GOLD STORIES OF 49 
 
 , BY 
 A CALIFORNIAN 
 
 COPELAND AND DAY 
 MDCCCXCVI 
 
COPYRIGHT BY COPELAND AND DAY 1896 
 
TO MY FATHER 
 
 THE TALES OF FORTY-NINE TOLD BY THY VOICE 
 WERE AS PURE GOLD. TAKE THEM AGAIN FROM ME! 
 CANST THOU NOT KNOW ACROSS THE DEEPS OF DEATH 
 HOW EVERY LINE IS INTER-WRIT WITH THEE ? 
 
 1 58618 
 
HING, Muse, the conquering of the mighty 
 __ West, 
 The peaceful battles of the timeless god ! 
 Sing, Muse, the men who vanquished valiant wilds, 
 The old Gold Finder s glory, and their fame, 
 The heroes of the march Across the Plains, 
 Whose dauntless souls and sinews shared the strong 
 Exultant passion of the Pioneers. 
 
 Now the Great Desert blossoms as the rose, 
 Corn tassels wave o er broad Nebraska s plains. 
 Now gripped by steel the passive land lies prone, 
 Bound fast in fitters forged in liquid fire. 
 Splendid the making of those bands of steel 
 Where men like goas of old pour molten fire 
 Down the black night in streams of glowing white 
 That writhe and pulsate in the throbbing rage 
 Of glorious life and strength they are to bear. 
 Slowly as from the ponderous loom of Time 
 The quivering bars are shuttled into form, 
 And mighty engines shape them into rails ; 
 
The flowing fire becomes a path for men, 
 
 It holds in thrall a vast wild continent. 
 
 Its seven-chained harness links the shores of sun 
 
 Fast to the snowy shores our fathers gained, 
 
 And built their forts of faith whose banners wave 
 
 From ocean unto ocean, from the bay 
 
 Where Liberty erect salutes the world 
 
 Unto the white lights of the Farallones 
 
 That flash response and beacon the far East 
 
 Beyond the Golden Gate that guards the Land of 
 
 Gold! 
 
Gold Stories of Forty-Nine. 
 
 THE FINDING OF THE GOLD 
 
 ROW gloriously the sudden signal came ! 
 A gleam of gold within a hand surprised, 
 And lo ! the vast Sierras lured the world. 
 The sweet Sierras ! there beside the stream 
 Where mountain snows flood down the rose- 
 filled vale, 
 
 And sunrise trembles on the little hills 
 That stand before the kingly white-crowned 
 
 heights, 
 
 Where sunset flames above the forest hoar, 
 And passion-flowers hang clustering neath the 
 
 figs, 
 
 And oleanders sway in rich perfume, 
 And orioles call matins to their mates, 
 3 
 
And clouds of peach and almond blossoms droop 
 Above the scars of long-deserted mines, 
 In bright Coloma, El Dorado s pride, 
 James Marshall found the gold a winter s morn, 
 A balmy winter s morn in Forty-Eight. 
 
 We were Coloma children, and the Man 
 Who found the Gold used oftentimes to come 
 Up to the parsonage where our roses bloomed 
 From Christmas unto Christmas. Always there 
 Were roses for a funeral or a bride 
 Even in winter, and in April s prime 
 A riot of blossoms, crimson, gold and white, 
 Creamy with sunshine, flushed like mountain 
 
 dawn, 
 Or redder than the poppies on the hills. 
 
 T was many years after the Gold was found, 
 Gone were the miners from Coloma s vale, 
 The heart of. El Dorado wonderland, 
 And all was peaceful in the little town 
 As in an old world village. Like a dream 
 It seemed, that our rose-filled and quiet vale 
 Had once been quick with eager crowding life. 
 The Story of the Gold was the first tale 
 We used to choose when the great winter rains 
 4 
 
Were falling fast upon our drooping flowers, 
 And we were grouped indoors about the hearth 
 Where pine cones, huge as we might compass 
 
 round 
 
 With circling arms, like roses sprung in fire. 
 The quivering petals trembled to the blaze, 
 And reminiscent still of crackling boughs, 
 Distilled such odors from their hidden hearts, 
 Spicy and nut-sweet, fruitful of the scents 
 Of virgin-bodied trees, that the plain room 
 Seemed like a palace fragrant for the use 
 Of minstrels chanting of the lore of eld. 
 
 There the Gold Finder used to tell his tales, 
 Or oft he listened while my father told 
 The stories of his life in Forty-Nine, 
 While on the cottage hearth the pine cones blazed, 
 And winter made the passion-flowers forget 
 To cover all the trellis with the cross 
 That grew beside that holy wondrous bloom, 
 The Espiritu Santo, dove of white-winged peace, 
 Beneath the fig-tree, by our vine-hung door. 
 Beside the old Gold Finder sat his friends. 
 For them alone, sweet souls of sympathy, 
 And for their children was his tongue unloosed. 
 For them he told his story of that day 
 5 
 
The world had news of speedily, the hour 
 He saw and touched the gold and found the dream, 
 The old-world dream of El Dorado, true ! 
 From the first moment Marshall knew indeed 
 He held the key upon his hardy palm 
 That should unlock the West unto mankind. 
 A fever burned within his veins for days 
 From sudden joy of knowing that the race 
 Must know of him who held the treasure fast. 
 His soul cried I ! and stood up strong and glad 
 And felt its oneness with the gods who gave. 
 Alone he lived through all his later days, 
 In his hill vineyard, guarding well the wines 
 His wine-press crushed from the rich mountain 
 
 grapes ; 
 
 Their cellar was a cave that burrowed far 
 By his hands strength into his hillside deeps, 
 Concealed these pomps of his poor outward state. 
 His was the fortune, known of gods and men, 
 Always to seek and evermore to hope. 
 Others found riches in the mines where he 
 Found disappointment, and the Golden State 
 Gave him but four years pension in reward 
 For the Discovery whose fame is one 
 With her fair fame. T is thus republics are ! 
 With nectar of wild hopes he fed his soul, 
 6 
 
Nor ever ceased to quaff until he died 
 Of the fine flavor of a coming bliss. 
 Behold him facing life s tremendous loss 
 Beside a friendly fireside telling tales ! - 
 Maker of empires, toiler for a crust, 
 Hater of men, and desperate of God, 
 Lover of little children and the sun ! 
 
 It was when the century was twelve years old, 
 
 Marshall was born upon a morn in May. 
 
 His birthplace was an Eastern town named Hope. 
 
 To him and to his people the great sea 
 
 That laves New Jersey s beaches beautiful 
 
 Was the one ocean of Columbia. 
 
 Not yet the far Pacific had become 
 
 More than a fabled water to their ken. 
 
 They lived and loved and worked, these good 
 
 folk all, 
 
 Within a day s ride of historic ground 
 Where Washington had crossed the Delaware. 
 The stories of their fireside were of him, 
 And of his glorious deeds and victories. 
 
 When he had come to man s estate, the youth 
 Followed his country s star unto the West. 
 7 
 
Three States were home to him within ten years, 
 
 To Indiana, thence to Illinois, 
 
 And thence to the frontier where flows the 
 
 Platte, 
 Moving towards sunset aye, he followed fate. 
 
 Then in his two-and-thirtieth year began 
 With five score comrades, good companions all, 
 The long, hard journey o er the desert wilds 
 And o er the unmapped mountains to the land 
 Of the broad Oregon ; thence pressing South 
 Through the great redwood forests of the North 
 He reached the Sacramento, and at last 
 In peace began to build a ranchman s home. 
 
 He loved his own free acres and the house 
 His two hands built to shelter him ; he loved 
 The comfort and the newness of content, 
 But more he loved his country ! When Fremont 
 At Sutter Buttes the Mexic arms defied, 
 Quick to his aid came Marshall and the men 
 He rallied from the valley ranchers homes. 
 
 When the three Castros had laid down their 
 
 swords, 
 And noble Andres Pico was subdued, 
 
When the old capital was ours, and brave 
 The stars and stripes waved over Monterey, 
 And fame was echoing the name Fremont, 
 Came the good soldier home to find all gone 
 That he had toiled for one long happy year, 
 His cattle stolen and his roof-tree razed. 
 Nothing and ever nothing ! He fell ill, 
 And while he lay in fever in a camp, 
 There came a Georgian woman to his aid, 
 Gay-hearted Jenny Wimmer. Her cool hand 
 Soothed the tired brow. Her smile? were heav 
 enly gifts. 
 
 She fed and nursed the soldier, and at last 
 The bitterness of life was touched with sweet, 
 And in the Wimmers cabin once more Home 
 Grew real to his belief while this goodwife 
 Told him the story of her hardy youth. 
 
 Virginian born and Georgian reared, twice wed 
 Ere six-and-twenty, jenny s wedding trips 
 Had been, the first one from the Georgia hills 
 Out to the Iron Mountains, there she wept 
 Her first love died, then to the unknown West 
 The next year journeying with her Pioneer 
 Who blazed a trail o er the Sierras heights 
 For following thousands seven years later on. 
 9 
 
She dreamed not of the part was still for her 
 When she nursed Marshall back to hope and life. 
 The autumn came, and Jenny s husband went 
 To work for Marshall, building Sutter s Mill. 
 Gay-hearted Jenny singing followed camp, 
 The first white woman to Coloma came ! 
 The New Year dawned, and Jenny, wont to say 
 The river s sands were golden, begged the men 
 To try and know, these mountains might bear 
 
 gold, 
 
 For were they not like her dear Georgia hills 
 Where the gold-hunters found some small reward ? 
 Where she had been prospecting many a time, 
 As Jersey girls go berrying, and found 
 Her little pan of pay dirt more than once ! 
 And so one morning when an Indian 
 Who helped the Mormon mill-hands, turned the 
 
 sluice 
 
 At sunset, and all night the stream s swift flood 
 Had washed the sand and gravel from the bank, 
 A shining nugget sparkled on the ground 
 Upon a large flat stone beside the race, 
 And Marshall stooped and picked the nugget up. 
 No doubt had Jenny that it was pure gold 
 When to her hand and glance the bright bit came. 
 Her woman s heart, content with prophecy, 
 10 
 
Declared she knew at sight this chosen spot ! 
 In her soap-kettle filled with boiling lye 
 She plunged the nugget, where it lay all day, 
 But came out shining from its fiery bath. 
 So Jenny cried in triumph, " T is pure gold !" 
 And Marshall, when at Sutter s Fort he learned, 
 By the new tests there made and certified, 
 Beyond all doubt t was precious ore, returned 
 And gave the nugget to his friend s goodwife, 
 And Jenny always kept it, proud and glad. 
 
 When the Discovery of Gold was known, 
 From the American River to the Bay 
 Of San Francisco the excitement leaped 
 To fever heat, and the Sierras were 
 Peopled with Californians, finding gold 
 Beside the placers of a score of streams, 
 And in a thousand gulches finding gold. 
 Swift flew the news to all the world, and soon 
 To the Sierras came a countless throng. 
 Marshall worked on until the mill was built, 
 Fulfilled his contract loyally and well, 
 Then took his pick and pan and joined the rest. 
 
 He saw the coming of the Argonauts ! 
 By far Magellan came New England s sons, 
 ii 
 
Manhattan s men and Pennsylvania s pride, 
 And Southrons, brothers in one fervent aim, 
 Fearless though storms beset them as they sailed, 
 For ever El Dorado beckoned them, 
 While past the Incas shores their ensigns flew, 
 And past the leagues of Montezuma s land. 
 
 The Isthmus knew the tramp of myriad feet, 
 And scholars saw the prophecy of song 
 Revealed upon the peaks of Darien. 
 The palm-hung river bore strange crafts, a fleet 
 Of boats hewed from great trees so large each one 
 Could bear the burdens of a score of men. 
 Women and children sickened sore and died, 
 Husbands and fathers wept and hastened on. 
 From Spain to Norway passed the startling word. 
 From England s ports and from the shores of 
 
 France, 
 
 From Germany and Denmark and the North 
 Sailed eager ships unto the new found world. 
 The sign went forth and Asia s silent hordes 
 Came to their ceaseless, noiseless, ant-like tasks. 
 And up and down in broad Columbia, 
 To all her hamlets, villages, and towns, 
 Her cities and her forests, pierced the sting, 
 The stimulus and stir of a new life. 
 12 
 
More than all dreams that avarice could share, 
 More than ambition knows or words could tell, 
 Thrilled in the veins of men in those old days. 
 All that the race has felt of conquering blood, 
 Of love of hearthstones wherefore Death is faced, 
 Of fine adventure and upspringing pride, 
 Of glory, that new born in patriot hearts 
 Moves a great army to unventured war, 
 Fired youth with fever that resistless burned, 
 Made old men young, in ardor for the young 
 Unwooed, unknown, virgin and beckoning 
 
 West, 
 Then, rank on rank, behold the Pioneers ! 
 
II 
 
 CROSSING THE PLAINS 
 
 WO thousand miles from our Coloma 
 home," 
 
 Began my father s stories by the fire. 
 The old Gold Finder listened too, and oft, 
 If children begged him, made the grizzlies seem 
 Most near and dread, by growling fierce and low; 
 Or shook his pipe as t were a tomahawk, 
 And threatened small blond heads that nestled 
 
 close 
 
 Beside the mother sitting by the hearth, 
 Or from the father s breast defiance smiled. 
 These were the tales of many a rainy eve, 
 And oft repeated in the summer, when 
 The moonlight made the valley bright as day, 
 Told by the Pastor, once a Pioneer : 
 " Two thousand miles from the Sierra snows, 
 Even in the heart of the great continent, 
 A little town was springing into life 
 Beside the waters of a tideless sea. 
 H 
 

 
 It was Fort Dearborn still to country folk, 
 Not yet grown used to speak its newer name. 
 On all the prairies near Chicago then, 
 The air was filled with farewells, for the word 
 Had come of El Dorado s treasure found, 
 And mothers sobbed fond farewells to their sons, 
 And all the wives were sweethearts in those days, 
 Fast clinging to their loves who kissed, and 
 went. 
 
 cc One morning in the balmy month of March 
 That blessed the golden spring of Forty-Nine, 
 There was a meet like many another known. 
 The Story of the Gold had all men heard, 
 The comrades joined their leader for the ride ! 
 I stood that sunny morning by my horse, 
 Waiting to mount and ride away. The dawn 
 Hung o er the prairies and the shadowy wood. 
 Close at my right hand the slow Calumet 
 Flowed slowly northward towards Lake Michigan, 
 While on the left below a little knoll 
 The Hickory s springs made crystals for the Gulf. 
 I stood, and saw the first rays of the sun 
 Shine on the parting of the ways, while all 
 My comrades came from near and far, and soon 
 It was full morn, and ours the wondrous day." 
 15 
 
Simple as Nature, tender as her love, 
 The leader and his men, their passion fine 
 Unspoken, and their patriot phrase unsung, 
 But how their words " To see the Country " 
 
 still 
 Make old eyes shine with memory and youth ! 
 
 " With souls alert we passed familiar scenes. 
 The poplars and the hickories bowed farewell. 
 An early meadow-lark sang loud good-byes. 
 The fields we left bare-bosomed to the sun 
 Prayed our return. The morning filled the 
 
 groves 
 When we reached slow Des Plaines, and crossed 
 
 the stream. 
 
 " Our horses feet made music on the road, 
 Our wagons were as chariots of hope. 
 The Morning and the Evening that first day 
 Created a new Earth before we slept. 
 Beneath the great blue sky we rose next morn 
 And bathed our faces in the prairie dews, 
 Then on past fertile fields and amber streams 
 And ever onward moved our happy men. 
 With song and jest and many a jocund plan 
 We rode towards sunset for that first gay week. 
 16 
 
But soon our merriment was changed to tears, 
 Our smiles turned sighs, and bravest hearts were 
 
 chilled, 
 
 For sudden sickness smote a comrade down. 
 He laughed at camp-fire, died before the dawn. 
 Our shining spades first toil was in the earth 
 Of the home State to dig for him a grave. 
 Beside a rivulet we chose the spot, 
 The spring s first green spread o er a gentle slope. 
 Beneath a clump of trees they laid him down, 
 And listened reverent while I read the Book 
 Whose sacred words in this first wilderness 
 Committed him to silence and to God. 
 We journeyed on and crossed the mighty flood, 
 Father of Waters,, in full majesty, 
 Past wooded islands and the further shore. 
 Saint Joseph was the patron saint, they said, 
 Of Pioneers, since in Saint Joseph s town 
 We filled great wagons with all needful stores, 
 And joined at last the thousands, rank on rank, 
 Who moved together gainst the Western wilds." 
 
 For them the mystery and pain and bliss 
 Of knowing Nature in her sternest moods 
 And in her hours of yielding new delights. 
 And ever more the tale was simply told : 
 
 2 I 7 
 
u By bugle blast the camps together called, 
 Made rules for mutual safety and for guard. 
 Each company then chose its captain, and 
 On every day another wagon led 
 Our company s advance, then fell to rear. 
 One man was leader, but each man was first 
 In his true turn for driving at the head, 
 And feeling manhood s power of mastery 
 Fronting the unknown in our caravan. 
 Each man was armed with rifle, pistol, knife, 
 Each wagon drawn by oxen, three good pairs 
 At least for every load. On either side 
 Walked men on foot, and others rode one day 
 And walked the next. Sometimes the horses led 
 Behind the wagons had no riders while 
 The slow advance was made. A dozen miles 
 On every day the average, now six, 
 And often twenty, sometimes no advance. 
 At night the circling tents made a brave guard 
 For all the wagons burdens, and the watch 
 Kept a look-out for thieves, or Indians. 
 Even as the waves mount to the drawing tide, 
 By the true consciousness of law was led 
 In fine democracy our self-ruled host, 
 Our bannered host of thirty thousand men, 
 The wagons stretching far as eye could see. 
 18 
 
" And Nature all that spring of Forty-Nine 
 Nurtured us, Plainsmen, in strange ways and 
 
 sweet. 
 
 Never before had trappers or old guides 
 Beheld such early blessing of the grass. 
 The rivers vales were velvety with green, 
 Abundant pasture for the patient beasts, 
 The toiling oxen, and the hard-rid horse 
 With the long trail before him. And sometimes 
 New springs were found, delicious waters gave 
 Fresh cheer unto the Plainsmen, and the skies 
 Day after day and week on week were bright. 
 Life smiled upon the feeble with new strength, 
 And aged men grew youthful with delight 
 In the wide flowing freedom of the Plains. 
 
 " On April nights when heaven s flood-gates oped, 
 And peal on peal the sky s artillery boomed, 
 And lightnings made the midnight bright as noon, 
 Wrapped in our skins of buffaloes 
 Beneath our tents we heard the storm, and joyed 
 With pleasure primitive in the wild night. 
 One May morn we were careless, lost the trail, 
 And all day long traversed a barren waste, 
 That brought us sheer against great river bluffs. 
 Unfordable the stream, and dark the night, 
 19 
 
And so we waited till next morning came, 
 And all the next day sought for the lost trail, 
 But not till sunset were we safe again 
 With the good company that mile on mile 
 Made of the wagon train a stately host 
 Moving with measured, solemn march and slow, 
 The wagons covers white like soldiers tents, 
 The buglers welcoming call a warning, too. 
 
 " Another day, one of our oxen lamed, 
 We hitched a cow into his place, and she 
 Was ready for her share of work. We cheered 
 The hard-worked beast that night. And she 
 
 was fed 
 
 With soft spring-grasses by a woman s hand. 
 Few were the families in Forty-Nine 
 That crossed together ; later many went, 
 But in our caravan the wives were few, 
 And few the children, and their gayety 
 Was part of all the music of those days. 
 How we all smiled and wiped our eyes once 
 
 when 
 
 Beside the camp-fires sitting a chill night, 
 Above the prairie stillness, soft and clear 
 We heard a woman s voice sing Home, sweet 
 
 Home ! 
 
 20 
 
" We burned long rosin-grasses, missing wood, 
 And thanked kind Nature for their short-lived 
 
 flame. 
 
 New foods we tasted, good and wild and strange. 
 We startled plovers winging from the grass 
 Beside brown streams that ever clearer grew. 
 The antelope, bright graces of the plain, 
 Lured all our huntsmen, bounding fleetly by. 
 We jested at our gifts from Nature s hands, 
 Declared the whetstones, found one bright May 
 
 day, 
 
 Perfect of grain beside an ochre knoll, 
 Were left to edge our comrades dullard wits. 
 We gathered nosegays of the prairie flowers, 
 Huge feathery blooms of pink, or sprays of red, 
 And sent them to each other when at night 
 The music of the violin and fife, 
 The banjo, clarionet, and tambourine 
 Summoned the dancers to a camp-fire ball. 
 Twas pleasant too whene er our school-bred 
 
 men 
 
 Sought likeness in their poets for the sound 
 If wolves made choruses for us by night, 
 And pleasant too when they took turn about 
 Reciting poetry sometimes for hours, 
 Their voices sounding in a rhythmic chant. 
 21 
 
" Homeric came the trampling to our ears 
 Of the great herds of buffaloes. Like clouds 
 Across the morning swept their thunderous 
 
 trains, 
 And, not content, we looked for mammoths too. 
 
 " Summer had come before the Red Man crossed 
 The trail we followed, league by slow-passed 
 
 league, 
 
 But one June day a band of warriors came, 
 A hundred Sioux, all riding like the wind, 
 Their bows and feathers pictured gainst the 
 
 sky, 
 
 As fast with lance in rest the men came on. 
 I raised my hands, palms upward to the sky, 
 Then forth in friendship, waving them for peace. 
 Swift they dismounted and each warrior sat 
 Silent in line. Their chieftain beckoned me, 
 And so I went and shook his outstretched hand. 
 He sought a wounded enemy we hid, 
 An arrow-pierced Pawnee, who, half alive, 
 Beside the trail one of our men had found, 
 And nursed him in his wagon. I signed truth, 
 Kneeling I bent my head, as who should say, 
 The Great Spirit cares for him. T was even so. 
 Once more the warrior shook mv hand and went. 
 
 22 
 
" One day we came upon a peaceful town 
 Where Indian girls and women welcomed us, 
 Walking beside their fathers, husbands, sons, 
 And brave in beaded costumes, flowery gay. 
 Their gowns of skins were smothered with the 
 
 beads 
 
 Bright as their eyes that stared most curiously, 
 At these white people who by some strange gift 
 Had patience for so slow and toilsome march 
 To find a yellow metal, useless, too, 
 Since who could eat or drink it when t was found? 
 T is true it would make pretty beads, but then 
 Such things as these they might find nearer home. 
 
 " The Indian men who from that village came 
 To greet us were the noblest fellows all 
 
 o 
 
 I e er beheld, brown, naked to the sun 
 As God had fashioned them, their shapely limbs 
 Unfettered, strong, and splendid to be seen, 
 Their supple bodies, graceful and erect, 
 Fine with free life and vigorous with health. 
 When I remember them, I always think 
 Of my first glimpse upon the trackless plains 
 Of the wild horses galloping in herds, 
 Nobler by far than any stall-fed steeds 
 Can ever be, finer to look upon 
 23 
 
Than handsomest horse e er fed and groomed by 
 
 men. 
 
 The wild oats fed these horses of the plains. 
 How hardly fared the man who dared their fire 
 And tried by trickery to master them ! 
 A splendid stallion caught one starry night 
 By traps and ropes, defied our utmost strength 
 And efforts for his holding. c Let him go ! 
 We cried at last, and were more proud than he 
 To see him bound again across the night 
 Defiant even of his liberty ! 
 
 " How long our way beside the turbid Platte! 
 How fine the great reunion when at last 
 We met again with hundreds of our train 
 Scarce seen for weeks, where the Saint Joseph 
 
 road 
 
 Rejoined the old Fort Kearney trail, and where 
 The great South Fork was forded turn by turn. 
 
 " Deep quicksands threatened at the best of 
 
 fords, 
 
 And fierce the treacherous dragging at the wheels 
 Across its wild half-mile of waters. Yet 
 Old Plainsmen to this day speak of the Platte 
 With fond affection, for the river was 
 24 
 
Friendly to man and beast three hundred miles. 
 Through storms and sunshine, across fertile lands 
 And treeless plains beside the Namaha, 
 On past the Little Blue and the Lost Run, 
 Still the great river was a constant friend, 
 And when at last it must be left behind, 
 Forded and conquered by our caravan, 
 Its quicksands had a charm for memory. 
 
 " Sometimes by fruitful valleys and clear streams, 
 
 Sometimes by fields of alkali we went, 
 
 And deserts crossed. The first hills that we saw, 
 
 High and precipitous, of oolite rock 
 
 Based upon clay and hardening upward seemed 
 
 Domes of a great cathedral filled with hope, 
 
 Where cheerful waters would refresh us and 
 
 Thirst might be quenched in fearlessness, where 
 
 prayer 
 
 Would quick become the natural speech of man 
 In gratitude and praise for perils past. 
 
 " They who are prairie born, and first behold 
 Majestic mountains have a keener sense 
 For their inspiring than those mountain-bred, 
 To whom the lights and shadows on the heights 
 Are as familiar as the fall of day. 
 25 
 
When first I saw these distant rising hills 
 
 o 
 
 The tears thrilled through my very nerves and 
 
 choked 
 
 My voice while calling all the men to come 
 And hasten towards those heights Delectable 
 Whose fair deception but postponed delight. 
 For still receding as the men advanced 
 Twice twenty miles the mountains lured them on 
 Before the first spurs that had seemed so near 
 Were reached. And there the passing host had 
 
 left 
 A thousand signals of their march and quest. 
 
 " Here men, moved by the passion of the hills, 
 
 Thrilled mightily with eagerness and pride 
 
 In the new call for all their manhood s strength, 
 
 And therefore humanly in thirst of life 
 
 Desiring speech with their Beloveds far, 
 
 Had carved on bleaching bones of buffalo, 
 
 Or skulls of antelope, long messages, 
 
 Should any choose to take them to their home. 
 
 Letters were left in crevices of rock 
 
 Fine words of hope and courage scattered round ! 
 
 "To all who came those signals brought good 
 cheer, 
 
 26 
 
Though none would go to take the letters home 
 Back to the States for those whom Love had 
 
 left 
 
 These letters, the fond offering of hearts 
 Brave for new dangers, and rejoiced to be 
 Here at the foot of wild tremendous heights 
 Yet longing for a lingering touch of those 
 At hearthstones far. No lyre of love-swept 
 
 strings 
 
 Might worthy sing the flowering of faith 
 And tenderness in these, Love s letters, doomed 
 To fade and mingle with the mountain s breath, 
 To spend their sighs in autumn s chilling blast, 
 While far away were wives and maids who 
 
 yearned 
 In memory of kisses and in hope ! 
 
 " On went the Pioneers ! And castled rocks 
 And minarets of temples hewn in stone, 
 Bastions of fortresses immutable, 
 And ruins of great cities, seemed to be 
 The solemn nearing mountains. Barren plains 
 Gave place to barren hills. Sudden before 
 Snow-crowned stood Laramie ! Emotion fine 
 Moved in a thousand hearts, yet where s the 
 man 
 
 27 
 
\\ ho croiied < Fony Nine who will not s.iy 
 
 lh.it l.aiamie is not rcmcmhcicd best 
 
 KOI home cooked food th.it horn the Fort was 
 
 brought ? 
 
 l oi s.ikiii! , pilot hicad lot pic was joy 
 Like that of shipwrecked m.miuis when led 
 1 iom famine unto plenty! t was indeed 
 Not unlike shipwreck when a wagon tailed, 
 Was broken, or its oxen lamed, and this 
 More bitter felt because the praiiic ciaft 
 Could not give rescue as they hailed and passed. 
 Hut trouble waited not on that first \cai. 
 The hardships of the men of Forty-Nine 
 Were multiplied in Fifty. Then, indeed, 
 Woe and disaster, death and sin and strife, 
 Attended on the desperate strug;glin>; hordes. 
 
 u After our distant glimpse of l.aramie 
 Mow many weary days before we reached 
 Sweetwater River! Sweet indeed the stream, 
 Keiiesh uij^ to us all, both man and beast, 
 Atici the sod.i or the sand-tilled Hoods, 
 For the last thousand miles. Mv memory 
 (>i the old Rockies always is mixed in 
 \Yith water, water ! Ah, no one can IUKSS 
 The joy of tired limbs and ot aching throats 
 28 
 
That feel delirious cold of mountain springs. 
 
 Once on the borders of a wide morass 
 
 High in a rocky gorge, in the wild pass, 
 
 We dug for water, and we found at first 
 
 A half-foot layer of transparent ice 
 
 Deep neath the swampy pass for months preserved, 
 
 And now revealed for our contentment while 
 
 Fiercely the sun beat on those treeless heights. 
 
 Never were ices half so eagerly 
 
 ed on from hand to hand as buckets were 
 Filled with this mountain s gift to Pioneers. 
 
 " Crossing the Rockies, daily wonders grew 
 Strangely familiar ; huge enormous cones 
 Standing in isolated majesty 
 Passed stately by, as in a storied march ; 
 Red earth of buttes took tones most fanciful. 
 High were the stars by night, and sweet the air 
 Of the great table-land where antelope 
 And buffalo were plentiful as birds. 
 The Rocky Mountain Indians were at war, 
 JJut we went on in peace, nor saw them once, 
 Past traders huts where half-breed children played 
 About the lodges. By and by the camp 
 Where Simonton with troops for Oregon 
 e<l beside Green River Ferry. Ah, 
 tf 
 
No words can tell how good it was to see 
 Our country s soldiers by that snow-fed stream ! 
 All night across a mountain desert drear 
 Our weary teams and men had hardly toiled, 
 Not daring start beneath the July sun 
 Across the arid waste whose ashen soil 
 Cast up its suffocating clouds like waves 
 Of a mysterious, bitter Lake of Death. 
 All the dark night and all the awful day 
 For three-score miles, with anguish like despair 
 We struggled painfully, the desert crossed, 
 And lay down for the night in a ravine 
 Too much worn out to give our cattle care 
 Or find the food within our wagons stored. 
 And then next morning in the early light 
 Remembering our patient, faithful beasts, 
 And driving them to find some water near, 
 Mounting a little hill we saw that camp, 
 There floated dear Old Glory in the breeze ! 
 
 " It was indeed a glorious Fourth for us, 
 That Independence Day of Forty-Nine ! 
 Green River Ferry was a stamping-ground 
 Inspiring eloquence in dullest men ; 
 The river there flowed down through willows 
 green, 
 
 30 
 
And cotton-woods were growing on the banks. 
 
 Its icy waters, rushing cold and pure 
 
 From the Wind River, swept down towards the 
 
 Gulf 
 
 That Cortes found, where Colorado s stream 
 Mingles its flood with those far distant seas. 
 
 " Far to the north, white-browed, magnificent, 
 Height upon height stupendous mountains ranged. 
 There, in this mighty forum of the West, 
 When sunset s banners floated red across 
 The blue of heaven and the eternal snows, 
 From every Plainsman s tent and from the 
 
 camp 
 
 Where bivouacked the troops for Oregon, 
 Came forth the men refreshed, and cheered the 
 
 Day. 
 
 "And when one virile voice, sonorous, clear, 
 Struck up the Nation s hymn, a thousand more 
 Joined in the grand refrain, and splendidly 
 Rolled forth upon the fine exalted air 
 The patriot chorus of the Pioneers, 
 Saluting there our Country and her sons. 
 4 Land of the noble free ! The echoes wild 
 Bore on the melody to templed hills, 
 
To every rock and rill and mountain-side 
 
 The cry exultant rose, 4 Let Freedom ring ! 
 
 " And late that eve after the tale was told 
 How Marcus Whitman, long before Fremont, 
 With his young wife had crossed these wilds to 
 
 plant 
 
 In Oregon the standard of the faith, 
 And how on coming to the famous spring 
 In the South Pass whose waters flow both ways, 
 They all knelt down, while waved the stars and 
 
 stripes, 
 
 And with their Bibles in their hands, gave thanks 
 For the fair unknown land they claimed for 
 
 God, 
 
 Again a chorus rose ! And now the stars 
 Shone on our men while we remembered him, 
 Hero and martyr, faithful priest of God 
 And of his country, who here too had passed. 
 Then soldiers joined with Plainsmen, thinking 
 
 all 
 
 Of voices heard on Sunday morns at home ; 
 And mingling thoughts of love with worship s 
 
 words, 
 
 We hymned our Maker s praises. And the night 
 Received our voices, thrilled with fervor deep, 
 32 
 
While men of many creeds with one accord 
 Singing aspired to crown Him Lord of all ! 
 
 " Beyond Green River but a little way 
 
 We reached a grove of lovely conifers, 
 
 A wooded island on the bleak plateau, 
 
 A green oasis in a treeless land. 
 
 For three-score days no groves had we beheld, 
 
 And this deep forest bore such balms for us 
 
 As none may know who ne er have hungered 
 
 long 
 
 For sight of good green boughs instead of shrubs 
 And stunted bushes of the treeless plains* 
 
 * c In the Bear River valley first we saw 
 Four seasons round us all in one view joined ; 
 Above was everlasting winter, stern 
 Upon the peaks unconquered, and below 
 The summer plain, while round about us spread 
 The flowers of spring and fruits of autumn grew. 
 On past the Bear Spring geysers, and the cones 
 Of spent volcanoes, through romantic dales 
 To the Snake River country where no guard 
 Was needed for our camp, the natives there 
 Were all such Christian heathen. But the snakes ! 
 Enormous reptiles dared our bravest men. 
 3 33 
 
The terror of Eve s daughters was our own 
 Although we left full many a rattler dead. 
 The Humboldt deserts brought our hardest days, 
 The dread, mysterious Basin was a foe 
 Unconquerable to many a traveller. 
 After the mountain springs a fortnight s toil 
 Where no grass grew, where the oases were 
 More rare than angels visits, and the sun, 
 The August sun, shone glaring on our camp, 
 Where night by night we struggled sadly on. 
 In the long caravan there sickened then 
 All of the feeble, and death daily came 
 Through one long week, and claimed a sufferer. 
 None of my friends, t is true, were called to 
 
 mourn, 
 
 But all are friends in such sore straits. Aye, oft 
 When tired and worn and ready to despair 
 I have seen men give one another care, 
 Forgetful of their own keen sufferings, 
 Holding the can of precious water close 
 To parching lips, smiling till staring eyes 
 Drooped into rest, and breath came softly back. 
 
 "The Indians here were troublesome, and guard 
 Was constant and at times there came 
 From trains ahead the news of plundering. 
 34 
 
On through gaunt sage-brush, torment of the 
 
 plains, 
 
 Our trail was past the salt springs, and the hot, 
 And death in life seemed every burning day. 
 
 : " There came at last a brilliant August eve, 
 After the last oasis had been passed, 
 When the great mountains that had grown more 
 
 near 
 
 In dim high splendors, flung their crests of snow 
 Against the glories of a violet sky. 
 
 The great Sierras in the sunset stood, 
 And soon each rugged peak that towered white 
 Above its rolling snowy fields grew red. 
 Shining Sierras, beaconing to us, burned 
 Like great red lamps above the Land of Gold. 
 
 " Peace like a river flowed when the first streams 
 Of sweet hill-water we at last had gained, 
 And hastening onward through the wild ravines 
 Or the black canons of the foothills, found 
 Rest in the deep pine forest of a vale 
 High on the mountain-side, where colonnades 
 Of mighty trees roofed o er our little band. 
 Soft fathomless shadows wrapped us in content. 
 35 
 
We lay and rested while the rivulets 
 Sung melodies for us more sweet than song. 
 Cool, solemn, pillared, rose the noble pines, 
 And as we lay full length upon the ground 
 Up from their boles to their great waving tops 
 The light of heaven seemed toying with the 
 
 shade, 
 
 Until the high boughs melted with the wind 
 That murmured there, and light and sound seemed 
 
 one. 
 
 Then, tired men all, we slept until the call 
 Came from the camp for workers ! Supper now 
 Was no more bacon, but the mountain trout. 
 
 tc For twenty days Sierra passes through 
 Our happy men rode onward. Troubles were 
 Light as our spirits, and the day we found 
 The first pale slate whose outcrop pledges gold 
 Was such a day as makes all hardship dear ! 
 And scarce the wiser heads could keep the 
 
 young 
 
 From leaving all and setting forth alone 
 To Feather River and Grass Valley where 
 The diggings were the richest. But the need 
 Of guard against the Indians kept the men 
 Still in large bands ; the need indeed was great. 
 
 36 
 
" And now prospecting kept us all alert 
 For golden findings, but our pans were used 
 More to boil coffee than to wash out gold 
 Until we all had reached the trading camp, 
 Over the mountains. Welcome was the sight 
 Of habitations that at least were homes 
 In that they moved not on from day to day. 
 How our hearts bounded when upon the heights 
 We first beheld the camp ! Like men at sea 
 Tossed by the waters to a longed-for shore 
 We reached the adobe houses and the tents, 
 And heard of the new city that had sprung 
 Into full life while we were on the way ! 
 To Sacramento many went at first 
 To get provisions and prepare anew, 
 While we impatient ones made haste to come 
 To El Dorado and her famous mines. 
 
 " Here men made fortunes, here were fortunes lost 
 In placers and in quartz. Here gaming grew 
 To be a fiercer fever than the fire 
 Which burned in men for riches, but withal 
 There was a wild nobility of soul 
 Ruled lawless men in those old golden days. 
 From camp to loyal camp there stretched a bond 
 That knitted men together in the strife 
 37 
 
And made each outlaw and each gentleman 
 One in the pride to hurt no helpless one, 
 That scorned all falsity and branded black 
 All lack of brother s faith as worse than sin. 
 A man was sure to find good friends if he 
 Was friendly unto men, and this when he 
 Panned out a thousand dollars or but one." 
 
 * And, father, did you find great heaps of gold?" 
 A childish voice would ask. The Pastor smiled, 
 " I found a little now and then, not much, 
 But just enough to take me back next year 
 In swift ships by the Isthmus to the States, 
 And, by and by, bring here with me again 
 One who is worth her weight in gold, you know." 
 And here his brown eyes at the blue eyes smiled 
 That ever smiled again at him, and us, 
 One who loved well Coloma. And the vale 
 Where the white roses bloom forgets her not. 
 Ah, dear Coloma ! There these tales were told 
 A thousand times more picturesque and strong 
 Than here set down, with countless details more, 
 But always ending, while the Pastor smiled, 
 As the old stories end, " And so they all 
 Lived happy ever after and in peace." 
 
Ill 
 
 THE LOST GOLD LAKE 
 
 ERE was another tale more strange 
 than all 
 
 Told one June eve beneath the spread 
 ing fig. 
 
 The river s ripples murmured from the sands, 
 And turtle-doves cooed in the tender dusk 
 Where lilies breathed and ruddy poppies drowsed. 
 The mocking birds called from the wood. The 
 
 air 
 
 Was soft with breath of roses. All the vale 
 Slumbered in fragrance, but the chaparral 
 And manzanita on the mountain-side 
 Stirred, as by wandering spirits gently touched. 
 Above the cedars hung a tawny moon, 
 And the sweet starry sky seemed strangely near. 
 
 The old Gold Finder had been sitting long 
 In silence. He had seen himself revealed, 
 His simple, stern, heroic figure strong 
 39 
 
In the clear foreground of the Early Days, 
 When he was herald to the Pioneers. 
 
 At last he spoke as by some sacred law 
 Forced to complete the story and declare 
 Why in these latter days men saw him oft, 
 A white-haired mystic, wandering on the hills 
 Of El Dorado, seeking aye to find 
 What ne er again he was ordained to find. 
 Perchance his secret still is for the world, 
 For still the snow Sierras guard its key, 
 And still the Golden Lake remains unfound. 
 
 Through all his months and years he sought to find 
 Once more the way unto the Lost Gold Lake. 
 There came a day he died when far from home, 
 And men incredulous of him, their Seer, 
 Brought back his brave and undefeated clay, 
 And buried him where first he found the gold 
 In bright Coloma, on his vine-clad hill. 
 
 There California hath honored him. 
 His monument is beacon to the vale 
 Above the brook whose murmuring waters fall 
 Into the mountain river s singing deeps 
 Cold with the snows that chant his requiem. 
 40 
 
It was in the high Sierras, thus the tale, 
 That the Discoverer found the Golden Lake. 
 He had been gone from home for many a day. 
 Huge live-oaks sheltered him, and wild fruits gave 
 Of their abundance. Evermore he sought 
 For signs of precious metal. Evermore 
 Pure goldless crystals urged him on and on, 
 Still seeking for the slate whose pallid hue 
 Is roseate unto a hope deferred, 
 In strange deep canons never found before, 
 Where clustering redwoods shut the sunlight out, 
 And mosses tapestried black cavern doors 
 Along the mountain-side with brilliant grey 
 Shot through with woof of rose and amethyst. 
 
 It was the evening of a weary day, 
 
 He stood surrounded by bright mica knolls, 
 
 That mocked him with their glitter. All about 
 
 They shimmered with false splendors. Sunset fell. 
 
 Full forty yellow summits faded dun 
 
 Above a plain, vast, bleak, and desolate. 
 
 Sudden he saw, deep in a dark ravine 
 That pierced a path between two sombre heights, 
 A shining doorway, softly radiant. 
 Swiftly he neared the portal, pausing there, 
 4 1 
 
For murmurs came of faint enchantments, faint 
 
 As songs in dreamland heard, an anthem borne 
 
 Upon the winds from echoes lulled to sleep 
 
 Within earth s bosom. When the music ceased 
 
 He entered in, while paled the radiance 
 
 Upon the columns of this temple chaste 
 
 And worshipful, hewed from the mountain s heart. 
 
 Long plumes of fretted stone hung motionless 
 From the great vault, or waving seemed to cling 
 To lofty pillars set in solemn rows 
 Of lustrous alabaster, milky white, 
 And marshalling between them in the dusk 
 Upspringing stalagmites so crystal fine 
 That every facet shone like Pleiad pure, 
 And exquisite with myriad tints of pearl. 
 
 Far in the holy cavern was a shrine 
 Where the clear waters of a little spring 
 Dripped from the shadows down into a font 
 Below a cross worn in the living stone 
 By the baptismal waters. There he knelt 
 Praying for freedom from his torturing dream 
 Of golden wonders still for him to find. 
 Even as he prayed he slumbered, sinking down 
 Beside the altar and the crystal font. 
 42 
 
And as he wakened with the new-born light, 
 Lo ! mystic whispers came : On the third day ! 
 On the third day ! On the third day ! he heard, 
 Repeated thrice. He rushed forth from the cave, 
 And turned not back to his fair refuge more, 
 Nor glanced again at its serene retreat. 
 Onward he fared ! Morning had come and hope. 
 
 All day he wandered through grim canons, and 
 Through all the starless night paused not, nor 
 
 slept. 
 
 He heard the moaning of the forest beasts 
 In troubled slumbers, and the faint far cry 
 Of midnight masters of the upper world 
 Where music melts from every icy rill. 
 And all the second day, and all the night 
 He followed the strange whispers whose portent 
 Promised him more than mortal breath might 
 
 speak. 
 
 On the third morrow, ere the silver dawn 
 Had touched the sleeping valleys, ere the East 
 Had shown the stars a first soft plighting ray, 
 At that deep hour when all the wild things wake, 
 When windless nights stir suddenly with life, 
 And men who stand bare-browed unto the sky 
 43 
 
Learn infinite secrets of the universe, 
 He paused before a monument of snow, 
 The first white dome above the growing world. 
 The last king pines knelt captive at his feet, 
 Obeisance murmuring, and the morning star, 
 Mellowing the darkness, gleamed upon the way 
 That led up steep pure heights. And, as he stood, 
 Across the snow shone forth a crimson glow. 
 Now here, now yon, it flashed in flowers of flame 
 Like those of little cones upon the hearth 
 In valley homes when winter fires are low. 
 
 Onward he pressed. The morning star grew 
 
 pale, 
 
 While gliding o er the peaks dawn silvery came. 
 A second snowy dome loomed vast before, 
 And on its right another. These twin guards, 
 Dividing like a gate the broad white way, 
 Narrowed his path ; and as he stood between 
 Before him lay the Garden of the Snows ! 
 
 Small crimson flowers flamed at his feet. They 
 
 grew 
 
 Waving their tiny petals in the air 
 Far, far above the last forgotten pines. 
 His mind refused its credence to his eyes, 
 44 
 
And doubt bedewed his lashes with a mist. 
 A sweet keen languor pierced his very veins, 
 And slow he sank upon the earth s white breast. 
 
 Then while he lay and watched the crimson 
 
 flowers 
 
 Majestic glories flashed across the North, 
 Dimming the East and filling heaven with fire. 
 The spacious vault was luminous, the morn 
 Suffused with heavenly ardors. Streamers swelled 
 And arched as by celestial breezes swayed. 
 Lustrous were all the near and utmost peaks 
 Of ranged Sierras, yearning upward, faint 
 With passion of reflection. Banners gold, 
 Crimson and violet, undulated slow, 
 Blended with floating azure chains and green 
 In exquisite confusion, or thrilled white, 
 Or deepened to that tint of marvel pale 
 Named amber of Chaldean seers, who 
 Beheld their mountains and its color one ! 
 
 Even as he gazed the Night s Aurora fled 
 To the embrace of her pure sister Morn, 
 And, soul in soul, they met the conquering Sun. 
 He gazed and saw the crimson flowers fade pink. 
 Paler they grew as seashells in the dusk 
 45 
 
While whispering ocean kisses a lone beach. 
 Then up he rose, as warm of spirit and sense 
 As if beside his hearthstone when the log 
 Had kept its living coals all day and night. 
 Erect he stood. Beyond the hither gates 
 Of the fair vanished Garden of the Snows, 
 He saw again two domes immense and pure, 
 So icy pure the sun s expanding rays 
 Bathed the great crystals in irradiate floods 
 Of light less luminous than theirs. Once more 
 He heard the whispers whose portents obeyed 
 Bring wonders manifold to mortal ken. 
 They bade him Follow ! As his footsteps crossed 
 The Garden of the Snows, where er he trod 
 Fresh blossoms started into fragrant life. 
 Before the twin White Gates he paused. 
 Nor fear, nor chilling horror grasped his soul, 
 But fierce he felt the joy of the Unknown 
 And palpitated with the bliss of Death : 
 Enchanted by its mystery, he passed 
 The portals swift, and came unto his dream ! 
 An azure summer Lake embosomed there 
 Mirrored the high blue sky. Lapping its shore 
 Were little waves that broke against the strand 
 In harmonies like an ./Eolian harp 
 46 
 
When breath of happy prayers has swept the 
 
 strings 
 
 Of a nun s casement as she gives her youth, 
 Ah, mystic bride ! and leans to Heaven by 
 
 night. 
 
 Across the Golden Lake sweet zephyrs strayed 
 Bringing rare balsams, Alpine fragrances, 
 Subtler than those that flow from Shasta s mount, 
 Odors undreamed on Tahoe s lovely shores, 
 Soft moonbeam scents like breath of fairy isles. 
 He heard wild music of an unseen bird 
 That poured its soul in jubilance of song 
 And trilled and called and carolled loud and 
 
 clear 
 
 As his heart s music beating joyously. 
 Along the shining sands he slowly walked, 
 And knew before he held them in his hands, 
 Here was his treasure, found at last unsought. 
 He lay beside the waters, breast to earth. 
 He stripped, and in their warmth his limbs he 
 
 laved, 
 
 And pressed his body to their sands of gold, 
 While o er him swept the little billowing waves 
 In the first shallows of that hidden sea. 
 47 
 
Upon the Lake he floated silently, 
 
 Or turned and with swift strokes the bright depths 
 
 cleaved, 
 
 And saw the endless shimmer of fine gold 
 Below the paths of rainbow fish that played 
 Among the mosses fringing the far shore. 
 Against the bank a strangely tufted hedge 
 Concealed what lay beyond : content he sped 
 Lusty with manhood to the hither shore. 
 He made a bower of interlacing boughs 
 From a dark tree like cedars of the vale, 
 And in the purple shade lay down to rest. 
 But Joy had taken his hand and would not bide. 
 She pressed him with wild clamors at his breast, 
 She smiled and clasped him, and fled down the 
 
 shore. 
 
 She blessed his soul, and warmed his body through 
 With rapturous intent as fast he ran 
 Beneath the brilliant skies, and fast returned, 
 While close beside him, sweet and eagerly 
 He felt her fleeting, and the bliss of breath ! 
 Loud sang the unseen bird, and drew more 
 
 near 
 
 Flitting across the voiceless space of air, 
 And hiding in the shadow of the bower. 
 48 
 
He knelt beside the bower, and spread his palms 
 Unto the bending heavens, then aloud 
 Shouting and singing, frenzied with delight 
 Roused a great chorus into glorious song. 
 From each empurpled shade, each bush and shrub, 
 From wild-flower trees, in feathery snow of bloom, 
 And from the skies and the encircling hills 
 Came riotous ecstasy of rich response. 
 Gladder than nightingales that sing by day 
 In Eastern gardens, louder than the lark 
 Of prairie meadows, sweet as orioles 
 That herald sunrise to their sleeping loves, 
 In melody rejoiced the unseen choir. 
 
 Close by the bower wild luscious fruits he found, 
 Tropic with sweet, red as pomegranates are 
 That grow in Cascade valleys, next the sea, 
 But missing all the tantalizing lure 
 Of those strange apples ; these made hunger kind, 
 Blessed him in eating, and refreshed his sense, 
 And added to his very soul s content. 
 
 Along the shore, the converse way he strolled 
 And here found pebbles strewn upon the beach 
 By playful waves, great nuggets of pure ore ! 
 4 49 
 
As children build a house, so one by one 
 
 He piled about him the bright glittering stones, 
 
 And row on row and line on line upreared 
 
 A golden cabin, toiling all day long. 
 
 He roofed it with the unknown cedar s boughs, 
 
 Then once more of the strange pomegranates ate, 
 
 And lay him down to rest, while evening came. 
 
 An hour half waking, half in sleep s embrace 
 
 He dreamed a future marvellous and kind. 
 
 Empires of grandeur passed before his mind, 
 
 Swift argosies saluted him, with sails 
 
 Set for a thousand happy ports, and kings 
 
 Envied his El Dorado, first of earth. 
 
 He built a thousand homes in heart s delight, 
 
 And every orphaned child with mothering care 
 
 Was nurtured, rocked at night, and kissed to sleep, 
 
 And given May Day roses every morn. 
 
 Lo ! as he dreamed, ere yet he had desired 
 To use his lore of wood-craft and the skies, 
 To know which way to guide his thronging camp 
 Even as he dreamed, a hurricane came down. 
 A great wind reared the waters of the Lake 
 That dashed in mad black breakers at his feet, 
 Whelming his wonder world in wrathful night. 
 50 
 
A nameless terror seized him, and he fled, 
 Wrapping his garments to his trembling frame. 
 He passed the great White Gates, turned tempest 
 
 dark, 
 
 And onward through the Garden of the Snows, 
 Whose blood-red blossoms withered impotent 
 And seedless fell about his flying steps. 
 Two nights and days all through the dreadful 
 
 storm 
 
 Homeward he hastened, led of unseen guides 
 Down great volcanic gorges rent and torn 
 From out the mountain fires and shuddering still 
 With flames in wide black craters cold and spent. 
 On either side of him strange mountains raised 
 High glittering crests, and pale cliffs towering dim 
 Crumbled and fell on either side his way. 
 
 T was on the third dark evening, ere the storm 
 
 Had died within the valley, once again 
 
 Beside his hearth he sat, and tasted bread. 
 
 His hair and beard dead white about him hung, 
 
 And in his eyes a strange light deepening burned, 
 
 Quenched not thereafter. In his palm he bore, 
 
 Clasped fast in his first agony of fear, 
 
 Three gleaming golden grains, his harvest proof! 
 
And thus the story ended. So Good Night, 
 The old Gold Finder said, and went his way. 
 The moon shone royally above the hill, 
 Lighting the path up to his lonely home. 
 
THIS BOOK IS PRINTED BY 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON DURING 
 OCTOBER 1896 
 
 

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