just sweet plenty blest 
 In flocks and herds their riches seemed to be. 
 And lands that stretched from mountains to the sea.
 
 138 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And with it all, soft music everywhere 
 
 Touched every heart and warmed a simple life; 
 
 That, and the dance, oft in the open air, 
 Not to loud drums and soldier thrilling fife, 
 But soft guitars that never breathed of strife. 
 
 To such a scene Luigi first of all 
 
 Reigned his wild stallion to a rancho, where 
 That night they danced a summer's festival, 
 
 Beneath an arbor in the open air; 
 
 What if, he thought, should she be dancing there. 
 
 For true it was that all the country round, 
 Nor mattered it how very far the place, 
 
 On their wild steeds by road or trail they'd bound 
 The night's fandango with themselves to grace 
 With twinkling feet and many a beauteous face. 
 
 There where the candles and bright torches shone 
 In the rude wigwam made with reed and pole, 
 
 Where swift young feet in joyous dance went on, 
 And coal-black eyes to other black eyes stole, 
 Life's simplest joys delighted every soul. 
 
 And while the moon climbs upward to the sky 
 A hundred gallants yonder swiftly ride 
 
 To see the revelers gladly dancing by, 
 And 'round the dancers in a circle bide; 
 Luigi, too, is looking wonder-eyed. 
 
 And once, as other lookers-on had done, 
 He leaves his horse and to the dancers flies, 
 
 Grasps some fair girl, and, laughing, both are gone 
 In the swift maze of dancing ecstacies; 
 Nor was harm thought of such a thing as this.
 
 140 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 But not the eyes of which his dream did tell, 
 Among the dancers did that night he see; 
 
 She who should cast about his soul a spell 
 Must fairer seem than any there could be- 
 Though all were fair in that night's company. 
 
 Now other days he wandered near and far 
 Oft to great ranches in some mountain place, 
 
 Whose girls so often very beauteous are- 
 Forever hoping there to find a trace 
 Of what must be so heavenly a face. 
 
 For wondrous strange since that night of his dream 
 Not a mere vision was he chasing now, 
 
 But a reality her face did seem 
 
 To his mind's eye and every day somehow 
 A newer beauty touched her cheek and brow. 
 
 Till now at last his mind was so intent 
 
 On things that (save in dreams) had never been 
 
 On the fair errand that he gladly went 
 
 By skies of blue and meadows sweetly green, 
 He loved a face that he had never seen. 
 
 Now oftentimes at some great house, whose door 
 Stood ever open for the stranger guest, 
 
 He stopped for days, it might be even more, 
 As was the custom, and the house's best 
 And all there was, was on the stranger pressed. 
 
 'Twas like an inn, made free to every one- 
 No door was locked by either night or day; 
 
 A ranchman's heart was very easy won, 
 No thought of recompense or any pay 
 "Welcome, come in," were the first words he'd say.
 
 IN ARCADIA 141 
 
 "Take of our best; yours is the house tonight, 
 Tomorrow, too;" and when the guest arose, 
 
 Some silver pieces sure would lay in sight 
 To use if needed when the stranger goes; 
 Such hospitality the rancher shows. 
 
 His hundred horses fed upon the plain, 
 Who needed one but left his own, and so 
 
 Took one more fresh, and galloped on again, 
 Nor questions asked if it were his or no- 
 Such things were customs in that long ago. 
 
 Once Luigi saw a village near, 
 
 And crowds of people in the plaza were, 
 
 To see a spectacle to them most dear: 
 A wild bull battling with a grizzly bear 
 As shouts for either rended all the air. 
 
 And at this scene were beauties looking on, 
 Dark-eyed and wonderful, with midnight hair; 
 
 But were they beautiful as is the dawn 
 Luigi had not found them half so fair 
 As that dreamed beauty he was hunting there. 
 
 Nor at the races was there any one 
 
 Like her he thought of on his lonesome ride; 
 
 Pale as the moonlight is beside the sun, 
 So were these girls in beauty, side by side, 
 With that fair one that he now deified. 
 
 Now other days have swiftly come and gone, 
 And other scenes Luigi visited 
 
 Go where he would, he could not find that one 
 Who here and there like a sweet phantom led 
 Whose dreamed of face he blindly worshiped.
 
 142 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Yet, oftentimes when riding on the way, 
 
 A shadowy presence seemed with him to ride ; 
 
 'Tw r as love a-borning all the happy day, 
 Then all he saw by him was beautified 
 Yet knew he not that love was at his side. 
 
 Sometimes a smile, a pretty woman's face 
 Would touch his heart a little, not for long 
 
 She of his dreams would quickly take her place- 
 Then he would hum this pretty little song, 
 Made up that morning as he rode along: 
 
 "How sweet is love how very dear love is. 
 Words were not made to tell of it at all ; 
 
 Eyes only tell of love's enraptured bliss, 
 Eyes only answer to love's dearest call, 
 'Tis eyes alone that keepeth love in thrall. 
 
 How sweet love is, O very sweet love is, 
 
 Though like the rose, it fadeth at the dawn 
 
 So be it, yet I dearly would have this, 
 The first red rose upon the garden lawn, 
 And love's first kiss, however quickly gone." 
 
 And now and then it seemed a phantom chase 
 Hoping such beauty in this world to find; 
 
 He had gone far, and not the simplest trace 
 Of one so fair as this one in his mind 
 For whom he now so many days had pined. 
 
 Once to the desert's very edge he went, 
 Hoping at last some trace of her to see 
 
 At some far ranch, or maybe shepherd's tent; 
 Or, living like some wood divinity 
 If anything so strange as that could be.
 
 IN ARCADIA 143 
 
 There on the height of a tall cliff he stood, 
 When fell the starlight on the wide expanse, 
 
 Before him lay the sandy solitude 
 
 Like a vast ocean in a sleeping trance, 
 
 On whose smooth floor the Tritons used to dance. 
 
 He saw the weird and everlasting plain, 
 
 The ghostly sage brush in its gown of gray, 
 
 The full white moon and all its starry train, 
 
 Walk through the heavens on their shining way 
 But that he sought, he found not, night nor day. 
 
 Most, now, it seemed, he should not further chase 
 The strange illusion of a fleeting dream, 
 
 Beyond the desert there could be no face, 
 Fair though it were, and beautiful did seem, 
 Like this he sought whose beauty was supreme. 
 
 "I will go back to my old home again," 
 He said at last, "and wander by the sea, 
 
 There where the pearls on the bright sand had lain, 
 Perhaps in sleep my dream comes back to me, 
 And plainer then the vision now will be." 
 
 Again the moonlight's on his father's gate, 
 Again the stars are sliding down the sky, 
 
 In vain he seeks some sign of hope or fate, 
 And though he sleep no bright face passes by, 
 
 No dream at all to tell if she is nigh. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Still, when the dawn comes slowly peeping in, 
 
 Again he rides along the sandy shore, 
 Hoping at last some little sight to win, 
 
 Some word, some look, a glance, if nothing more, 
 
 Ere hope itself forever close the door.
 
 144 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Fair was the morn on yonder king's highway, 
 The old-time trail that by the ocean led, 
 
 Where sandaled friars many a weary day 
 With seas below and blue skies overhead, 
 Trudged the long way and pater nosters said. 
 
 Now, too, the lark in yonder meadow's heard, 
 The sea itself has music in its moan; 
 
 All seems so dear, once more his heart is stirred; 
 Alone he rides, and yet is not alone, 
 For yonder dream has never from him gone. 
 
 Now here and there a brown-robed traveler 
 Walks by his side, and keeps him company 
 
 And gallant youths, as in those days there were 
 Sometimes o'ertook him by the shining sea 
 Nor any guessed what his great quest might be. 
 
 Once as the shades of evening gathered 'round, 
 They heard the bells of old San Luis Rey 
 
 Rejoiced they hear the ever-welcoming sound; 
 They looked and saw the hills back from the bay, 
 And in their midst the white walled mission lay. 
 
 Not in the land was there a lovelier scene 
 Than yonder valley and its wand'ring stream, 
 
 The purpling hills, the mission in between, 
 The pastoral silence and the ocean's gleam; 
 To them it seemed a beauteous summer dream. 
 
 On yonder walls they see the sentinels 
 
 Who watch the sea if foemen might appear 
 
 For quick a flag to the near mountain tells 
 If pirate ships again are coming near, 
 Or are they friends who seek the mission's cheer?
 
 IN ARCADIA 145 
 
 And now the great gate for them open swings, 
 And they are welcomed by the friars there; 
 
 A troop of neophytes in chorus sings; 
 
 They hear the brotherhood in song and prayer; 
 Again the Angelus sounds on the air. 
 
 The busy labors of the day are done, 
 'Twas like a bee-hive but an hour ago; 
 
 The looms, the forge, are resting, every one. 
 A thousand neophytes with voices low 
 Give praise for life and everything below. 
 
 Now night is on, and darkness has come in; 
 
 About the fireside travelers gather 'round, 
 And soon the tales and merriment begin; 
 
 Nor at some inn were happier people found; 
 
 Who has a tale to tell it, will be bound. 
 
 Now is there none or any in that hall 
 Of travelers down the El Camino way, 
 
 Like to Luigi, young, and fair and tall, 
 A likelier youth there was not in his day, 
 Go where one might from mountains to the bay. 
 
 "Take thou this seat," the friar smiling said, 
 "At my right hand," for well the friar guessed 
 
 Something uncommon this one here had led 
 He was so handsome, and so nobly dressed 
 And then, withal, he seemed to like him best. 
 
 Round went the cup in joy and merriment, 
 
 And tales were told till half the night was gone, 
 
 And no one cared how many hours were spent, 
 Or if the daylight might be coming on, 
 And hills be streaked with glory of the dawn.
 
 IN ARCADIA 147 
 
 Right busy they were who served the bread and wine, 
 The men and maids in plain and homespun dress, 
 
 And one there serves, it is a face divine- 
 Few seeing her had called her any less 
 So fair she was in perfect loveliness. 
 
 Once passing near to young Luigi's seat, 
 Filling the cups with nectar of the land, 
 
 One little moment and their eyes did meet 
 When as by accident she touched his hand 
 Then came a thrill that love could understand. 
 
 For there beside him in low-serving gown, 
 Stood one, the loveliest his eyes had seen ; 
 
 In one black braid her lovely hair hung down, 
 So soft her eyes, so lovingly her mein 
 Hebe herself had not more lovely been. 
 
 That instant and his dream flashed through his mind, 
 The fairies' words, how a fair face he'd see 
 
 If ever she who'd lost the belt he'd find; 
 But here was one as fair, perhaps, as she- 
 Lovelier than this, he knew there could not be. 
 
 And anyway, the face he had pursued 
 Had it not simply led him on and on, 
 
 As 'twere a phantom he had madly wooed, 
 And never once had any nearer won 
 Till now all thought of seeing her was gone! 
 
 In that quick instant of their meeting there, 
 Luigi knew and this one knew as well 
 
 A shaft was sped as from the viewless air 
 If good or ill, the gods alone could tell; 
 Yet two lives changed in that sweet moment's spell.
 
 148 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 There is a sign that telleth of deep love, 
 It's only speech, a look, a breath, a sigh, 
 
 No stars need drop from out the heavens above, 
 To tell if love is somewhere passing by 
 Luigi knew, nor asked he how nor why. 
 
 A little while the dawn came passing on, 
 
 Streaking the hills with crimson and with gold, 
 
 "The Angelus" had rung an hour agone 
 And travelers left the kindly mission fold 
 With thrilling memories of the stories told. 
 
 Then in a while another morning came, 
 
 And these two walked together hand in hand, 
 
 Again the hills in crimson were aflame, 
 A gentle Seabreeze swept the happy land, 
 And burning love by burning love was fanned. 
 
 Yet was there something half uncertain seen 
 In her dear eyes, an almost doubtful glow, 
 
 Half hidden thoughts, whatever they might mean, 
 She did not tell Luigi did not know. 
 Hearts may have depths that stay unsounded so. 
 
 Then by a cliff that looked down on the sea, 
 He told the story of his quest for one 
 
 A maid most beautiful of all, and she 
 
 With her sweet beauty, the glad prize had won 
 There at the mission now three nights agone. 
 
 With that he drew from out its hidden place 
 The shining belt, and pearls all radiant; 
 
 A sudden gladness swept across her face 
 
 "Oh! it is mine, the gods my pearls have sent, 
 Lost on that night that to the dance I went."
 
 IN ARCADIA 149 
 
 Then half in woe her own sad tale she told 
 
 Of a ship wrecked upon this very shore- 
 How, as a child, a year or two years old, 
 
 Brave men had saved her from the ocean's roar 
 And left her dying at yon mission door. 
 
 From old Cadiz she and her mother sailed 
 On a fair ship bound for this sunny land; 
 
 Once on the way they were by pirates hailed, 
 And once were wrecked with never help at hand, 
 And most were lost upon this very strand. 
 
 "Left so a waif, my mother lost and gone, 
 
 None knew my birth, my name, nor anything 
 
 Laurita, so they called me, so I'm known, 
 They say I'm twenty just this very spring- 
 So swift a pace the years go traveling. 
 
 That sad strange morning that they took me there 
 The friars found a necklace that I wore; 
 
 A mother's gift, no doubt, for me to wear, 
 Whatever thing might hap on sea or shore 
 A gift of pearls a princess might adore. 
 
 Well, when to womanhood I was most grown, 
 
 I changed the pearls, and made the belt you hold, 
 
 In precious filigree it all was sown, 
 
 In wire of silver or with threads of gold, 
 
 And patterned bravely from fair things of old. 
 
 And so one night to a great dance I went, 
 
 And wore my belt, 'twas such a dear delight 
 
 And many eyes on it, or me, were bent, 
 In truth, I think it was a pretty sight- 
 But going home, I lost it in the night."
 
 150 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Now they walked on, and looked down at the sea, 
 And much she told him of the days agone, 
 
 And how she grew a pretty girl to be, 
 In the old mission standing there so lone, 
 And all the strangeness that her life had known. 
 
 "I had a voice, and was made chorister, 
 To sing in yonder dear San Luis Rey, 
 
 With other girls who at the mission were; 
 And I was best, I heard the friars say, 
 And mine the prize on many a festal day." 
 
 She told him how when travelers came along, 
 And all good things the friars made them share 
 
 The mission's cheer the wine, the tale, the song; 
 It was her task to help to serve them there 
 In the plain garb that he had seen her wear. 
 
 And now to him she seemed more beautiful 
 The more she told of other days than this, 
 
 And yet too oft a little cloudlet stole 
 Across a brow he had not dared to kiss- 
 Across a face that looking at was bliss. 
 
 That she loved much her eyes cared not to hide 
 On red'ning cheeks one read the story well I 
 
 Yet, like a phantom trav'ling at her side, 
 
 There seemed a secret that she feared to tell 
 Some threat'ning cloud that on her spirits fell. 
 
 Now many days, and months, almost, were by, 
 "Would she not speak?" Luigi longing cried, 
 
 "What stood between them? were it mountain high, 
 There is no height that love can quite divide, 
 No land, no sea, but love has oft defied."
 
 152 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 "Should she not break the built-up bars of earth, 
 Tear down whatever thing might stand between 
 
 Her love and his ; was not love greater worth 
 Than any jewel that God's world had seen, 
 Than anything that ever yet had been?" 
 
 Nor yes nor nay had she once clearly said, 
 "Would she not speak and end the bitter woe, 
 
 Again the roses had grown white and red, 
 Again the poppies had begun to blow, 
 Would she not answer, whether yes or no?" 
 
 Thus he who once had only scorned at love, 
 Now shook in passion's wild and burning way, 
 
 Called on the gods in the sweet heavens above 
 To give him that for which his soul did pray 
 Or leave him lifeless ere another day. 
 
 Then on a day when bees were murmuring, 
 
 And yellow poppies like a sea of gold 
 The dear glad earth seemed almost covering 
 
 They stood again by the blue sea that rolled, 
 
 Listening as ever to the tale he told. 
 
 She listened also, pleading more delay; 
 "A little while, perhaps tomorrow's dawn 
 
 Would give her heart for that which she might say;" 
 To him it seemed as if all hope were gone, 
 Some sad'ning fate to him were coming on. 
 
 That night the moon shone glad and gloriously 
 On palm and rose and many an olive grove, 
 
 And to the chamber where Luigi lay, 
 With open windows and the stars above, 
 Sleepless and dying with the pangs of love.
 
 Ix ARCADIA 153 
 
 Scarce had the moon in the horizon set, 
 
 Scarce had the stars slipped downward toward the 
 day, 
 
 Before through fields that still were dewy wet, 
 Luigi hastened on the well known way, 
 To where his heart forever bounden lay. 
 
 The joyous blossoms on the happy ground 
 In purpling carpets by the million fell, 
 
 In every wood there was the happy sound 
 Of singing birds too sweet for words to tell, 
 Luigi heard, and felt the wondrous spell. 
 
 Up the fair stream his footsteps hurried on, 
 The dear wild rose was blooming everywhere, 
 
 It was the melting of the night to dawn- 
 Such dawns as only can be witnessed there 
 The mission bells were calling now to prayer. 
 
 Close by the sea there was their trysting place, 
 Not distant far was dear San Luis Rey, 
 
 Should they meet now, the last time, face to face, 
 Or would it be the birthtime of a day 
 When bells should ring for happiness alway? 
 
 Already now he heard her footsteps near, 
 
 And hands were clasped as yesterday they were, 
 
 Yet seeing her he almost seemed to fear, 
 And scarcely knew if his own heart did stir, 
 So pale she was when he but looked at her. 
 
 At last she spoke: "Luigi, all is gone 
 
 My great sad fear like a black storm did fall, 
 
 Last night when vespers had but just begun 
 I prayed the friar he should tell me all 
 My life, my birth, whatever might befall.
 
 154 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Well, of that ship, and many things he spoke; 
 As to my mother; doubt there could not be 
 
 How like a waif from the wild waves that broke 
 On yonder strand some brave men rescued me, 
 An Indian's child," he said, "saved from the sea." 
 
 "I had not dared at any time to tell, 
 
 What fears I had of something threatening so; 
 
 Like a huge rock that shook, and never fell, 
 Till yester night, then I resolved to go 
 And know the truth I was afraid to know. 
 
 Oft at the mission gossipings I'd heard 
 Among the girls, who on such gossip fed 
 
 "She's no Castillian" much my soul was stirred, 
 Knowing that thus I should not ever wed; 
 And now, at last, I know the truth," she said. 
 
 An olive tint that moment seemed to trace 
 
 The Indian's blood across her cheek and brow 
 
 Had death itself looked in Luigi's face 
 He had not had a face so calm as now; 
 To worse than death the heart must often bow. 
 
 "Let it be so," he answered, holding fast 
 
 The hand that trembled as he spoke the word, 
 
 "Whatever blood, or race, or speech, thou hast, 
 Thou art still mine the words are yet unheard 
 To measure love or hearts so deeply stirred." 
 
 She spoke again: "Oh, it must be farewell, 
 This very day the friar bade prepare; 
 
 A passing ship whose name I cannot tell, 
 Goes to the South. I must go with it there, 
 Nor see thee more nor here, nor anywhere.
 
 IN ARCADIA 155 
 
 "Dear art thou, yes, Oh, doubly dear, and yet, 
 All I could give thou wouldst not hold it fast, 
 
 Better to live not knowing love's great debt, 
 
 Just dreaming things that once were dear and past, 
 Than live regretting the great thing at last. 
 
 "That which I am thou wouldst not want alway, 
 Disdain of friends would be too much for thee; 
 
 Too strong my love that ever I should say 
 Thy days should go in weariness for me 
 Better, my face thou never more shalt see. 
 
 "Some have done things to save another's life, 
 I will do more, refusing thee, nor wed 
 
 The scorn thou'dst have, were I to be thy wife 
 The hard disgrace, were curses on thy head; 
 Go and forget, ere thou art worse than dead." 
 
 "Not so, dear one, on some lone island far, 
 If need be, just we two would live alone 
 
 Where slandering tongues of gossips never are, 
 And only love on the sweet winds is blown, 
 And words of love the only language known." 
 
 "Luigi, think there is not in the world 
 
 A spot so far where scandal could not go- 
 Embittered words would still at thee be hurled, 
 And thou be friendless still ; lost dear one, no ; 
 What fate has willed, let us but leave it so." 
 
 Even as she spoke, on the high hills was seen 
 A warning flag, that answered back to one 
 
 There on the mission in the valley green 
 
 A ship was sighted through the glistening sun, 
 And quick the news to every hillside run.
 
 156 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRAXO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 She looked and saw the nearing whitening sails, 
 "No pirate, that, it is the ship that nears 
 
 For my sad fate and now the signal hails, 
 And to the land the sailors' long boat steers, 
 And all is lost save time and grief and tears." 
 
 That moment, too, from yon Presidio, 
 Soldiers have come to hasten her away; 
 
 At whose command they little care to know, 
 No farewell words, her duty to obey, 
 Each looked at each as in cold death's dismay. 
 
 Speechless the two a dreadful moment stood, 
 Each thinking how below that mighty wall, 
 
 In the deep sea, so easily they could 
 
 Find death and peace: they heard the sea waves call 
 In pitying moans "the sea can end it all." 
 
 T& % $ % ~%: 
 
 That night alone in her poor lonesome room, 
 Gathering the little that was hers to take, 
 
 Sleepless in woe she waited there her doom- 
 Waited the morn that should in sadness break; 
 The morn that once was gladness for her sake. 
 
 But on that day around the mission went 
 A story, strange as any ever known 
 
 "That ship," they said, "to a near isle was sent 
 And found a woman stranded there alone, 
 In a sea-wreck she had been thither blown. 
 
 "Eighteen long years no human face she'd seen; 
 Her sole companions, birds and the wild things 
 
 That came to think her as some forest queen ; 
 
 They brought her food, just as the mother brings 
 To its young wildlings while it coos and sings.
 
 IN ARCADIA 157 
 
 She learned their voices, spoke with every one 
 
 As if they had been people of her own- 
 Companioned them until they each had grown 
 To her like children that she long had known; 
 So passed the seasons with her there alone. 
 
 It was but yesterday the ship came here 
 
 That rescued her, and brought her to our shore; 
 
 And scarce her feet on the sweet land was near 
 Till one she saw who on her slim waist wore 
 The two black pearls that had been hers before. 
 
 Leaping on land she caught in wild embrace 
 
 The form of one whose name she did not know- 
 But one near look at her sweet eyes and face 
 And hearing tones that were so dear and low, 
 She knew her child of that strange long ago. 
 
 And stranger yet and almost marvelous, 
 
 The child she lost in that great wreck of old, 
 
 Was our Laurita, living here with us;" 
 So said the gossips, as new tales they told, 
 Of that lost belt of filigree and gold. 
 
 For so it happened when her feet were set 
 
 Close to the ship, where she should sail in scorn, 
 
 Right at its side mysteriously, she met 
 
 Her who could say she was Castillian born, 
 And not an Indian, of a race forlorn. 
 
 A little time and birds are caroling 
 
 On El Camino downwards to the bay, 
 And cavaliers touch their guitars and sing. 
 
 And flowers are strewn along the happy way, 
 
 For see, it is Luigi's wedding day.
 
 158 
 
 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And at the mission of San Luis Rey 
 
 There was rejoicing, and the bells were rung, 
 
 And all went happy, and the legends say, 
 For many years, in the Castillian tongue, 
 One heard the story of Luigi sung. 
 
 And true it is, the happy couple went 
 
 In loving journeyings up and down the land, 
 
 And every sight some newer joyance lent, 
 Nor was forgot, as they went hand in hand, 
 The day he found the bright belt on the sand.
 
 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY
 
 The Rose of Monterey 
 
 It was in a golden summer, 
 
 Such as nowhere else is seen, 
 And the sea was all in sapphire, 
 
 And the hills ashore were green, 
 When our little ship came sailing . 
 
 Round Point Pinos on the bay, 
 And we saw the low white houses 
 
 And the streets of Monterey. 
 
 In a little while the vessel, 
 
 Like a swan just gone to rest, 
 Seemed asleep inside the harbor, 
 
 With the blue sea at its breast. 
 And the sailors all went shorewards, 
 
 For they each had longed to know 
 Of a rose tree they had read of 
 
 In the legends long ago. 
 
 Of a red rose they had heard of, 
 
 And a love that was supreme, 
 Of a dark-eyed senorita, 
 
 Fair as any poet's dream. 
 Oh, in all the coast land nowhere 
 
 Was there one so fair to see 
 As sweet Ellenore the beauteous 
 
 Of the rose of Ophir tree. 
 
 'Twas a story all pathetic 
 
 As was any tale of old, 
 And the legend here is written 
 
 As the sailors heard it told; 
 
 (EDITOR'S NOTE Among the sights shown visitors at Monterey is a wonderful 
 rose of Ophir tree said to have been planted as a love pledge by General Shermai> 
 then a lieutenant at the Presidio, and a beautiful Spanish girl in 1849.)
 
 162 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 As they tell it still to strangers 
 When sojourning in the town, 
 
 As the old-time gossips tell it, 
 So it here is written down. 
 
 They were joyous days they tell of 
 
 By yon wondrous sunlit strand, 
 In the Spanish days they tell of, 
 
 In the half enchanted land. 
 Music, dancing; dancing, music, 
 
 Tambourine, and Castanet, 
 Rout and ball, and racing horses; 
 
 Every soul on joyance set. 
 
 It was all enchanting beauty 
 
 Where the little city lay, 
 With its arms in half a circle 
 
 'Round the heavenly little bay; 
 And the low adobe houses, 
 
 Wreathed in roses white and red, 
 Seemed as ships out in the desert, 
 
 With the blue skies overhead. 
 
 All their valleys thrilled with color, 
 
 And the mountain paths were red 
 With the manzanita berries, 
 
 And the strange vines overhead. 
 It was color, color, color, 
 
 Only color everywhere, 
 From the far-off purple mountains 
 
 To the sapphire-colored air. 
 
 Once it was the town lay sleeping 
 In its rose-embowered bed, 
 
 Till one morn they heard strange bugles 
 And a stranger's marching tread
 
 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY 163 
 
 Heard the music of strange bugles 
 Up and down the pretty street- 
 Heard the wild notes all re-echoed 
 That the stranger drummers beat. 
 
 From the old Presidio yonder, 
 
 Looking westward from the hill, 
 Fly the Spanish flags no longer, 
 
 And the Spanish drums are still; 
 For one day like white birds sailing 
 
 Came strange ships across the bay, 
 And they raised a stranger's banner 
 
 On the forts of Monterey. 
 
 There they kept them, ever flying 
 
 From the high hill looking down, 
 But the soldiers all commingled 
 
 With the people in the town. 
 Went to balls, and routs, and parties, 
 
 Not as friends, nor yet as foes, 
 Shared the wild day's joy of hunting, 
 
 Shared the dances at its close. 
 
 Once amid the soldiers guarding 
 
 In the old Presidio, 
 Stood a youth, all tall and slender, 
 
 And with eyes like fire aglow; 
 It was Adrian, Gun-Lieutenant 
 
 At the old Presidio, 
 And there was no other like him, 
 
 From the highest to the low. 
 
 Soft of speech as any woman, 
 
 He the youngest of them all, 
 Yet no trooper there could throw him 
 
 Wrestling at the carnival.
 
 164 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Naught he loves save hounds and horses, 
 Lonesome woods and chasing deer, 
 
 Yet not Robin Hood with ladies 
 Ever was so cavalier. 
 
 On a time as May drew nearer, 
 
 May, the month of heart's desire, 
 Rode the youth to hills and forest, 
 
 Past the chaparral and briar, 
 Past the red woods tall and lonely, 
 
 Past the liveoaks darkling green, 
 Till he saw an old-time ruin 
 
 That for years had roofless been. 
 
 It was Carmel, lovely Carmel, 
 
 Serra's home in days gone by 
 Now the gray owl made its nest there, 
 
 On its walls the lizards lie. 
 Roofless now and fall'n asunder, 
 
 Yonder tower alone can tell 
 How the old-time friars listened 
 
 To the calls of yonder bell. 
 
 Still, at times they say it rings there, 
 
 Moonlight nights the most of all; 
 When a child has died they say it 
 
 Rings from yonder ruined wall. 
 And the land folks think that angels 
 
 Passing ring the mission bell, 
 And they cross themselves and whisper 
 
 When they feel the midnight spell. 
 
 There below the Carmel river, 
 Hurrying downward to the bay, 
 
 Through its woods the soldier wanders, 
 Knowing scarce the lonesome way,
 
 166 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Till at once he hears strange voices 
 
 Just beyond him in the glen- 
 Laughing tones of happy women, 
 Laughing shouts of merry men. 
 
 Drawing nearer, lo! a valley, 
 
 Long and level, stretches on, 
 Hemmed with ivied oak and holly; 
 
 There upon its grassy lawn 
 Sees he men and maids and horses, 
 
 For the morning sport will be 
 Seeing what horse runs the swiftest 
 
 To yon distant live-oak tree. 
 
 Not for gain the sport, this morning 
 
 Just this flower wreath for him 
 Who shall hang his hat first yonder 
 
 On the liveoak's nearest limb; 
 Then a fair hand holds the wreath up 
 
 In a gay and laughing mood, 
 And a pair of black eyes pierced him 
 
 Like an arrow, where he stood. 
 
 It is Ellenore, the fair one, 
 
 That his eyes have quickly seen; 
 In one moment she has snared him 
 
 Like a wild bird on the green; 
 Never any arrow swifter, 
 
 Never any Cupid's dart 
 Found its way straight to a bosom 
 
 Than her eyes to Adrian's heart. 
 
 Scarcely now he could look from her, 
 Seems so fair she is, and all, 
 
 Seems himself enchained that moment, 
 Seems his very soul in thrall.
 
 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY 167 
 
 Once she touched his hand with her hand, 
 
 All so white and fair and slim, 
 And the thrill that comes but one time 
 
 In that moment came to him. 
 
 Scarce he saw the flying horses, 
 
 Scarcely heard the signal "start," 
 For still faster than the hoof-beats 
 
 Were the quick beats of his heart. 
 Now all soon the sport is ended, 
 
 Soon the wreath of flowers is won, 
 And in merry groups or single 
 
 They are parting every one. 
 
 Soon in merry mood they're riding 
 
 On the road to Monterey, 
 And 'tis Adrian who rides by her, 
 
 And they're laughing all the way; 
 But another rides behind them, 
 
 With a cloud-like look and frown 
 Tis the son of the Alcalde, 
 
 Now the ruler of the town. 
 
 / 
 
 Once a suitor, and rejected, 
 
 Like a cloud he follows now 
 Seeing that she loves another 
 
 He has vowed a solemn vow. 
 Some day, somewhere, she shall know it, 
 
 He will pay her cold disdain- 
 Some time, though it be for distant, 
 
 She shall think of all again. 
 
 So they rode on through the forest, 
 
 To the jingling of their bells, 
 To the bells upon their bridles 
 
 Making music in the dells,
 
 168 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Till it seemed a new Diana, 
 She the goddess of the chase, 
 
 With her merry ones around her 
 Were enchanting all the place. 
 
 Never once was love-word spoken; 
 
 But in Adrian's burning eyes 
 There was that that told when near her 
 
 He was close to Paradise. 
 Yet she gave no sign nor token 
 
 Lest a secret should be known 
 Save her dark eyes' tender glances 
 
 Told his feelings were her own. 
 
 So they rode on to the city, 
 
 So they rode on to the bay, 
 And they often walked together 
 
 At the closing of the day. 
 But the strange flag floating yonder 
 
 Was forever in her mind; 
 Though her eyes were ever tender, 
 
 And her words were ever kind. 
 
 Many days passed, and the longing 
 
 For a promise ever grew, 
 For the joy of love's returning 
 
 Was a joy he never knew. 
 Though they walked alone together 
 
 In the moonlight by the bay, 
 Yet in vain he waited, listened, 
 
 For the words she did not say. 
 
 "You must speak, dear Ellenore, 
 Waiting's long and hard to bear." 
 
 But she pointed to the strang flag 
 That was floating over there.
 
 170 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 "That alone is love's undoing. 
 
 Could you leave it all for me? 
 Put our old flag where it once was, 
 
 Proudly looking on the sea?" 
 
 "Love is strong," he answered, "stronger 
 
 Most than anything; but know 
 'Twere not so if with dishonor 
 
 Love should ever think to go." 
 For a little while she waited, 
 
 And again their eyes have met, 
 And she loved him for that saying 
 
 More than she had loved him yet. 
 
 For she kaew who loved bright honor 
 
 To her also would be true; 
 And they pledged there in the moonlight 
 
 To each other to be true. 
 Many days were theirs together, 
 
 Wand'ring up and down the wold, 
 And she learned to love the new flag 
 
 As she once had loved the old. 
 
 Wand'ring in the sunny weather, 
 
 Wand'ring in the forest green, 
 With the blue bells and the heather, 
 
 Every morning they were seen. 
 Every joy seemed theirs in sharing 
 
 As they laughed along the way, 
 Till a cloud came on their spirits 
 
 That had always been so gay. 
 
 Till a cloud on their horizon 
 
 Bid the lovers they must part; 
 There were "orders" now, up yonder, 
 And tomorrow he must start.
 
 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY 171 
 
 There were oceans to divide them, 
 There were years to come and go 
 
 Ere again they'd walk together 
 With the blue sea down below. 
 
 They must part, but firm the promise 
 
 Made that afternoon with tears; 
 Love should bind their hearts together 
 
 Through the coming of the years; 
 And beside the shining waters 
 
 Of the little sun-lit bay, 
 They would plant a rose as promise 
 
 Of a happy wedding day. 
 
 Plant a rose of gold of Ophir; 
 
 When it blossomed it should be 
 Pledge that he was thinking of her, 
 
 Though he were beypnd the sea. 
 Every year that it should blossom 
 
 It should be a sign to say 
 He was thinking only of her 
 
 There beside the happy bay. 
 
 Then the ship sailed down the harbor, 
 
 As they waved a long farewell ; 
 Long she gazed upon the waters 
 
 As the white waves rose and fell, 
 Till the long low distance buried 
 
 Ship and sail from out her sight, 
 Till the sun sank in the ocean 
 
 And the stars shone in the night. 
 
 And the rose tree grew and blossomed, 
 
 Blossomed fair for many a day; 
 There was not another like it 
 In the town beside the bay.
 
 172 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Yet it brought no sign or message 
 From the one beyond the sea 
 
 "You are fooled," the people told her, 
 "Sitting by your Ophir tree." 
 
 Little harked she to their saying, 
 
 Listened but to that within. 
 "He will come has he not promised? 
 
 See the roses now begin." 
 And in sooth the rose tree flourished, 
 
 Spread as never rose before, 
 Cast its fragrance ever dearer, 
 
 Covered gate and cottage door. 
 
 Still no message years were passing, 
 
 Still her faith was as before ; 
 Ever, ever, letters sending, 
 
 Still no answer at her door. 
 Now at last she waited, only; 
 
 Still the rose its fragrance sent; 
 Oh, the days they moved so slowly, 
 
 And the ships they came and went. 
 
 He, too, there beyond the ocean, 
 
 Never tidings has of her, 
 Never word of his is answered, 
 
 And he thought of days that were; 
 Thought of that time in the forest, 
 
 Of the ride down to the bay, 
 Saw that churl again that followed 
 
 Cloud-like, frowning all the way. 
 
 "She is false, like other women; 
 
 Had it not been so from old?" 
 And he thought of that dark shadow 
 
 That pursued them in the wold.
 
 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY 173 
 
 "He it is, her old-time lover, 
 Welcomed back in place of me." 
 
 Yet he could not cease to love her 
 Yonder by the rosebush tree. 
 
 Hopeless now he sought adventure, 
 
 Flung him to the battle's strife; 
 She was lost, what was there left him, 
 
 What to him were death or life? 
 Bravest of the brave, behold him 
 
 Leading where his comrades fall, 
 Look, his sword unsheathed, is foremost 
 
 He is leader of them all. 
 
 Years have passed and all is changing; 
 
 He's a nation's idol now, 
 See, he passes there in triumph, 
 
 Wreaths of glory on his brow. 
 Once he rides through town and city, 
 
 Crosses mountains, hills and plain, 
 And almost before he knows it 
 
 Rides in Monterey again. 
 
 They will show him all the city, 
 
 The Presidio by the bay, 
 Where as but a young lieutenant 
 
 He had been for many a day ; 
 Show him Carmel, still a ruin, 
 
 Where the friars used to be, 
 And they tell him of a rosebush 
 
 That is wonderful to see. 
 
 Half-forgetting, still he'd see it, 
 
 And he wandered there alone- 
 Saw a rose tree in the blooming, 
 
 Heard a once familiar tone;
 
 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY 175 
 
 It was Ellenore, the fair one, 
 
 Holding roses in her hand, 
 With a tender smile she gives them 
 
 To the greatest in the land. 
 
 Tells him they were from the rose tree 
 That they planted long ago, 
 
 Tells the sad tale of her waiting 
 Since that morning long ago; 
 
 Of the strange, mysterious secret- 
 Why their letters came nor went; 
 
 How from that false churl she knows it 
 He had watched when they were sent. 
 
 It was he, that one rejected; 
 
 Dark revenge had led him on; 
 Came or went a ship with letters, 
 
 Quick he stole them every one 
 In the old Alcalde's office, 
 
 There the evil thing was done! 
 Thus at death he had confessed it, 
 
 Feeling his revenge was won. 
 
 All was clear, the strange long silence; 
 
 Now again the vow is said, 
 For the mystery is broken, 
 
 And their love was never dead, 
 So again the fates untangle 
 
 All the threads of years agone, 
 And again they walk together 
 
 When the moonlight's coming on. 
 
 Still the ships go to the harbor, 
 
 And the sailors go on shore, 
 And they see the wondrous rose-tree 
 
 Blooming as it bloomed before.
 
 176 THE BELLS OF CAPISTRANO AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 And they hear again the legend, 
 Strolling yonder by the bay, 
 
 Of the handsome young lieutenant 
 And the Rose of Monterey. 

 
 o 
 
 
 
 
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