When the wedding bells are rung, 
 
 And the marriage service read; 
 When the bride song has been sung, 
 
 And the sweet responses said, 
 You will know by each sweet token 
 
 They are walking, hand in hand, 
 Now that all Love's vows are spoken, 
 
 In the Happy Marriage Land. 
 
WEDDING BELLS 
 
 A COLORADO IDYL 
 
 BY 
 
 W. E. PABOR 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 STANLEY WOOD 
 
 DENVER, COLORADO 
 
 PUBLISHED BY W. E. PABOR'S SONS 
 1900 
 
;: Copyright^ 
 'V.. PABOR'S SONS, 
 
 PREHH OF 
 
 the Keea Publishing o. 
 
 DKNVER 
 
INSCRIBED TO 
 
 THE BRIDES 
 
 WHOSE HAPPY FORTUNE IT MAY BE TO 
 
 INCLUDE A TOUR THROUGH SCENIC 
 
 COLORADO AS PART OF 
 
 THEIR WEDDING 
 
 JOURNEY 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
 331849 
 

Introduction. 
 
 BY STANLEY WOOD. 
 
 W. E. Pabor has a gentle and poetic 
 fancy. He writes more verse than any 
 other literary man in Colorado, and by 
 length of residence and amount of poetical 
 work accomplished, deserves the title of 
 poet laureate of the Centennial state as well 
 as that conferred upon him by the National 
 Editorial Association when it made him a 
 life member and its poet laureate in 1895. 
 His verse flows easily and gives one the im- 
 pression that rhythmic numbers come read- 
 ily from his pen. Stirring themes, dialect 
 stories and "blood and thunder" chroni- 
 cles are not his stock in trade. He sees 
 the idyllic side of Western life, has a clear 
 eye for picturesque landscape, touches with 
 rare grace the chords of affection, and has 
 
VI 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 never, I am sure, written a line of verse 
 that carries with it a doubtful moral or an 
 improper suggestion. There need be no 
 vacant spaces in his works marked cetera 
 desunt. He sings of love but not of pas- 
 sion. He has a profound and worthy ap- 
 preciation of the lares and penates, but 
 Venus has no charms for him. This is 
 high praise for a poet who lives in the era 
 of " Poems of Passion" and "Laus Ven- 
 ris." His muse is lyric. Songs of pas- 
 toral simplicity and beauty come naturally 
 to his lips. His poems abound in descrip- 
 tions of Nature that are rhythmic, accu- 
 rate, suffused with poetic fancy and calcu- 
 lated to please and to instruct. 
 
 As a writer of occasional verses Mr. 
 Pabor is especially happy. He always has 
 fitting words and appropriate thoughts for 
 poems on special subjects, suggested by 
 events of the day. His poem "The Coral 
 Workers," delivered before the National 
 Editorial Association, is a striking exam- 
 ple of this felicity of thought and expres- 
 
Introduction. vii 
 
 sion. His annual poems before this asso- 
 ciation are counted upon as one of the 
 attractive features of the literary exer- 
 cises. But poetry is not the only field of 
 literary endeavor cultivated by Mr. Pabor. 
 His prose is as practical and clear as his 
 poetry is musical and pure. He writes on 
 subjects dear to the heart of the husband- 
 man. He lives close to nature. He does 
 not talk about things he does not under- 
 stand. If he writes about farming it is be- 
 cause he knows what he is talking about, 
 as his book on " Colorado as an Agricul- 
 tural State" goes to prove. His poetic 
 fancy does not fail him in his prose. If 
 he describes an apple tree he does not 
 forget the flowers; if he estimates the 
 value of peach culture he incidentally 
 mentions the delicate beauty and per- 
 fume of the peach bloom. He is poeti- 
 cal first and then practical, but above all 
 he is an honest man, an affectionate hus- 
 band and a true friend. 
 
 The time has not yet come to give a 
 
viii Introduction. 
 
 final judgment on Mr. Pabor's work. His 
 poems have never been collected and pre- 
 sented in a form worthy of their merit, 
 but are now to be placed before the pub- 
 lic in three volumes, of which this is the 
 first, the others to follow during the year. 
 He has certainly done much for Colorado. 
 The influence of his writings has been ex- 
 tended and always for good. Such books 
 will certainly command attention, and 
 Colorado will be by that much the richer 
 in literature, a kind of riches of which the 
 state cannot have too much and of which 
 it now possesses altogether too little. 
 
 As a man, Mr. Pabor has always com- 
 manded the respect of his fellows. He 
 has never striven for political honors. He 
 has lived a useful, peaceful and practical 
 life. He has been largely identified with 
 the progress of Colorado, and either from 
 chance or design, has always been in the 
 advance of the march. 
 
 CHICAGO, February, 1900. 
 
Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PROLOGUE, 13 
 
 I. PALMER LAKE, 15 
 
 II. MANITOU, 18 
 
 III. VALLEY OF LA FONTAINE Qui 
 
 BOUILLE, 21 
 
 IV. LA VETA PASS, 23 
 
 V. SAN Luis PARK, 26 
 
 VI. Ojo CALIENTE, 29 
 
 Legend of the Poisoned Spring. 
 
 VII. PUEBLO DE TAGS, 33 
 
 Legend of the Palace of Silence. 
 
 VIII. TOLTEC GORGE, .... 38 
 
 IX. MOONLIGHT ON Rio FLORIDA, . 41 
 
 An Invocation. 
 
 X. MONTEZUMA VALLEY, .... 47 
 
 XI. ON THE Rio DOLORES, ... 52 
 
 A Lament. 
 
 XII. Rio DE LAS ANIMAS PERDIDAS, . 57 
 
 The Wheel of Lethe. 
 
x Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XIII. FROM SlLVERTON TO ClMARRON, 65 
 
 XIV. FROM CIMARRON TO GUNNISON, 69 
 
 Black Canon. 
 
 XV. THE VALE OF TOMICHI, . . 78 
 
 XVI. THE ROYAL GORGE, ... 84 
 
 XVII. CANON'S ORCHARD LANDS, . 89 
 
 XVIII. BUENA VISTA HOT SPRINGS, . 93 
 
 The Moon Myth. 
 
 XIX. TWIN LAKES, 102 
 
 XX. FREMONT PASS, 106 
 
 XXI. MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS, . 109 
 
 XXII. GLENWOOD SPRINGS, . . .113 
 
 XXIII. VALLEY OF GRAND RIVER, . 117 
 
 The Voices. 
 
 XXIV. BORDER LAND, . . . .126 
 
 XXV. THE STORY OF COLORADO 
 
 SPRINGS, 128 
 
 EPILOGUE, 140 
 
WEDDING BELLS 
 
Prologue. 
 
 Ring, wedding bells, upon the air; 
 Shine, summer sun, upon the pair 
 Who from the altar pass as one, 
 Whose wedded life has just begun; 
 The words are said that bind for life 
 As husband, Claude; and Constance, wife; 
 Kind friends chime in with merry voice; 
 The young and old with each rejoice; 
 The good old days of Eden seem 
 To pour their glory in a stream 
 Of sweet delight upon the pair, 
 And pleasure waits her gifts to share 
 In bounteous measure, as they stand 
 With moistened eyes and clasping hand, 
 Ready to meet Fate's stern command 
 Within the gates of Marriage Land; 
 
14 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Yet hopeful that the hours will run 
 As brightly as they have begun. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Dear Love, before our wedding day 
 We had some converse of the way 
 In which, beneath the skies of June, 
 We were to spend our Honeymoon. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Yes, Claude; but not to lands afar, 
 Where Southern Cross or Northern Star 
 Shine down on vale or plain or sea; 
 These have their charms, but not for me, 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Here in our own, our favored land, 
 Are lakes as fair and glens as grand 
 As other climes may boast. Nay, more; 
 Here Nature bids our hearts adore. 
 
 Constance: 
 Oh, happy thought! Our Honeymoon 
 
Palmer Lake. 15 
 
 Begun, but not to end, in June, 
 We'll pass amid the glens and rills 
 And in the shadow of the hills. 
 
 Constance and Claude: 
 Come, Love; together, hand in hand, 
 We'll wander in Enchanted Land. 
 
 I. 
 
 Palmer foafte. 
 
 The oars dip brightly in the lake; 
 The waves long ropes of diamonds make, 
 As in the boat the happy pair 
 Wake happier echoes on the air. 
 Upon Ben Lomond's pine clad breast 
 Chaste Dian's beams of silver rest, 
 In Glen D'Eau there gleams a light 
 From vine-wreathed cottage through the 
 
 night 
 
 Whose rays suggest that comfort waits 
 The pair within the cottage gates; 
 But spell of hill and glen and lake 
 
1 6 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Their rapt attention wholly take. 
 The cliffs along the Snowy Range 
 All in the moonlight shift and change, 
 Save where, on Pike's Peak's stony breast 
 The winter snows forever rest. 
 On Palmer Lake the boat rides clear 
 While whispered words in willing ear 
 Repeat the vows at altar said 
 That happy day when they were wed. 
 Row, boatman, row; the lake lies white 
 Against the shadow of the night; 
 Drift slowly down to where the oar 
 Meets the green bosom of the shore; 
 There is no magic equals this: 
 Two hearts that melt into one bliss; 
 While Nature, over lake and glen, 
 Smiles down on Eden, found again; 
 Where love gives love, for true love's sake, 
 Around the shores of Palmer Lake. 
 Now cedared woods change into pine 
 On slopes that to the south recline, 
 
SEVEN FALLS, CHEYENNE CANON. 
 
Palmer Lake. 17 
 
 Till Colorado Springs appears, 
 The Athens of these later years; 
 Within its avenues of calm 
 The happy couple felt the balm 
 That floats from Pike's Peak's brow of 
 
 snow 
 
 To valley lands that rest below. 
 Said Claude: " Not long ago these slopes 
 Were barren of all human hopes. 
 And now, a stately city, planned 
 With grand design by master hand, 
 Is here; we have no time to stay 
 But later we must spend a day 
 Amid these vine-clad homes, to find, 
 Perchance, one suited to our mind." 
 Said Constance: " We have but begun 
 Our journey; ere its course is run 
 We may behold and yet, this seems 
 A city wherein pleasure streams 
 On scented waves of sweet delight 
 To soothe the soul and charm the sight." 
 
1 8 Wedding Bells. 
 
 II. 
 
 Manifou. 
 
 Beside La Fontaine's silvery stream 
 
 The happy couple walk and dream; 
 
 Here Nature in her summer guise 
 
 Shows where a realm of wonder lies. 
 
 They watch the rippling waters flow 
 
 In mad, delirious haste below; 
 
 Born in yon rocky nests of snow 
 
 They flash, they foam, they fall, they flow 
 
 Adown the hillside to the plain, 
 
 And seek a pathway to the main. 
 
 The days are full of dear delight 
 
 And pleasure crowns each starry night, 
 
 As here they spend a week of rest 
 
 And find repose on Nature's breast. 
 
 The Garden of the Gods, sublime, 
 
 And elemental work of Time, 
 
 Filled with fantastic groups of stone, 
 
 They gaze on and its wonders own. 
 
Manitou. 19 
 
 Glen Eyrie's fairy-like retreat 
 Reveals its charms; their willing feet 
 Linger where the clematis shades 
 And hides the wild rose of the glades. 
 In Cheyenne Canon, with its walls 
 Of granite, near the Rainbow Falls, 
 They loiter; Shadowland is here; 
 The murmur of the stream is near; 
 They fancy, as it flows along, 
 It sings anew their wedding song, 
 In which life's hopes and wishes blend, 
 And Love is present to the end. 
 At Rainbow Falls they see the arc 
 Of iridescence crown the dark; 
 The waters through the rock rifts run 
 They slip, they slide, in shade and sun, 
 While Hope, the Angel, seems to rest 
 Upon the rainbow's shining breast. 
 Up Pike's Peak trail they slowly climb 
 To see the mysteries sublime 
 Of Nature, in her wildest mood, 
 
20 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Her peaks snow-crowned in solitude, 
 But gladly drop to vales below 
 Where magic springs their bubbles throw. 
 "Drink, dearest one; perchance 'twill be 
 The fabled fount of youth to thee ! " 
 "Nay," she replies, "but you as well 
 Must feel the fountain's magic spell; 
 Could I grow young, while you are old? 
 Nay, Love; nor fame, nor power, nor gold 
 Could tempt my lips to touch such wine 
 If it were not to rest on thine." 
 A friendly shadow hid the pair; 
 Sibilant sounds fell on the air; 
 Ah, Love! with kisses crown the day! 
 Ah, Love! in kisses melt away. 
 
Valley of La Fontaine Qui Bouille. 21 
 
 III. 
 Valley of ba {Ponfaine ^ui Bouille. 
 
 Now where La Fontaine's waves are borne, 
 Between the fields of growing corn, 
 The green alfalfa meadows crept 
 To where the rapid waters swept; 
 The stately cottonwoods threw round 
 A cooling shadow on the ground; 
 The bluebirds and the meadow-doves 
 Twittered and tattled of their loves; 
 An air of languor slowly fell 
 Upon them, with its amorous spell; 
 As if in happy land, or vale 
 Of Rasselas they walked. No sail 
 White flecked against the horizon 
 Moved down the stream. The setting sun 
 Its crimson rays on peak and cone 
 Dropped with a glory all its own; 
 And Nature, in her robe of June, 
 Waited the rising of the moon. 
 "O, sing some song to suit the scene 
 
22 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Of rippling wave or meadow green," 
 Said Claude; "the evening air is clear; 
 Let music melt upon the ear." 
 Her mandolin sweet Constance took, 
 She sang the Tennysonian "Brook" 
 In strains as low, as sweet, as clear 
 As if a seraph from the sphere 
 Beyond the circles of the moon 
 Had floated down to strike the tune. 
 Both rising moon, with silver beams, 
 And setting sun with crimson gleams 
 Hung low, till on the horizon 
 Their lines of color blent in one. 
 Oh, happy day! Oh, happier eve! 
 No tears to shed, no grief to grieve! 
 Oh, happy groom! Oh, happier bride! 
 Who in this pleasant vale abide. 
 
La Veta Pass. 23 
 
 IV. 
 
 ba Vefa Pass. 
 
 These mighty peaks! Twin cones in air! 
 
 What name is worthy of the pair? 
 
 This Indian title on them rests, 
 
 The Wahatoya or Twin Breasts; 
 
 Such rounded forms, such perfect shapes, 
 
 While spruce and pine each outline drapes, 
 
 And rising gracefully on high, 
 
 Their summits kiss the bending sky; 
 
 The warm blue sky, the bright blue sky, 
 
 To which we look with loving eye 
 
 The portal to the Home above, 
 
 The City of Eternal Love. 
 
 Another name strange land bespeaks, 
 
 Some know them as the Spanish Peaks. 
 
 The ancient Cavaliers of Spain, 
 
 Bold buccaneers who sailed the main, 
 
 Austere Hidalgos, stern of face, 
 
 And troubadours, of gentle race, 
 
 Who from the Southland upward came 
 
24 Wedding Bells. 
 
 In search of riches and of fame, 
 Upon the mountains gazed with awe, 
 Then vanished to return no more. 
 So Claude discoursed as to the west 
 They slowly journeyed, while the crest, 
 Sangre de Christo's stately crest, 
 Lay snow-capped in eternal rest. 
 La Veta mountain, stern and bold 
 Before them loomed; defiles as old 
 As Adam's day, with rugged face 
 Show contrasts quaint, beside the grace 
 With which the flashing Huerfano 
 Its sprays of water round them throw. 
 The way is devious and steep; 
 Below, a valley, dense and deep; 
 Above, a rugged mountain side; 
 Around, a vista opening wide; 
 Majestic plains expand to view 
 And seem to melt into the blue. 
 Sierra Blanca's noble brow, 
 A monarch to which mountains bow 
 
La Vet a Pass. 25 
 
 (A monarch worthy of his throne) 
 Looms grandly through the cloud-flecked 
 
 zone. 
 On Mule Shoe Curve the clouds drop 
 
 down; 
 
 On Nature's face appears a frown; 
 And drops of rain that change to snow 
 Fall on the couple as they go 
 Their onward and their upward path, 
 Facing the summer's wintry wrath. 
 Now, suddenly the warm sun leaps 
 Out of the dark and round them sweeps; 
 Below them drift the fleecy clouds, 
 Wrapping the pine-crowned ledge in 
 
 shrouds, 
 
 But waves of sunshine round them roll 
 And sweet content is in each soul. 
 The sweet content that from above 
 Drops into loving hearts, when Love, 
 With honor crowned, fills human breast 
 With heavenly balm for earthly rest. 
 
26 Wedding Bells. 
 
 V. 
 
 ar\ buis Park. 
 
 In cheerful mood they saunter forth 
 Along the River of the North; 
 The valley lands through which they pass 
 Are rich with undulating grass; 
 The patient kine, in pastures green, 
 Make up a quiet, rural scene; 
 The farmhouse and the fields of grain, 
 Stretching far out upon the plain, 
 Bespeak the thrifty farmer's nest 
 Set close to loving Nature's breast. 
 North, east and west the mountains rise; 
 Their snowy summits seek the skies; 
 There, snow-crowned peaks; here, mead- 
 ow-lands 
 
 And homes built up by sturdy hands, 
 Where human hearts live out their lives, 
 And on each gift of Ceres thrives. 
 Beyond, the village spires they mark 
 The Monte Vista of the park, 
 
San Luis Park. 27 
 
 Where temperance its promise throws, 
 
 Above contentment and repose. 
 
 The curse that crowns the cup of wine 
 
 Is held aloof; there is no sign 
 
 Of sorrow over ruined hopes; 
 
 No drunkard in the shadow gropes; 
 
 And well for human-kind 'twould be 
 
 If from these mountains to the sea 
 
 The Prohibition gonfalon 
 
 Floated from rise to set of sun. 
 
 Claude: 
 We seek a home; shall it be here? 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Nay, Love, not yet; there may appear 
 Some other valley fairer far, 
 Where brighter fields of verdure are; 
 Have we not read of fruitful climes, 
 Of warmer vales, where summer times 
 Are long, and under tree and vine 
 A second Eden seems to shine? 
 Our journey scarcely has begun! 
 
28 Wedding Bells. 
 
 You cannot wish that it were done? 
 There are the mountains yet to climb, 
 The canons to explore, where Time, 
 For ages upon ages kept 
 Weird secrets, while the savage crept 
 About in ignorance and doubt. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Hold, sweet, I yield; come, turn about, 
 For see the sun drops down the hills, 
 The rapid fall of twilight fills 
 The air with balm. One kiss to show, 
 I am forgiven 
 
 Constance: 
 
 More? No, no, no! 
 One is enough; keep quiet, Claude! 
 One kiss is all I can afford 
 To give you now until until 
 Well, just one more; and now, KEEP STILL! 
 
 Oh! Pleasure's crown of pleasure this, 
 To kiss, and then, again to kiss! 
 
Ojo Calient e. 29 
 
 VI. 
 
 jo (Jalienfe. 
 
 Near Cerro Colorado's breast 
 Ponce de Leon's fountains rest; 
 The healing waters, crystal clear, 
 Youth's strength renews from year to 
 year. 
 
 In ages gone the Indians came 
 To drink from springs of saline fame; 
 And be they warm or be they cold 
 They suit the young and charm the old. 
 Each one some healing virtue shows, 
 And yields a balm for mundane woes; 
 The ills that rack the human frame, 
 The woes that have one common name, 
 All yield before the magic spell, 
 Where the bright, bubbling waters dwell. 
 Said Claude: "This is a charming nook; 
 How beautiful the pine trees look, 
 Dark in shadow against the breast 
 Of table-lands against the west; 
 
30 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Yon rippling brook with laughter runs 
 Down to the land of summer suns; 
 Born of the mountain snow and rain, 
 But glad to frolic through the plain; 
 Here romance should its page unfold 
 About these fountains, centuries old." 
 "I read," said Constance, ''yesterday 
 A tale that served to charm away 
 An idle hour, so I'll repeat 
 The Legend of the Poisoned Wheat." 
 
 LEGEND OF THE POISONED SPRING. 
 
 Each dusky brave forsook the game; 
 
 In holiday attire they came 
 
 From far-off wood and vale and plain 
 
 To meet the Cavaliers of Spain; 
 
 Who, from the South and from the East 
 
 Had gathered to a Harvest Feast. 
 
 Some came in love and some in hate, 
 
 The bond of peace to celebrate. 
 
 The Spaniard brought his gift of wheat, 
 
 The Indian's maize lay at his feet, 
 
Ojo Calient e. 31 
 
 And wine of elderberries flowed 
 
 Like rain along a mountain road. 
 
 In dance and song the moments passed, 
 
 Until the moon at midnight cast 
 
 Its golden glamour o'er the springs; 
 
 Then into one the Spaniard flings 
 
 His gift of wheat. To watch it sink, 
 
 The Indians gathered round the brink, 
 
 And danced and cried in maudlin glee 
 
 The wheat-filled bubbling fount to see. 
 
 Each in it dipped his cup of horn 
 
 And drank his fill. * * * At early morn 
 
 The dusky braves lay stark and grim 
 
 Beside the poisoned fountain's rim. 
 
 The Spaniard, led by lust of gold 
 
 To seek Cibola's wealth untold, 
 
 Had journeyed hither. Face was white, 
 
 But heart was black as starless night. 
 
 With honeyed words, with song and dance, 
 
 They hid the Indian's bow and lance; 
 
 And while the song of peace they sing 
 
32 Wedding Bells. 
 
 They dropped the poison in the spring. 
 
 Said Claude: " Where saint and savage 
 
 meet 
 
 The savage ever finds defeat. 
 As ever since the Mayflower's day, 
 When on the beach at Plymouth Bay 
 The Saxon and the Indian race 
 Met in dire battle, face to face. 
 Well has 'H. H.' the story spun; 
 The records of dishonor run 
 Across two centuries of years 
 In spite of Mercy's pleas or tears. 
 Come, Love, the waters drink, and then 
 We'll take our onward way again." 
 
TOLTEC GORGE. 
 
Pueblo de Taos. 33 
 
 VII. 
 
 Pueblo de (paos. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 You left me, Love, an hour or so, 
 All, all alone; why did you go? 
 Has ennui come so very soon 
 To cloud our happy Honeymoon? 
 
 Claude: 
 
 I left you? Yes; but not from grief; 
 Rather to find an hour's relief 
 From a surfeit of happiness, 
 When within reach of your caress! 
 
 Constance: 
 
 How sweet to think but stay! You know 
 The moments passed away so slow, 
 To while away the tedious time, 
 I jotted down a little rhyme. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 A poet, you? I did not know 
 I had such treasure won; and so, 
 
34 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Since you have written rhymes, you see, 
 Tis fair you read them all to me. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 'Tis but a Legend, vague and faint, 
 Of olden days, when Spanish saint 
 In Monastery lone and dim 
 Sang Matin song and Vesper hymn. 
 But in one Temple silence crept 
 On all things human. No man wept 
 And no monk smiled. No words were 
 
 said; 
 
 Each walked about as of the dead. 
 Only at intervals a bell 
 Struck this sad warning: "All is well; 
 Another hour of vital breath 
 Has fled, and so much nearer, death." 
 Perchance this was the very place; 
 These ruins in their rugged grace 
 The Silent Palace might have been 
 Where Silence served to shrive from sin. 
 
Pueblo de Taos. 35 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Sweetheart, your thought seems so sub- 
 lime. 
 
 Surely, when it is set to rhyme 
 
 It must fall sweetly on the ear; 
 
 Let me the ancient Legend hear. 
 
 LEGEND OF THE PALACE OF SILENCE. 
 
 A monk in the Palace of Silence 
 
 Sat counting his amber beads; 
 With white and tapering fingers 
 
 That trembled like wind-swept reeds; 
 But never a word he uttered, 
 
 And never a sound was thrown, 
 Through the alabaster cloisters 
 
 In the amethystine zone. 
 
 Vows of perpetual silence 
 
 He uttered, who walked therein; 
 
 In the world he left behind him, 
 He had left all worldly sin; 
 
 From his cell out into the chapel, 
 
36 Wedding Bells. 
 
 From shrine back into his cell, 
 Each walked as he meditated, 
 But he spake no syllable. 
 
 Only the water-clock ticking 
 
 And only the striking bell, 
 As they told the time of praying, 
 
 On the solemn silence fell. 
 And this was the hourly message: 
 
 "Thou art so much nearer death, 
 O monk of the rueful visage! 
 
 O mortal with failing breath!" 
 
 Outside there were blooming gardens, 
 
 The richest that Nature knew; 
 Where the red, red rose of passion 
 
 By the saintly lilies grew. 
 But even the birds were banished, 
 
 Lest their song should be a sin, 
 By suggesting thoughts of pleasure 
 
 Where pleasure had never been. 
 
Pueblo de Taos. 37 
 
 The only sound of disturbance, 
 
 In the leafy solitudes, 
 Was the tread of feet, soft sandaled, 
 
 The rustle of long, white robes 
 Of the monks among the lilies, 
 
 With a face as white and calm, 
 With a body born of passion 
 
 But a soul baptized with balm. 
 But oh! in the lonely vigil 
 
 Of the weary day or night, 
 Did they see no mocking vision 
 
 Of an Elim of delight? 
 Or echo of song or laughter 
 
 From virginal, rosebud lips? 
 Or tremulous speech of Eros 
 
 When the moon was in eclipse? 
 
 In the silence of life made equal 
 To the silence born of death, 
 
 In their amethystine palace 
 (So the ancient legend saith), 
 
 In a solemn soul communion, 
 
38 Wedding Bells. 
 
 With all worldly sins forgiven, 
 Each monk for the message waited 
 That would waft his soul to Heaven, 
 
 But the palace gates are broken, 
 
 And ruined the jasper walls; 
 And within each sacred chamber 
 
 The owl to his fellow calls. 
 While each votary of silence, 
 
 Each heart that was hard as stone, 
 Has into the vanished ages 
 
 Forever and ever flown. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 At Toltec Gorge the tourists wait; 
 They pass the awesome tunnel gate; 
 They peer below through depths pro- 
 
 found; 
 
 A dropping stone creates no sound 
 When falling through the shades of night 
 
Toltec Gorge. 39 
 
 That can be heard upon the height. 
 
 A precipice of splintered rocks, 
 
 Result of huge Titanic shocks 
 
 That indicate an older world 
 
 When Chaos, crags and boulders hurled, 
 
 And sat in triumph on its throne, 
 
 The only monarch Earth would own. 
 
 Far down the gorge a ribbon white 
 
 As snow-shine gleamed upon the sight; 
 
 A fringe of verdure crowned the scene 
 
 A silver warp in woof of green; 
 
 The water in the distance ran 
 
 In silence, and unheard by man; 
 
 Too far below the ripples run 
 
 To catch the kisses of the sun. 
 
 A mystery of Time is here, 
 
 A wonder of the Hemisphere; 
 
 Hard by the scene a shaft of stone 
 
 Stands in the silence and alone. 
 
 A single word the story tells 
 
 At which a nation's bosom swells 
 
4O Wedding Bells. 
 
 With sorrow, for a Hero's fate, 
 A princely ruler, grand and great. 
 The day they laid his form away 
 This stone was lifted to the day; 
 Ten thousand feet above the tide, 
 Between two oceans that divide 
 The Western from the Eastern world. 
 His name is evermore impearled 
 Upon this monument to Fame, 
 Graved as it is with GARFIELD'S name. 
 When centuries have run their race 
 And later nations take our place 
 In spheres of action (even as now 
 We gaze upon a Pharaoh's brow 
 Dead for three thousand years or more), 
 So then, some searcher will explore 
 These Toltec hills and find this shaft, 
 Sign of a skillful workman's craft, 
 Will read the name upon the stone 
 And say, he lived in ages gone, 
 A mighty ruler of the land, 
 
Toltec Gorge. 41 
 
 Slain by a foul assassin's hand. 
 A mortal, with a mortal's breath, 
 But made immortal by his death. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Moonli^f on ffye l^io plortda. 
 
 Southward, to reach the San Juan's breast, 
 
 The Rio Florida runs to rest; 
 
 Wild roses, with rich verdure rank, 
 
 Peep through the bushes on each bank; 
 
 The larkspur and wild cypress vine 
 
 In azure and in scarlet shine; 
 
 The sunflower in its crown of gold 
 
 And stately mien looks over-bold; 
 
 The meadow daisy at its feet 
 
 In modest grace is far more sweet; 
 
 Abronias whiten plain and hill, 
 
 And mirabilis blooms at will 
 
 Through many a sunny afternoon 
 
 To welcome in the rising moon; 
 
 Penstemons scarlet, pink and blue, 
 
42 Wedding Bells. 
 
 And brilliant gilias, are in view. 
 
 A floral host, to crown the hours, 
 
 Is found beside the stream of flowers. 
 
 The moon is growing full and round; 
 
 Its lines of brilliant light abound 
 
 And drape the lovers as they walk; 
 
 It listens to their loving talk, 
 
 As it has listened since the hour 
 
 When Eve and Adam, in the bower 
 
 Of Eden, in each other's face 
 
 Looked and found Love, with witching 
 
 grace, 
 
 Glancing with meek and mild surprise 
 Out of the depths of smiling eyes. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Fit hour for reverie is this! 
 And by yon moon I swear, my bliss 
 Is growing like it, round and full, 
 To make life bright and beautiful. 
 
 Constance: 
 My thoughts have run upon the moon 
 
Moonlight on the Rio Florida. 43 
 
 Each idle hour this afternoon; 
 
 I'll give them utterance now, or wait; 
 
 Perchance the hour is very late! 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Dear heart, the time befits the theme; 
 The moon is shining on the stream; 
 I at thy feet could sit for hours 
 And listen, by this stream of flowers. 
 
 AN INVOCATION. 
 
 O quiet Moon. Thy rays 
 Are chariots, by which we mount in 
 
 dreams 
 And swiftly speed away from earthly 
 
 cares, 
 
 And in thy bosom our Elysiumr find. 
 We know thy story from the earliest 
 
 years; 
 Thy Queenship antedates e'en Adam's 
 
 day; 
 Thy chronicles are filled with Eden's 
 
 bloom; 
 
44 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Ere fell the shadow on the sinning pair, 
 Ere swung the sword before its closing 
 
 gate. 
 Thy silvery beams shone down on Noah's 
 
 ark 
 
 And welcomed it to rocky Ararat! 
 And when the stones of the first pyramid 
 Were laid, the grand name of Rameses 
 
 sent 
 
 No tremor to thy breast, as unto theirs 
 Who bent to do the bidding of the King. 
 To thee the bosom of the earth is bare; 
 It has no riddle that thou canst not read; 
 It offers nothing that thou hast not 
 
 known. 
 
 Invoked by Jason as he sailed the sea, 
 First watched by bold Chalde in an 
 
 eclipse, 
 Loved by Columbus as he crossed the 
 
 main, 
 Companion of the Mayflower pilgrim 
 
 band, 
 
Moonlight on the Rio Florida. 45 
 
 Man's comforter in every age and land, 
 Blessed by the sick, beloved by old and 
 
 young, 
 What tongue can utter, or what pen can 
 
 trace, 
 The spell that lingers round thy shining 
 
 arc? 
 
 Oh, let my soul float on thy silvery tide; 
 Still of thy happy valleys let me dream; 
 Still let me feel my feet are on the road 
 That leads earth's wanderers to thy bless- 
 ed home. 
 
 This world at best is but a field of thorns, 
 And life is evermore with sorrow rife; 
 And tender are the feet that daily tread 
 The wine-press of a sad experience; 
 And in the morning and the sultry noon 
 Life's harp hath strings forever out of 
 
 tune, 
 
 Until the quiet night, with sovereign balm, 
 Like that of Gilead, in her tender touch, 
 
46 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Leans the sad soul upon her pillowy 
 
 breast 
 
 And, all divorced from sorrow and from sin, 
 We kiss the Lotus of Forgetfulness. 
 
 Oh, quiet moon! 
 
 Calm sphere of silver in a sea of sky! 
 Bend down and let me on thy bosom rest! 
 So shall I have a respite from all care; 
 So shall my weary spirit find repose; 
 So shall I dream this happy dream again 
 Lost in the shining Valley of the Blest. 
 
 Low hangs the moon, as if to bless 
 And teach the pair forgetfulness; 
 Low hangs the moon; it smiles to see 
 Caress as close as one can be 
 When lip meets lip, and clasping arm 
 Holds heart to heart each safe from 
 
 harm; 
 
 Inmates of earthly Eden bowers 
 Arising by the stream of flowers. 
 
Montezuma Valley. 47 
 
 X. 
 
 Monfe^uma Valie^. 
 
 Out from Durango's charming town 
 Constance and Claude went riding down; 
 They crossed the river of Lost Souls 
 Whose silvery current southward rolls; 
 The trees that lined the river's ledge, 
 The grass that fringed the river's edge, 
 The clover in the meadow land, 
 The birds that sang on every hand, 
 The warm bright sun, the clear blue sky 
 All cheered them as they journeyed by. 
 They crossed the hills and took their way 
 To where the sun, at close of day, 
 Drops down behind horizon bars 
 And signals in the twinkling stars. 
 O'er verdurous plain, through pleasant 
 
 park 
 
 They pass, and Nature's beauties mark; 
 They cross the Mancos on their way 
 
48 Wedding Bells. 
 
 And in its valley fain would stay; 
 It seemed so fair, all Nature's face 
 Was ruddy with uncultured grace; 
 Rugged and rough but everywhere 
 Crowned with an unpolluted air. 
 Full soon they stand within the pale 
 Of Montezuma's famous vale; 
 A valley of extreme delight 
 It bursts upon the lovers' sight; 
 Strange silence sat on hill and plain; 
 There ran no river to the main, 
 The pine trees on the ridges stood 
 Sole warders, of the solitude; 
 The mounds upon the mesa, strewn 
 With broken pottery and stone, 
 Were symbols of an ancient race 
 That once made vocal all the place. 
 Here Constance found some ancient 
 
 charms 
 
 An onyx bracelet for the arms, 
 A topaz ear-drop, which, perchance, 
 
CLIFF DWELLINGS. 
 
Montezuma Valley. 49 
 
 Some Aztec princess wore at dance; 
 While Claude, in search of relics old, 
 Dug from a heap of ashen mould 
 Some cobs of corn, whose grains were 
 
 food 
 
 In nourishing a household brood; 
 The evidence of peace and thrift 
 In ages long gone by, whose drift 
 Thus stranded on these mesa lands 
 Bespoke a race whose toiling hands 
 Found in the soil the foods that bless: 
 The corn and wine of cheerfulness. 
 But who shall open wide the page 
 And tell the story of that age? 
 That far-off age and unknown race 
 Who once made populous the place? 
 In this new land which seems so old 
 Each stone some secret doth enfold; 
 The air with mystery is rife, 
 Suggestive of some ancient strife; 
 Each cliff an Aztec home reveals, 
 
50 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Each silent chamber close conceals 
 
 The secret of their rise and fall; 
 
 Oblivion's veil is over all. 
 
 But he who reads can note the signs, 
 
 Written in clear, unfading lines, 
 
 Of still another change to be, 
 
 In which once more the vine, the tree, 
 
 The corn field, will be found again; 
 
 A later race shall fill the plain; 
 
 The hum of traffic will arise 
 
 Where silence now reigns 'neath the skies; 
 
 A thousand homes, where death and birth 
 
 Shall sadness make or bless the earth 
 
 In years to come, will here be found 
 
 Where solitude gives place to sound 
 
 The sound of singing, such as comes, 
 
 When happiness crowns earthly homes. 
 
 Claud:e 
 
 Is this fair vale through which we pass 
 The happy vale of Rasselas? 
 And could we not, sweet Constance, find 
 
Montezuma Valley. 51 
 
 A home here, suited to our mind? 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Perhaps perhaps I do not know! 
 I love these pines whose branches throw 
 Such veils of shadow to our feet, 
 And all the air is pure and sweet, 
 As earth, I fancy, must have been 
 Ere Eden felt the taint of sin; 
 But, since decision rests with trie- 
 Are there not other vales to see? 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Yes; here we touch the western rim; 
 But, ere we turn, Love, in this dim, 
 Uncertain light 
 
 Constance: 
 
 One kiss? Oh yes, 
 If one will give you happiness. 
 
 So once, did Aztec prince, his arms 
 Enclose within, the dusky charms 
 
52 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Of some young maiden, and his kiss 
 
 Was as a seal on perfect bliss. 
 
 The kiss survives; but where are they? 
 
 Princess and prince have passed away, 
 
 And lovers of a later race 
 
 Tread in their footsteps take their place. 
 
 XL 
 
 On ttye I^io Dolores. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Here the river of sorrow runs! 
 How many moons, how many suns 
 Have risen and set upon its flow 
 Since it was called the stream of woe? 
 Over the torrent, swift and deep, 
 Caves are set in yon cliffs so steep; 
 Each is the ruined dwelling-place 
 Of some unknown and ancient race, 
 When deeper river ran along 
 And listened unto human song. 
 
On the Rio Dolores. 53 
 
 Never a written word survives 
 
 To tell the tale of human lives 
 
 That toiled and suffered, loved and lost, 
 
 Were on the waves of pleasure tossed, 
 
 When the Ute mount was but a hill, 
 
 And Mancos, now a little rill, 
 
 Like a broad river swept along 
 
 With current deep and swift and strong, 
 
 Through Cortez valley, till its flow 
 
 Found rest in th' Gulf of Mexico. 
 
 Sweetheart, 'tis theme for muse of thine; 
 
 Trim up the lamp and let it shine. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Last night in dreams it came to me 
 Like driftwood from an unknown sea; 
 Flotsam and jetsam from the past 
 On recollection's beaches cast. 
 And even now I still retain 
 An echo of the mourning strain; 
 A Sad Lament of joy and woe 
 From peoples vanished long ago. 
 
54 Wedding Bells. 
 
 A LAMENT. 
 
 On the shores of the Rio Dolores 
 
 My ears catch a tremulous strain; 
 A lament, as it were, for past glories 
 
 Of river and meadow and plain. 
 But the voices are mute in the chambers 
 
 That are niched in the time-stained walls, 
 And 'tis only a stranger who clambers 
 
 For relics in cliff-dwellers' halls. 
 
 Will the chant of the river of sorrow 
 
 Ever be changed to a song? 
 From the past only legend we borrow, 
 
 The future to fate doth belong. 
 The grasses grow rank in the meadow, 
 
 The mounds on the hill-top are green; 
 And the passage of sunlight or shadow 
 
 Falls over a desolate scene. 
 
 Dolores, thou river of sorrow, 
 
 Come out from where shadows abound; 
 
On the Rio Dolores. 55 
 
 Though we fade as the leaf fades, to-mor- 
 row, 
 
 To-day let the sunshine flow round. 
 They were, but they are not. The ages 
 
 Are dumb, and their pleasure or pain 
 Are scrolled on the long hidden pages 
 
 We ask, and we seek, for in vain. 
 
 Perchance Love was to them the same 
 
 passion 
 
 Humanity ever has known; 
 They were young, they grew old; in their 
 
 fashion 
 They smiled when their pleasure was 
 
 shown; 
 They were eager for fame or for riches, 
 
 Their altars with gifts were aglow 
 But the ashes are heaped in the niches 
 And their fires flickered out long ago. 
 
 Now the river of sorrow rolls onward, 
 And mystery broods o'er the scene; 
 
56 Wedding- Bells. 
 
 Now the pine and the pinon look sunward 
 And the banks of the river are green. 
 
 And my eyes catch a glimpse of the glories 
 Springing out from a long vanished day 
 
 When the vale of the Rio Dolores 
 With laughter of lovers was gay. 
 
 For the moon was the same in its glory 
 
 And the stars were as tender and true 
 To the lovers who whispered their story 
 
 With kisses, as lovers will do. 
 But the lips that gave kisses have vanished, 
 
 And the hearts, once with passion aflame, 
 To the dust of the ages are banished, 
 
 Leaving only a shadowy name. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Ah yes! But in the years to come 
 These vales may be no longer dumb, 
 But echo with the song that slips 
 In joyous cadence from the lips 
 Of young or old, whose footsteps stray 
 Adown this pleasant valley way. 
 
Rio de Las Animas Perdidas. 57 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Warm breezes blow against my mouth 
 Fresh from the sunny, amorous south; 
 Suggesting roses white and red 
 And berries hid in leafy bed. 
 One scarce would think the flowing stream 
 Suggested such a sorrowing theme; 
 As clouds the sun will sometimes hide, 
 So sadness waits at pleasure's side. 
 Come, Love, the daylight fades away; 
 We'll talk of this some other day. 
 
 XII. 
 l^io de bas ^Animas Perdidas. 
 
 Who nature loves should surely pass 
 Up the silvery Animas; 
 At first, a valley broad and green, 
 Arrayed in Nature's fairest sheen, 
 With meadow and with orchard land, 
 While overhead gaunt ledges stand 
 
58 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Where pinon, pine and quaking asp 
 Their interlacing branches clasp. 
 A pleasant day at Trimble Springs 
 Can well be spent; the hours with wings 
 Seem all endowed, so swift they fly 
 Under the San Juan's sunny sky. 
 The fretful river onward speeds 
 From snow-crowned peaks to verdant 
 
 meads, 
 
 But narrows, in its winding way 
 As up the canon, old and gray, 
 Its shifting lines of silver run; 
 Now shining in the summer sun, 
 And now within the gorge's deeps, 
 A thousand feet below it sweeps. 
 Far up in air the fleecy clouds 
 In cumulus, aerial crowds 
 Are flecked against the azure arc 
 And hang like veils o'er Baker's Park. 
 Oh, stream of splendor, is it true 
 The sad, sad tale that's told of you? 
 
Rio de Las Animas Perdidas. 59 
 
 Your very name a story tells 
 
 Suggestive of funereal knells; 
 
 Of home and love forever lost 
 
 Of souls upon the river tossed; 
 
 Lost souls who, where these waters wind, 
 
 Oblivion forever find! . 
 
 What is there in the current clear 
 
 That makes such transformation here? 
 
 What is the story of past years 
 
 A story only told with tears? 
 
 The River of Lost Souls! Ah me! 
 
 That there should such a river be. 
 
 Said Constance: "In a volume old 
 
 The legend of the stream is told. 
 
 Two angels with the Wheel of Fate 
 
 Once in this valley dwelt; the gate 
 
 Of entrance to their weird abode 
 
 Was where the shining river flowed, 
 
 And open unto all who came 
 
 Their future fate tknow; if fame 
 
 Or wealth or love or high renown 
 
60 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Were to be theirs, or if the frown 
 Of fortune was their fate to be 
 Lost souls upon oblivion's sea." 
 "Tell me the tale; it may be sad," 
 Said Claude; " Life's hours are not all 
 
 glad; 
 
 The shadow out of sunshine grows 
 And thorns are ever with the rose." 
 "True," Constance answered, "Let us 
 
 hope 
 
 Our wedded life holds wider scope; 
 And that our future, as it rolls 
 Will miss the River of Lost Souls; 
 That angels twain or wheel of fate 
 May not upon our coming wait." 
 
 THE WHEEL OF LETHE. 
 
 By Lethe's wheel 
 Two angels stood; one turned it round 
 
 and round, 
 And one, blind-folded, on its left side 
 
 stood; 
 
Rio de Las Animas Perdidas. 61 
 
 She from it took a slender, shining slip, 
 Each time her white and waxen hand fell 
 
 down 
 Within the wheel; and on these slips were 
 
 names 
 Of those who sought their fate in life to 
 
 know. 
 So, one by one she took them from the 
 
 wheel, 
 
 The Lethean wheel, forever turning round ; 
 And one by one the other angel took 
 Them from her lifted hand, and in the 
 
 stream 
 She cast them down; as on its shining 
 
 breast 
 They fell, she cried: "Oh, Lethe! these 
 
 are they 
 
 Who fill the army of Lost Souls! fore- 
 doomed 
 
 To wander evermore from peak to plain; 
 To listen to the song the river sings 
 
62 Wedding Bells. 
 
 And find no pleasure in it only pain 
 And agony of grief ! The sun may shine, 
 The moon its penciled radiance round 
 
 them throw, 
 The stars, serene and calm, look pitying 
 
 down, 
 
 But nevermore as long as river rolls 
 Or seasons come and go shall they return; 
 They are lost souls forever, ever more. 
 
 And oh! 
 How many flitted through the shadow 
 
 there; 
 What countless myriads sought rest in 
 
 vain; 
 Eftsoons as on the river's breast their 
 
 names 
 Were dropped, a wailing sound of woe 
 
 was heard; 
 
 The pine trees in the valley caught it up 
 And carried it to pines upon the hills; 
 
Rio de Las Animas Perdidas. 63 
 
 The wind, the wanton wind, the story 
 
 heard 
 
 And bore it upward, to the bending stars; 
 And earthly sorrow thus found entrance 
 
 way 
 To court of Heaven; and pitying angels 
 
 said 
 To Him who sitteth on the Great White 
 
 Throne: 
 "Oh stay our sisters' hands, or bid them 
 
 show 
 
 The way lost souls may enter Paradise; 
 Lost souls that now, upon this stream, 
 Are doomed forevermore to come and go." 
 
 And then 
 The angel, Mercy, clasping her white 
 
 hands 
 Bent low before the pearl and jasper 
 
 throne 
 And said: "Send me to stay the turning 
 
 wheel 
 
64 Wedding Bells. 
 
 And bring our sisters back to their abode." 
 Then He whose name is Love, looked 
 
 pitying down 
 And bade her go. Swift as the lightning's 
 
 flash 
 She coursed the space between the stars 
 
 and earth 
 And cried: "Through Love the curse is 
 
 now removed; 
 
 The way is open and the path is plain; 
 No more need souls be lost who seek to 
 
 win 
 
 An entrance into Paradise." The wheel 
 Of Lethe in the running stream she cast; 
 Then with the angels twain arose in air 
 And journeyed to the Blessed Land above. 
 
 This is the legend, growing old with 
 
 Time 
 The legend of the River of Lost Souls. 
 
From Silver ton to Cimarron. 65 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Prom SilOerfon to Cimarron. 
 
 Two miles above the ocean's bed 
 Our travelers are kindly led 
 To Silverton, that pleasant town 
 Hemmed in by hills of high renown; 
 A jewel in an emerald frame, 
 And worthy of its growing fame. 
 Here nature's veins of silver turn, 
 Her breasts with untold treasure burn; 
 Which hands of toil, by faith supreme, 
 Wrest from the rock in royal stream. 
 Earth long its treasure trove concealed, 
 Till man, the master, searched the field 
 And set the silvery current free, 
 Gift of the hills and good to see; 
 For wealth, dispensed by liberal mind, 
 A blessing is to all mankind. 
 
 From Silverton, across the hills, 
 The scenery forever fills 
 
66 Wedding Bells. 
 
 The soul; the grandeur on each hand 
 
 Rivals the fame of Switzerland; 
 
 The scenic splendor of the way, 
 
 The time, the toil, will well repay; 
 
 The cliffs profound, the rocky road, 
 
 Leading to some recluse abode; 
 
 Bear Falls, with sheet of water white, 
 
 Ever resplendent, day and night, 
 
 All win some words of praise from those 
 
 Who cross these hilltops flecked with 
 
 snows; 
 
 And Claude and Constance, on their way 
 Across the San Juan range would stay 
 Their steps, and point, with out-stretched 
 
 arms, 
 
 To many a scene of rugged charms, 
 Until, just at the close of day, 
 They reached the streets of fair Ouray. 
 
 Who sees Ouray, by day or night, 
 Will see a vision of delight; 
 
From Silver ton to Cimarron. 67 
 
 And though they roam from peak to sea, 
 Will keep in constant memory 
 Its caves, its springs, its canons old, 
 Its sandstone cliffs, like buttress bold, 
 Standing, like wardens of a town, 
 Upon the threshold of renown. 
 For there will come a time when eyes 
 Unnumbered will, with rapt surprise, 
 Linger and look, and linger still, 
 On Canon Creek, by Cascade rill, 
 Sending its lissome sheet of spray 
 Like veils of beauty round Ouray. 
 Here Claude and Constance linger long 
 And owned the scene as worthy song; 
 Song such as flows from poet's pen 
 Born of the mountain, stream and glen. 
 
 Now down the Uncompahgre vale 
 
 They follow the old Indian trail; 
 
 Reminder of the savage host 
 
 Is seen at old Los Pinos post. 
 
 No more the wild war whoop is heard, 
 
68 Wedding Bells. 
 
 No more the heart with fear is stirred 
 In frontier cabin, where affright 
 Came with the coming of the night, 
 Lest, ere the stars gave place to day, 
 Some cherished form in death should lay, 
 Slain by the cruel Indian's hand, 
 The Ishmael of the Western land. 
 Soon meadow, garden, fields of grain 
 And cabin homes bedeck the plain, 
 Showing the presence of a race 
 That, under Nature's bounteous grace, 
 Change desert lands to bowers fair, 
 Creating beauty everywhere. 
 
 Montrose, "fair village of the plain," 
 Ere long is reached, and not in vain 
 Is sought the comfort and the rest 
 Our travelers need to make them blest. 
 Then, toward the east they turned their 
 
 way, 
 
 Till Cerro Hill behind them lay; 
 By devious roads and winding track, 
 
From Cimarron to Gunnison. 69 
 
 Now forward, and now turning back, 
 They reach, just at the set of sun, 
 The charming nook of Cimarron. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Prom (Jimarror\ fo (Sunnison. 
 
 A charming nook, a cool retreat, 
 The waters flashing at one's feet; 
 The blue, blue arc, so far away, 
 The rounded hills, where young lambs 
 
 play; 
 
 The frowning walls, that rise like Fate 
 Before Black Canon's narrow gate, 
 To bid the traveler pause who would 
 Rashly confront the solitude 
 That lies beyond a dark defile, 
 That scarcely sees the sun's bright smile, 
 But evermore in shadow sleeps 
 Where Gunnison's green water sweeps. 
 He who from busy life would run, 
 
70 Wedding Bells. 
 
 He who abode of men would shun, 
 He who in solitude sublime 
 Would seek repose or hide his crime, 
 Will here find hiding place secure, 
 Will here find solitude made sure 
 As sun, that shines the world upon 
 But hides his head at Cimarron. 
 
 And yet, the lover, young and old, 
 
 Of Nature, with its green and gold 
 
 And umber shades, will surely find 
 
 This place an Eden to his mind. 
 
 And youth, when crowned with happy love, 
 
 In pleasure's grove will swiftly move 
 
 And find in such a calm retreat 
 
 An endless bloom, forever sweet, 
 
 And fair to eyes that fondly look 
 
 Upon it as an open book, 
 
 On which is traced, in fadeless lines, 
 
 The happiness that round them shines. 
 
 So Claude and Constance thought that day 
 
 They watched the ripples and the spray 
 
From Cimarron to Gunnison. 71 
 
 Floating and flashing on the tide 
 
 Till in the Gunnison they glide. 
 
 They crossed the bridge, they climbed the 
 
 path, 
 
 They faced the canon's frown and wrath, 
 For bristling crags they had no fear; 
 The rugged cliffs that far and near 
 Enwrapt the scene in shadow-land 
 They heeded not as, hand in hand, 
 They walked to where the waters meet 
 At Currecanti Needle's feet. 
 Like some cathedral spire sublime, 
 Like some huge monument of Time, 
 It stands, while on its tapering peak 
 The summer sun plays hide and seek, 
 Peeping behind its walls of stone 
 To watch the shadows it has thrown. 
 A thread of foam at Crystal Falls 
 Drops down to smooth its shelving walls, 
 And seeks the running river's breast 
 As a child might, to find a rest 
 
72 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Upon its mother's bosom, warm 
 And white a haven from the storm 
 That might arise to cloud the sky 
 And sweep in threatening shadows by; 
 They hear its cooing, murmuring tones 
 As, slipping over sand and stones, 
 The crystal water disappears 
 And hides itself in other spheres 
 Of action. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Dearest, such a spot 
 As this is sacred; is it not? 
 Our Honeymoon has been, thus far, 
 One round of pleasure, naught to mar 
 Or cloud our pathway as we go 
 Through vales of flowers, o'er hills of snow, 
 Through canons crowned with stately pine, 
 To garden lands of corn and vine. 
 
 Claude: 
 Could life like this forever be? 
 
From Cimarron to Gunnison. 73 
 
 Could we thus cross life's stormy sea, 
 With sails to favoring breezes spread 
 Till to the haven we were led, 
 What happy lot were ours! Each day 
 Some pleasure crowns us on our way; 
 And when night's mantle folds our nest 
 A thousand happy fancies rest 
 Within us. Love is love indeed 
 When equal to all human need. 
 
 The canon widens as they go 
 Toward Tomichi's crown of snow, 
 Past Sapinero's rock-bound nest, 
 Where, for an hour, the lovers rest, 
 Then onward speed till Gunnison 
 And its La Veta inn are won; 
 Where Constance in poetic mood 
 Sketched this Black Canon interlude* 
 
74 Wedding Bells. 
 
 BLACK CANON. 
 
 By winding ways 
 We drop from mountain summits down to 
 
 vales 
 Where sunshine lingers and yet shadows 
 
 lurk 
 In deep defiles, pine-crowned and robed 
 
 in snow. 
 
 With motion swift, yet sure, we glide along 
 Until at Sapinero's gate we stand 
 And pause, where cedar, evergreen and 
 
 pine 
 Commingle, and the landscape stretches 
 
 out 
 To one broad sheet of beauty, while we 
 
 catch 
 
 Late and last glimpses of Tomichi's dome 
 With its white, western breast bared to 
 
 the sun, 
 
 Its feet in shadow. Then, as we glide on, 
 We see on one side coverlets of snow, 
 
From Cimarron to Gunnison. 75 
 
 And on the other, bare, brown hills that 
 
 lift 
 Their umber bosoms to embracing skies. 
 
 Below, 
 
 The dark, green waters glide all foam- 
 lashed down; 
 Above, steep, age -washed rocks, whose 
 
 sides reveal 
 
 The secrets of uncounted eons fled, 
 The jagged rocks, scarred, seamed and 
 
 cut, betray 
 
 Unceasing warfare with the elements, 
 And, closing in with narrower walls, now 
 
 give 
 
 Faint glimpses only of blue sky above. 
 The waters foam at Currecanti's feet, 
 Whose needle point is lifted up to heaven 
 Suggestive of a better land. Near by 
 The smiling waves dash madly down, as if 
 In race with stream and angry at defeat. 
 
76 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Here a huge stone, like lion couchant 
 
 waits 
 To fret the waters on their downward 
 
 way; 
 Here, Crystal Falls, its slender thread of 
 
 foam 
 Drops down from dizzy heights and gently 
 
 falls 
 
 Into the bosom of the parent wave. 
 As past the Cimarron we glide, we see 
 Faint foot-prints of the winter, left behind 
 To lighten up the landscape, umber-hued 
 And stained by chemic changes in the 
 
 rocks- 
 White patches upon Nature's generous 
 
 breast, 
 That nurse the grasses to their roots and 
 
 win 
 The wild-flowers to the warmth and bloom 
 
 of June. 
 For even here, dear Mother Earth delights 
 
From Cimarron to Gunnison. 77 
 
 To robe herself ; as when, in valley lands, 
 She binds her waist with dainty lily buds 
 And on her forehead wears a wreath, en- 
 girt 
 
 With rainbow colors from the meadow 
 flowers. 
 
 Ere long 
 
 We see the rock-ribbed canon slow unclose 
 As gates might do that ope to Paradise; 
 We see the sloping, cedar-wooded hills 
 That clasp the sunshine to their rounded 
 
 breasts 
 Whereon the firstlings of the flock may 
 
 feed 
 
 The lambs that gambol in the balmy air 
 While ravens, flapping heavy plumage, 
 
 float 
 Along; and in the pause of moments we 
 
 can hear 
 The blackbird's twitter and the lark's light 
 
 song, 
 
78 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Until are reached the pleasant valley lands 
 That in the Uncompahgre Valley lie, 
 The valley of a thousand prosperous 
 homes. 
 
 XV. 
 
 qtye Vale of 
 
 Up the Tomichi's sparkling stream 
 Our lovers go, as in a dream; 
 Winding among the willow brush, 
 The quiet broken by the rush 
 Of lowing kine through pastures sweet, 
 Where juicy grasses hide the feet 
 Of these two, as rapt by the scene, 
 They move along the meadows green. 
 Near, and yet far, Tomichi's crest 
 Looks down upon this rural nest; 
 Its rounded bosom, crowned with pine 
 And cedar, while the creeping vine 
 Garlands the struggling underwood, 
 
The Vale of Tomichi. 79 
 
 Where the wild deer have often stood 
 As, stooping down the crumbling brink, 
 The waters of the creek they drink. 
 These once were numberless; but now 
 The rifle ball, the bending bow, 
 The rapid settlement of men, 
 Have decimated gorge and glen, 
 And only by some lucky chance 
 One sees them through the woodland 
 
 prance, 
 
 Swifter than arrow to its mark, 
 To safe retreat in bosky park. 
 Tomichi's springs are near at hand, 
 A sanitarium for the land, 
 Whose waters, with rare virtues rife, 
 Refill the sluggish veins of life 
 With vigor strong from blood renewed, 
 Won from the virgin solitude, 
 Where Nature, through her chemic art, 
 The healing beams of health impart. 
 Above, beyond, the rocky hills 
 
8o Wedding Bells. 
 
 Loom grandly up. Their presence fills 
 The heart with wonder, awe and pride, 
 Of those who climb the mountain side 
 To cross the pass through storm and snow 
 To valley lands that lie below. 
 And now begins the winding way, 
 The devious course, the long delay, 
 By which, o'er wooded hills of grass, 
 The traveler reaches Marshall Pass. 
 What mighty peaks the distance crown! 
 Their feet are green, their bosoms brown, 
 Their heads with spotless snow are 
 
 crowned, 
 
 Eternal silence reigns around. 
 A Switzerland of peaks is here 
 Whose summits into azure rear. 
 No glittering glaciers bar the way, 
 But frowning hills obscure the day 
 And danger lurks in spots untold 
 Where crumbling ledges lose their hold. 
 Now suddenly Cimmerian gloom 
 
ROYAL GORGE. 
 
The Vale of Tomichi. 81 
 
 Descends, as if the day of doom 
 
 Had fallen; drifting clouds drop down, 
 
 The face of Nature wears a frown, 
 
 Which changes into tears of pain 
 
 Descending in slim ropes of rain. 
 
 The lightning sends its angry flash 
 
 Across the horizon; the crash 
 
 Of thunder long and loud resounds, 
 
 And rumbles to remotest bounds 
 
 Of space; the heavy air is rife 
 
 With peril from the strain and strife 
 
 Of elements electrified 
 
 And battling on the mountain side. 
 
 Under the shadow of a rock 
 Constance and Claude wait, till the shock 
 Of sudden shower has ceased its wrath; 
 Then sunshine sweeps the rain-drenched 
 
 path; 
 
 The clouds move slowly past the ledge 
 Where they were drooping on its edge, 
 And lo! the earth, erstwhile in tears, 
 
82 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Has shaken off its spasm of fears; 
 Blue sky and shining sun bend low, 
 Wild roses in the sunshine glow, 
 The very daisies at their feet 
 Are by the shower made more sweet; 
 The rivulets that past them run 
 Flash brighter ripples to the sun, 
 As, swollen to a torrent deep, 
 Through dark defiles they downward 
 
 sweep. 
 
 They stand on Marshall Pass, whose page 
 Reveals the round earth's hoary age. 
 The birthplace of the storm they see, 
 And stand close to the mystery 
 Of wondrous Chronos, from whose throes 
 Titanic battlements arose, 
 When rocks high in mid air were hurled 
 From th' furnace of the under world. 
 
 Now down the Pass Claude leads the way; 
 They watch the shadows as they play 
 In every dell, defile and nook, 
 
The Vale of Tomichi. 83 
 
 And hide the purling Poncha brook; 
 
 Running as if in haste to rest 
 
 Within some river's ampler breast. 
 
 Down, down descending slopes they go 
 
 Behind, the mountains crowned with snow; 
 
 Beside them, precipices deep, 
 
 Where darkness and where danger sleep; 
 
 Before them glimpses brief but sweet 
 
 Of vales secluded in retreat; 
 
 Of parks enclosed in pine-ridged hills 
 
 Through which meander laughing rills; 
 
 Above, the sky in clouds arrayed, 
 
 Their edge in rainbow colors laid. 
 
 The plains of Poncha meet their eyes; 
 
 In calm of rest the village lies, 
 
 As if content and earthly peace 
 
 From human ailment gave release. 
 
 Ere long they in Salida stand 
 
 The gateway to the summer-land. 
 
 Resting upon the river's slopes, 
 
 And throbbing with a thousand hopes; 
 
84 Wedding Bells. 
 
 With promise of an honored name, 
 And looking out on coming fame. 
 Upon its brow may garlands wait 
 A noble city of the state. 
 Its homes, its gardens and its fields, 
 With all that loving Nature yields 
 To those who at her temple kneel 
 And plead for human wealth and weal, 
 To fall in fullest measure down 
 And all the passing seasons crown. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 An idle day one could not spend 
 
 To better profit than to bend 
 
 One's footsteps to the wild defile 
 
 Where Nature blends a frown and smile, 
 
 On granite walls and foaming stream, 
 
 Where shadow and where sunshine gleam, 
 
 And in Grand Canon's heart reveal 
 
The Royal Gorge. 85 
 
 The secrets Nature would conceal. 
 A thousand years of shade and sun 
 In Nature's story count as one; 
 And who can in the granite trace 
 The foot-prints of the ancient race 
 That peopled hill and vale below 
 Before the gorge began to grow? 
 The stars, the moon, the sun, we ask 
 The ancient landmarks take to task 
 From rounded rock the secret seek 
 We bid the hoary pine trees speak 
 We ask the river as it runs 
 The number of unnumbered suns 
 That on it shone, before the tide 
 Once in its flowing, deep and wide 
 Down dwindled to the narrow bed, 
 Cribbed and confined, until it sped 
 Through canon walls two thousand feet 
 Below their crest. The crags repeat 
 The question. Echo takes the sound 
 And sends it upward and around, 
 
86 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Then waits the answer but in vain; 
 The mist, the snowflake and the rain, 
 In the Arcana dim and vast, 
 Rise, flash and flit forever past, 
 While men, immortal though they be, 
 No wiser grow. The things they see, 
 Evoked from Nature's solitude, 
 Are scarcely ever understood. 
 The waters flash, the waters flow, 
 They fret the rocks as on they go, 
 They throw their spray upon the ledge, 
 They purl along the pebbled edge 
 Where never flower is seen or bird 
 Is in the awful silence heard. 
 This gulf of air, in somber robes, 
 Is the eighth wonder of the globe. 
 
 Upon the bridge the wedded pair 
 Stand as if poised in upper air; 
 The river runs beneath their feet, 
 Above, the cleft rocks almost meet, 
 
The Royal Gorge. 87 
 
 Hiding from view the rift of light 
 That struggles down to meet the sight. 
 Man supplements the work of Time 
 Till Nature is indeed sublime. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Hear you the beating of my heart? 
 At every little sound I start! 
 My soul with wonder and with awe 
 Is filled. I hear the river's roar 
 And, dizzy with the light and sound, 
 I fain would stand on firmer ground. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Nay, Love, cheer up; the shadows lie 
 Upon us; but above, the sky 
 Shines brighter for these darkened slopes 
 That seem like shrines of buried hopes. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 I hear the murmur of the stream. 
 It tells us this is not a dream; 
 That but a little space away 
 
88 Wedding Bells. 
 
 It flashes in the noontide's ray. 
 It bids us follow where it goes 
 To kiss the lily and the rose, 
 To ripple where the tree, the vine, 
 In Canon's perfumed gardens shine. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 And if, dear Love and bride of mine, 
 The kiss it gives be sweet as thine, 
 It well may seek to swiftly speed 
 From somber gorge to smiling mead. 
 And if look up sweetheart such slips 
 Were never meant 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Ah, Claude! my lips 
 Are tremulous and white, I know, 
 With whiteness of the stainless snow. 
 But press them once and not in vain 
 Will they their roseate hue regain. 
 Love's kiss their color will restore, 
 And love is love, forevermore. 
 
Canons Orchard Lands. 89 
 
 XVII. 
 Canon's regard bands. 
 
 The sandstone walls of Canon stand 
 
 Like gateways into fairy-land; 
 
 The valley opens wide its arms 
 
 And shows the world a thousand charms 
 
 Of landscape; verdant hills bend low, 
 
 The meadows meet the river's flow, 
 
 The birds attune melodious throats 
 
 And sing of love in cooing notes, 
 
 And round "Gate City's" home-like walls 
 
 A sense of perfect comfort falls. 
 
 He who these fruitful lands would see 
 
 Should walk abroad; on plain and lea 
 
 The apple trees, in fair array, 
 
 Bespeak Pomona's gentle sway. 
 
 The vista stretches on each side, 
 
 Revealing orchards far and wide 
 
 Whose blossom-time in early spring 
 
 Give odors like the airs that wing 
 
 Their way across Arabian isles, 
 
go Wedding Bells. 
 
 Where Nature, robed in roses, smiles. 
 
 And here, a later time shall come 
 
 When the rich fruitage round each home 
 
 Shall ripen red; and harvest song 
 
 Be heard the Fruitmere lands among. 
 
 Nor this alone; for from the vine 
 
 Will purple clusters hang, in sign 
 
 That here the vineyard tribute yields 
 
 To supplement the grain, whose fields 
 
 Are ripening, thus giving food 
 
 And drink to all the multitude. 
 
 The valley widens as it goes 
 
 And adds new charms of scene to those 
 
 It holds so closely to its heart, 
 
 Where canon and where river part; 
 
 Until, where Canon City stands 
 
 And wooes the world with fruit-filled 
 
 hands, 
 
 It seems as if no fairer spot 
 On earth could come; where, care forgot 
 And sorrow banished, life would glide 
 
Canons Orchard Lands. 91 
 
 On tides of bliss, beatified. 
 The river whispered, as it ran, 
 Its messages of peace to man. 
 "I bear," it said, "upon my tide 
 The shining waters; as they glide 
 To grain fields and to orchard lands, 
 Distributed by busy hands, 
 They are as pearls the Princess slips, 
 In legend old, from rosebud lips. 
 They touch the earth and from it grows 
 The peach, the almond and the rose; 
 The tree uplifts its branches tall; 
 The vine hangs on the sunny wall; 
 The meadow its alfalfa yields; 
 Plain lands are changed to barley fields; 
 And, as in days of Babylon, 
 The earth, by water kissed, and sun, 
 Replies, with all its precious store- 
 God's gift to man, forevermore." 
 
 Constance and Claude, in happy talk, 
 Beside the whispering river walk; 
 
92 Wedding Bells. 
 
 It almost seems as if they'd found, 
 The chosen spot, the favored ground, 
 Where, for the years which are to come, 
 They might build up their earthly home. 
 The vale is one enriched with flowers 
 To beautify life's happy hours; 
 And, with the warmth of sun and sky 
 On orchard lands and vineyards nigh, 
 The languorous airs of summer woo 
 The soul with pleasures Eden knew, 
 Before the sword of anger swept 
 Across its gate, or angels wept 
 To see the sinning human pair 
 Cast out, life's bitter lot to share; 
 From bliss of Paradise depart 
 With scarce a hope to cheer the heart. 
 
 Claude: 
 Is this the end? 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Nay, Love; you know 
 
Buena Vista Hot Springs. 93 
 
 Across the hills we still must go; 
 Beyond the pines whose shadows toss 
 Beneath the Mount of th' Holy Cross! 
 There still are scenes as bright and clear 
 As mirror this star hemisphere 
 With beauty. And still many ways 
 In which to pass these honeyed days. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Then let us turn our faces west, 
 Follow the path that seemeth best, 
 And take such comfort as we may; 
 Sweet Constance, kiss and come away. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Buena Vista ftat f)Hn|s. 
 
 Again toward the hill-crowned west 
 The lovers turn. They see the crest 
 Of scores of mountains rise in air 
 Sangre de Christo's range is bare 
 Of snow, save isolated peaks 
 
94 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Whose brow eternal winter speaks; 
 
 Though flowers may blossom at their feet, 
 
 And winds be full of odors sweet, 
 
 Upon their heads forever show 
 
 The coronals of stainless snow. 
 
 Salida's skirts are touched, and then 
 
 Their way is up the hills again; 
 
 They see Buena Vista's light 
 
 Shine faintly through the summer night; 
 
 The valley of the Cottonwood 
 
 Lies draped in sylvan solitude 
 
 Until the Indian Springs arise 
 
 In sudden but in glad surprise, 
 
 Set underneath the friendly breast 
 
 Of hills crowned with eternal rest. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Look, Claude! the moon above the hills 
 Is rising; how its shining fills 
 The sky with radiance, while the world 
 In sheen of silvery rays is furled. 
 
Buena Vista Hot Springs. 95 
 
 Touched by the moonlight, in my thought 
 
 A legend runs a fancy, caught 
 
 In idle hours, long time ago, 
 
 About the moon; one side aglow 
 
 With whiteness, turned toward our world; 
 
 The other, in black darkness furled, 
 
 Forevermore in shadow thrown 
 
 As if forever to atone. 
 
 One side a realm of bliss, that seems 
 
 Like Paradise as seen in dreams; 
 
 While on the other, hither shore 
 
 Lies Eden, lost, forevermore. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Tell me the story. Could we stand 
 One moment in that moon-lit land, 
 What visions strange would meet our eyes! 
 What glories on our sight would rise! 
 The music of celestial spheres 
 Would fall in sweetness on our ears! 
 And, earth forgetting, by the earth 
 
96 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Forgotten, in the newer birth 
 
 Our souls would in the moonshine rest, 
 
 Forever and forever blest. 
 
 THE MOON MYTH. 
 
 An angel led me to the Moon's bright side, 
 
 The side where darkness never has been 
 known; 
 
 And where eternal brightness dwells and 
 sends 
 
 Its radiant earth-shine through the vales 
 and dells. 
 
 Beside the sun, the stars, in ebon sky, 
 
 Looked down upon the mountains, on 
 whose top 
 
 Unceasing splendor shone; flower-bosom- 
 ed vales 
 
 Around us lay, and far and near we saw 
 
 Such glory as is never known on earth. 
 
 Then, as I looked around, I thought of 
 hearts 
 
Buena Vista Hot Springs. 97 
 
 Borne down by burdens, weary of their 
 
 load 
 
 That hither look, and in their helplessness 
 Have wished for happiness in some abode 
 Like this, and in the silence of the night 
 Have prayed for passage hither. Happy 
 
 they 
 
 Who these clear, quiet waters walk be- 
 side; 
 Who in these vernal meadows find their 
 
 rest. 
 
 We wonder not the children of the East 
 Reared lofty temples to Diana's name, 
 Until all Asia and the Eastern world 
 Bent low and in the moonlight cold and 
 
 chaste, 
 Worshipped the Goddess of the Night, 
 
 until 
 
 Through all the darkened age their hom- 
 age ran 
 And echoes in eternal changes swept 
 
98 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Above humanity's wreck-burdened sea. 
 As thus I mused, the angel's low voice fell 
 Upon my ear, and listening, I heard 
 This wondrous tale: 
 
 Here in this valley lie 
 All treasures lost on earth. Here every 
 
 vow 
 
 Men make, a record hath; and every sigh 
 To which the sorrowing heart gives birth, 
 
 is here 
 
 Held sacred. Here, all reputations lost 
 By those who, led by th' Will o' Wisp of 
 
 fame 
 
 Or lust of gold, the Rubicon have crossed 
 And left behind them honor, love and 
 
 truth; 
 
 And here, clustered in an inglorious group, 
 Are the results of earthly vice and crime; 
 The ghosts of error, ignorance and hate, 
 And all the children of the Goddess Sin. 
 
Buena Vista Hot Springs. 99 
 
 Here are the promises men make in youth 
 And in their later years forget to keep. 
 These gather in the after time, to mock 
 The fears that cluster round the coward's 
 
 heart 
 
 Who sees in all these unrepented years 
 The arrows of remorse, arrayed against 
 The entrance into Paradise; each poison- 
 ed shaft 
 Held in an archer's hand, whose aim is 
 
 true. 
 
 All these are here, forgotten for the time, 
 But ready at the waving of the wand 
 Of Conscience to leap up and fly to mark 
 As to Achilles' heel did foeman's lance. 
 Here all the hopes that send across life's 
 
 wave 
 Their rainbow rays, lie wrecked, as on the 
 
 rocks 
 
 Of sad experience they struck and sunk 
 With all love's treasured idols, one by one. 
 
ioo Wedding Bells. 
 
 By force of circumstance, by fell design, 
 By all the common accidents of time 
 Each image crumbled, and no record left 
 Save such sad In Memoriam as makes 
 The tale more sad. And here are gath- 
 ered pearls 
 
 Such as we pass and pick not up, that line 
 The path we tread with blinded eyes; the 
 
 flowers 
 
 Of faith and charity that bud and bloom 
 Along the road to Virtue's fair abode; 
 All these unheeded and unseen are here 
 But why the theme pursue? Here all 
 
 things lost 
 On earth are found. Even the unremem- 
 
 bered dream, 
 
 The scarce heard or forgotten word; 
 And in these valleys of the moon they find 
 Record against the swiftly-coming hour 
 When all the secrets of the universe 
 Shall stand revealed. 
 
Buena Vista Hot Springs. 101 
 
 Claude: 
 
 And if, my Love, the myth were true, 
 And in the shining moon, we knew 
 Our vows of love were kept, to wait 
 Far-off but certain day of fate, 
 When they would rise as witnesses 
 To all that was and all that is 
 To be what then? Our page of life, 
 With pen of love and not of strife, 
 Is to be written, fair and clear, 
 For every day of every year. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Hold me, Love, closer to your breast; 
 On lips of mine, let your lips rest; 
 And by this seal and by this sign 
 Seal me in life or death as thine. 
 
 Oh Love! what miracle is this? 
 What potent power is in thy kiss 
 That blends our souls to seem as one 
 
IO2 Wedding Bells. 
 
 As when two streams together run? 
 To watch one moon, to seek one sea, 
 Twin-souled to all eternity. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 fp\A)in bakes. 
 
 Above the sea, ten thousand feet, 
 The mountains and the waters meet; 
 So near to Heaven their surface lies 
 They seem to touch the azure skies; 
 That lower bend, as if to reach 
 The mirrored stars that shine in each; 
 Reflecting back their lucent ray 
 In brighter lines, as dips the day 
 Behind Mount Elbert's furrowed form, 
 Seared by its centuries of storm. 
 Oh lakes of waters, fitly named, 
 Between the sky and mountain framed; 
 Twin Lakes, upon whose quiet breast 
 Respite is found from life's unrest. 
 
Twin Lakes. 103 
 
 The boatman plies his willing oar, 
 
 The boat glides gently from the shore, 
 
 And on the undulating spray 
 
 We float and dream the hours away; 
 
 The summer hours, that swiftly pass 
 
 As vapors flit across the glass. 
 
 La Plata's mountain, stern and bold; 
 
 Twin Peaks, like brothers, calm and cold; 
 
 Lake Mountain and Mount Sheridan, 
 
 All are as warders, bidding man 
 
 Respect the world-old virgin grace, 
 
 And keep unstained fair Nature's face. 
 
 The forests, with their wealth of pine, 
 
 In boweries of balm recline; 
 
 And all the charm that Nature wears 
 
 In solitude like this, he shares 
 
 Who, to enjoy it at its best, 
 
 Comes to this quiet spot to rest. 
 
 Below, the toil and tire of earth, 
 
 Its wail of grief, its song of mirth; 
 
 Its memories born of happier hours; 
 
IO4 Wedding- Bells. 
 
 Its roses, fading in June's bowers; 
 Its thorns, to beating bosom pressed; 
 Its sorrows, throned in throbbing breast; 
 And all the wine of human woe 
 Pressed from the grapes of pain below. 
 Above, the silence and the stars, 
 And visions, through celestial bars 
 Of the Beulah land that waits 
 Beyond the pearl and jasper gates 
 The gates that open at a sign 
 From the white throne of Love divine, 
 And lets the soul, when shrived from sin, 
 The soul from earth-land, enter in, 
 To walk the streets of shining gold 
 And sing the song that's never old; 
 The one the angels sing above 
 The song of the Redeemer's love. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 How near to Heaven we seem to be, 
 When, from such heights sublime, we see 
 
Twin Lakes. 105 
 
 The starry depths of space unknown 
 Upon the lake's calm bosom thrown. 
 How pitiful our passions seem 
 Each aspiration, hope or dream, 
 Which only has an earthly goal 
 And cannot satisfy the soul. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Dear Love, the silence so profound 
 Resting upon the parks around 
 Impresses me with awe. I feel 
 Across my subdued senses steal 
 Th' influence of the stars, whose rays 
 Have shone on earth since Eden's days 
 In pity and in prayer, that men 
 Might enter Paradise again. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 And if they do, 'tis Love that waits 
 To lead them to the swinging gates 
 Where angel and avenging sword 
 
io6 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Work out the mandate of the Lord. 
 But Love shall conquer Love shall win 
 That all who will may enter in. 
 
 The shadow falls on peaks and lakes; 
 The wind the moaning pine-song wakes; 
 The Twin Lakes waters to and fro 
 Upon their world-old mission go, 
 And night and darkness on them fall; 
 But Love is Guardian over all. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Premonf Pass. 
 
 "On Fremont Pass at last we stand," 
 Said Claude. "Brave leader of a band 
 Of men as brave as he and bold, 
 Who feared no danger, darkness, cold, 
 As, amid Nature's scenes so strange, 
 He crossed the Rocky Mountain Range. 
 Pathfinder of the glorious West, 
 
Fremont Pass. 107 
 
 Whose tireless feet still onward prest 
 Through canon wild, o'er mountain steep, 
 Where eagles from their eyrie sweep, 
 And, soaring upward to the sky, 
 They face the sun with fearless eye. 
 A hero he, who thus revealed 
 The wealth Sierra's heart concealed. 
 Of hills where silver, jewels, gold 
 Were hidden; and of vales where rolled 
 The waters 'neath whose sparkling flow 
 Pactolean sands were hid below. 
 His name will shine on history's page 
 The hero of this later age." 
 "But did he for his labors win," 
 Said Constance, "such reward, as in 
 The breasts of grateful people rise? 
 Where eager hands and sparkling eyes 
 Heap love and honor, wealth and fame, 
 Upon the hero's world-known name? 
 Nay, he who to his native land 
 An empire gave; whose venturous hand 
 
io8 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Opened the Gateway of the West 
 To El Dorado's golden breast 
 And to the brotherhood of States 
 Gave added strength, his name awaits 
 The justice of a later day 
 To crown his brow with fadeless bay. 
 Colombo on Carribean seas, 
 Fremont on ranges such as these, 
 Give continents and states to men 
 And sounding lyre and minstrel's pen 
 Are silent to the Nation's shame; 
 And such, alas! is human fame." 
 
 Below, the valley objects fade; 
 The charms of rivulet and glade 
 Are lost to vision, as the clouds, 
 Like shadows or aerial shrouds, 
 Float round the mount in vaporous 
 
 streams 
 
 Through which the sun sends shining 
 beams. 
 
Mount of the Holy Cross. 109 
 
 Oh vision grand! Oh light sublime! 
 Seldom in story or in rhyme 
 Such splendid glories cluster round 
 And crown the consecrated ground. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Mount of tfye ffoty (jross. 
 
 On consecrated ground; for lo 
 
 On yonder heights a Cross of Snow 
 
 Is lifted in the air, a sign 
 
 And symbol, graved on Nature's shrine; 
 
 And, since the world itself began, 
 
 Telling its story unto man. 
 
 To Man, who floats upon Time's wave, 
 
 Whose moving bosom is a grave; 
 
 Whose life is said to be a span 
 
 Ending as soon as it began. 
 
 The Mountain of the Holy Cross 
 
 Gives Heavenly gain for Earthly loss 
 
 To all who bend their willing feet 
 
no Wedding Bells. 
 
 To where the promise, so complete, 
 Is written! Unto all who will, 
 Beneath the Cross climb Calvary's Hill. 
 When was it set in Nature's breast? 
 Who knoweth ? Centuries have prest 
 On centuries moving swiftly by 
 Since first it kissed the air and sky. 
 Perchance before the moon grew cold 
 Perchance before the stars grew old 
 Ere Rameses reigned in kingly state 
 Ere Christ, beneath the Jewish hate, 
 Moved with the Cross upon his breast 
 To the Golgothan place of rest, 
 And Nature, at the cruel act, 
 Awoke the dead to seal the fact 
 To all the coming centuries; 
 To Saint, upon his bended knees, 
 Or Pagans, as their gifts they toss, 
 Before the Altar and the Cross. 
 Who knoweth? On this Cross of Snow 
 The shadow of the clouds below 
 
Mount of the Holy Cross. 1 1 1 
 
 Can never fall. The wind may sweep 
 
 And drift through gorges wild and deep, 
 
 But far above, the Mountain's breast 
 
 Is crowned with an eternal rest; 
 
 And bold against the sapphire arc 
 
 Above it, God's undying mark 
 
 Is set; but not in anger. No, 
 
 The story of the Cross of Snow 
 
 Is one of Love the love of One 
 
 Who on the Cross Salvation won 
 
 For man a sinful, erring race, 
 
 Inhabiting Earth's dwelling place. 
 
 This emblem of the Christian's faith 
 
 Forever and forever saith 
 
 As once to Constantine it said: 
 
 By this, man is to victory led. 
 
 The victory that conquers sin, 
 
 And over Death itself shall win 
 
 ('Tis written so on angel scroll) 
 
 In final warfare for the soul. 
 
 Thus, from the summit of Fremont, 
 
1 1 2 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Constance and Claude the Cross confront; 
 The Holy Cross, the seal and sign 
 Of Love unending and divine. 
 
 Constance and Claude: 
 
 (On bent knees facing the Mount of the Holy Cross.) 
 
 Oh what are we, if from this slope 
 Thy hand withdraws this sign of Hope? 
 And what our chance of future bliss 
 When life is ended, save for this? 
 Father of All, Whose name is Love, 
 Look down upon us from above 
 As here we kneel; we are so weak, 
 Thy guidance and Thy strength we seek. 
 We are but human and we know 
 Our thoughts to sinful pleasures flow; 
 On waves of doubt we float and toss 
 Till anchored to the Holy Cross. 
 
 With souls refreshed the lovers rise. 
 Hands clasp lips meet and from the 
 skies 
 
Glenwood Springs. 113 
 
 Floats down the song they sing in Heaven 
 When souls are of their sins forgiven. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 At Glenwood Springs our lovers rest: 
 A park of beauty, whose behest 
 Would serve to fill a poet's dreams; 
 Begirt by mountains, edged by streams; 
 The Roaring Forks, the rippling Grand, 
 The noblest river in the land, 
 Whose swelling tides of water flow 
 Through dells where the wild roses blow; 
 Past crags and peaks of old renown; 
 Through valley gemmed by thriving town ; 
 Past hamlet where fair orchards grow 
 In sight of mesas crowned with snow; 
 And then through canons wild and grim, 
 And in defiles as dense and dim 
 As Nature ever fashioned, runs 
 Till, under California's suns, 
 
H4 Wedding Bells. 
 
 The wavelet in the North Park born, 
 Sweeps southward to the Cape of Horn. 
 A noble river, in a land 
 Where rivers fill the farmer's hand 
 With harvestage of golden grain 
 Where'er it kisses park or plain. 
 
 But stay! our muse at present sings 
 The praise of pretty Glenwood Springs, 
 Where Nature shows a thousand charms 
 To woo her lovers to her arms. 
 She bids the sick come here for health; 
 She bids the poor come here for wealth; 
 She bids the weak come here to find 
 A balm for body and for mind; 
 Her sulphurous vapors upward go, 
 And healing follows where they flow. 
 She bids the weary come and rest; 
 She calls the hunter to the crest 
 Of hills that round her rise, to find 
 The game that through the pine trees 
 wind; 
 
Glenwood Springs. 115 
 
 And all around the rolling year 
 She offers comfort, calm and cheer; 
 While health and healing furl their wings 
 About the town of Glenwood Springs. 
 
 So Claude and Constance, on their way 
 
 To other vales beyond; must stay 
 
 To drink the water, breathe the air, 
 
 And Nature's wealth of beauty share. 
 
 No ills of body to be cured, 
 
 No grief-touched days to be endured; 
 
 Only to linger by the way, 
 
 And be as happy as they may; 
 
 So full of bliss, they only know 
 
 Earth would be Heaven, could they but go 
 
 Forever thus, hand clasped in hand, 
 
 In love and duty through the land. 
 
 A Paradise on Earth? Ah, well! 
 The lovers think so; 'tis the spell 
 That Isaac and Rebecca knew 
 Old as the world, yet ever new. 
 
ii6 Wedding Bells. 
 
 On Philae's Isle, by the Nile's stream, 
 
 The maids of Egypt dreamed the dream, 
 
 And, till the earth shall, like a scroll, 
 
 Into oblivion's spaces roll, 
 
 There will be lovers, honeymoons 
 
 And idyls in uncounted Junes; 
 
 And know no world but that which lies 
 
 Within the realm of lovers' eyes. 
 
 Dear reader, we were young, you know, 
 All in the years of long ago! 
 And there were moonlights, kisses, looks, 
 And cosy chats in sylvan nooks, 
 And marriage ring and wedding bells, 
 And all the bliss their ringing tells. 
 Once once for us; as now to these 
 Young lovers who, like roving bees, 
 Flit on from flower to flower, to find 
 The honey fitted to their mind. 
 Because our day of bliss has been, 
 Shall we begrudge the bliss they're in? 
 Nay, rather let our wishes blend 
 
Valley of Grand River. 1 1 7 
 
 That bliss go with them to the end. 
 
 So in love's daliance pass away 
 The bright hours of the summer day. 
 Constance receives on every side 
 The honors given to a bride; 
 Blushes in love's unconscious pride 
 When Claude is walking by her side; 
 And happiness around them flings 
 Her roseate robes at Glen wood Springs. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 of grand 
 
 Now down the crankled road they sped 
 By the Grand River's winding, led 
 Through fertile parks and blooming vales, 
 Through gorges where the sunshine pales, 
 Through glens hedged in with odorous 
 
 pine, 
 
 Home of the orchard and the vine, 
 Till in the Valley of the Grand 
 
ii8 Wedding Bells. 
 
 In wonder and surprise they stand. 
 Here a broad river, dangerous, deep, 
 Whose waves in rapid current sweep, 
 Flows by beside the Linn trees old, 
 Whose trunks a century's life enfold. 
 Fair Fruita in the sunshine lies, 
 The fairest village 'neath the skies; 
 Broad sweep of fertile land around, 
 Where prosperous farmer homes abound; 
 Home of the almond, apple, peach, 
 And vines, whose purple clusters teach 
 That bounteous Nature offers here 
 A generous summer with each year. 
 Far-off Grand Mesa on it frowns; 
 The stainless snow its summit crowns; 
 Its breast with crags and gulches scarred, 
 With countless streams of silver starred; 
 Like stately warder it looks down 
 Upon Grand Junction's thriving town. 
 Mount Garfield in the distance glows 
 At sunset like a crimson rose; 
 
Valley of Grand River. 1 1 9 
 
 While far-off Washington gleams bright, 
 Touched by the roseate sunset's light. 
 Beyond, the Roan Cliffs in long sweep 
 Of peaks serrated, westward creep, 
 Till, on the waves of distance tossed, 
 They in the Wahsatch range are lost; 
 At eventide they catch the ray- 
 Given in farewell to the day- 
 Sent by the sun; and poet's pen 
 Or painter's pencil fail them when 
 The glory of the view they write, 
 Or seek to paint in colors bright. 
 
 Constance and Claude in rapture gaze 
 Upon the drifts of cloud, ablaze 
 With color, full of constant change; 
 A sense of languor, sweet and strange, 
 Comes over them, as if their lips 
 Had touched the magic flower that dips 
 Its stainless stem where Nature's smile 
 Is warm along the languorous Nile. 
 The breeze from Pinon mesa borne 
 
I2O Wedding Bells. 
 
 Rustles the stalks of growing corn; 
 
 In waves of green the grain fields swell; 
 
 The odorous orchards feel the spell, 
 
 And strawberries ripening in the sun 
 
 Blush crimson at the kisses won 
 
 In wanton frolic by the breeze 
 
 Fresh blowing through the pinon trees; 
 
 And sense of comfort and of calm 
 
 Rests over Fruita like a balm. 
 
 Beneath the trees, the stream beside, 
 
 They watch the rapid river glide; 
 
 The river with its waves so mad, 
 
 The river with its legends sad, 
 
 Whose breast so often serves for graves, 
 
 So swift, so sudden are the waves 
 
 That to the lower canon glide 
 
 And thence seek gulf and ocean wide. 
 
 Constance: 
 
 I hear, or is it but a dream? 
 
 A whisper, coming from the stream; 
 
 A sad lament, as if a soul 
 
Valley of Grand River. 121 
 
 Had fallen, ere it reached its goal. 
 Listen, another voice replies; 
 Through the greenwood the echo dies; 
 Were elf-land tales but true, we stand 
 Within the realms of fairy-land. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Dear Love, their story catch, before 
 It dies along the stream and shore; 
 The wood-nymph and the water-sprite % 
 Are creatures hidden in the night 
 Of old romance; and yet and yet 
 They still may in this vale be met 
 Where Fruita like a bride 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Hush, Sweet, 
 While I the words I hear repeat: 
 
 THE VOICES. 
 
 The Naiad of the Stream: 
 What is it Brother? Upon the air 
 I hear the murmur at night and noon; 
 
122 Wedding- Bells. 
 
 Is it a trouble I may not share? 
 
 Under the beams of the sun and moon 
 Worlds to the fullness of time have grown, 
 
 Shriveled to atoms, and chaos falls 
 Over the space where the light once shone 
 
 Since we were young in these valley 
 
 walls. 
 What is it, Brother? Whisper it low; 
 
 What is abroad on the warm June air? 
 Born of the shadow, or storm of snow, 
 
 Is it a sorrow I may not share? 
 
 The Spirit of the Wood: 
 Sweet Sister, listen. The years are long 
 
 Since we have reigned in this valley fair; 
 You with your ripple and simple song, 
 
 I, ever wandering here and there; 
 Only the Indian's voice was heard 
 
 When nights were warm with the moons 
 
 of June; 
 And his arrow sped to pierce the bird 
 
 That sung to its mate a sweet love tune. 
 
Valley of Grand River. 123 
 
 But now I listen and daily hear 
 Another song and another sound; 
 
 What is its meaning, Oh, Sister, dear, 
 And what is this tumult all around? 
 
 The Naiad of the Stream: 
 Brother, no longer we reign supreme! 
 
 Brother, the silence to sound gives way; 
 Man is the master! The wood, the stream, 
 
 Must do his bidding without delay. 
 The valley will smile beneath his hand, 
 
 And roses bloom where the salt grass 
 
 grew, 
 And the sound of singing in the land 
 
 Will be sweeter than we ever knew. 
 The tomahawk to the hoe gives place, 
 
 The wild war whoop to the children's 
 
 song, 
 With the advent of a nobler race 
 
 And the coming of a mightier throng. 
 
 The Spirit of the Wood: 
 But, Sister, I hear the woodman's axe, 
 
124 Wedding Bells. 
 
 And the chips lie on the ground like 
 
 snow; 
 
 And the brush-heaps burn in the flame 
 like flax, 
 
 And I see a stream of water flow 
 Where water never before has flowed 
 
 Since suns set over this Western land, 
 Or moon looked down on this fair abode 
 
 Fresh as it came from the Maker's hand. 
 And I see a city rising here 
 
 Where the rivers meet in close embrace, 
 And a constant noise falls on my ear 
 
 With the coming of this busy race. 
 
 The Naiad of the Stream: 
 Yes, Brother, the tree by the axe must fall, 
 
 But a fairer one will from it rise; 
 Sweet fruits will hang from the garden 
 
 wall 
 And vineyards blossom 'neath Fruita's 
 
 skies. 
 Wherever the water flows will grow 
 
Valley of Grand River. 125 
 
 A field of grain for the good of all; 
 The bridal of soil with melted snow 
 
 Will yield its fruitage in time of fall. 
 And the city resting on the Grand 
 
 Will be the home of a thriving race, 
 And an honor to the guiding hand 
 
 That led the way to this happy place. 
 
 Naiad and Spirit: 
 
 Dear Brother 
 
 Sweet Sister 
 
 Our race is run; 
 
 Sweet Sister 
 
 Dear Brother 
 
 Our talk is done. 
 
 And silence in the place of sound 
 Fell like the moonlight on the ground. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Sweetheart, before the marriage rite 
 You were a bud, that hid from sight 
 The rose-leaves of your mind; but see! 
 
126 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Each day these leaves unfold for me 
 Their blush, their beauty and their bloom, 
 And crown existence with perfume. 
 Oh, Dear and Darling! In your clasp 
 The blossoms of true bliss I grasp; 
 May never word or deed of mine 
 Crush out this poet-gift of thine; 
 The beauty of thy thoughts shall be 
 The beauty of the world to me. 
 
 And then ? Moon, hide your crescent eye; 
 Stars, pass the pleasing picture by! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Border band. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 We've reached the border of the state; 
 Beyond, lies Utah's Catsle Gate 
 That entrance gives to fairy-land 
 Where canon, vale and mountain stand 
 As grand as 
 
Border Land. 127 
 
 Constance: 
 
 Nay, do not say as grand 
 As this, for in this scenic land 
 Of Colorado, wonders show 
 For which we might have far to go 
 To match; and still, the Wahsatch range 
 Lies fair to view; its colors change 
 As sunrise or as sunset make 
 A mirror of the Great Salt Lake. 
 We'll journey thitherward some day 
 And sing its praises on the way. 
 * * * * 
 
 They say that in this valley dwells 
 One whom we well might see, who tells 
 A story of that world-famed town 
 That nestles under Pike's Peak's crown. 
 Sad eyed is he, as minstrels are 
 Who gaze beyond the mystic bar 
 That, stretching over every clime, 
 Flings bubbles on the sea of rhyme; 
 And evermore he sits and sings 
 
128 Wedding Bells. 
 
 The praise of Colorado Springs; 
 And sighs that fate a home denies 
 'Mid scenes that there in beauty rise. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 To-day we'll see this hermit old; 
 Perchance to us he will unfold 
 The story how a city grows 
 Where summer's sun meets winter's snows. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Sfor^ of Colorado Springs. 
 
 (A told by the Hermit.) 
 
 Broad stretch of silent prairie lands 
 And swelling slopes of shining sands, 
 That into distance rise and fall 
 With bright, blue sunshine over all; 
 While on the west, or high or low, 
 Their giant frontlets crowned with snow, 
 The mountain peaks in grandeur stand 
 To sentinel a favored land. 
 

The Story of Colorado Springs. 1 29 
 
 Out of the rounded breasts of hills 
 Dame Nature sends her sparkling rills 
 Between the pines, with silvery sound, 
 Through canons draped in gloom pro- 
 found, 
 
 Till out upon the plains they slide 
 In streams that widen as they glide 
 To green-robed valley lands, that wait 
 Below the mountain's rock-ribbed gate. 
 
 The sunlight rests on granite walls 
 Where eagle unto eagle calls; 
 The moonlight sends its mellow beam 
 To gild the valley and the stream; 
 The birds that nest in piney bowers 
 Make musical the lagging hours; 
 And Nature, with expectant eyes, 
 Waits for the hour of Dawn to rise. 
 
 The adage runs: Who plants a tree 
 Is held as wise; what then is he 
 Who builds a city on waste-lands 
 And gathers round him skillful hands 
 
130 Wedding Bells. 
 
 To work his thought to wisest end, 
 On lines that unto beauty tend? 
 Where Nature all her charm displays 
 In healing springs and water-ways? 
 
 The Master came, serene and calm, 
 With soul enthused by Nature's balm; 
 His eagle eyes surveyed the scene 
 The mountain range, the plain's demesne; 
 The reign of Solitude, to him 
 Was over. From the mountain's rim 
 To valley's verge, the swelling slopes 
 Were pregnant with unnumbered hopes. 
 
 The Master spoke: These canons grand 
 Shall yet be known throughout the land; 
 These springs, to which the savage came 
 For healing, shall have wider fame; 
 Pike's Peak, that erst drew men to gold, 
 Shall draw them to a new home-fold; 
 And there shall rise upon these slopes 
 A city of ten thousand hopes. 
 
The Story of Colorado Springs. 131 
 
 The Master slept. The fancy caught 
 In daylight, was in dreams inwrought, 
 Until it took a form as fair 
 As any castle in the air; 
 Temples and towers and vine-clad bowers, 
 And singing voices through the hours, 
 And stately fanes and slender spires, 
 And fragrant breath of incense fires. 
 
 And over him there seemed to float 
 Minerva, with the milk-white throat, 
 Wisdom's fair goddess, rainbow clad, 
 Who made the sleeping Master glad 
 As from her lips there fell these words, 
 In tones like those of mocking-birds: 
 "Here build a temple to the wise; 
 Here let Time's latest Athens rise." 
 
 The Master woke. With brain astir 
 As became Wisdom's worshiper; 
 On liberal lines he traced a plan 
 That into the far future ran; 
 
132 Wedding 1 Bells. 
 
 Called on the Spirit of the Springs 
 To come with healing, on swift wings; 
 Evoked the magic spell of steam 
 To vivify a railway dream. 
 
 The Master's Lady came. The place 
 At once was beautified by grace 
 Of manner and the blessed balm 
 That comes when woman comes to charm. 
 At first the school-room was her throne 
 Where her rare queenship first was shown; 
 And then Glen Eyrie's eerie nest 
 Became her palace in the West. 
 
 The Printer came. The time was ripe 
 To hear the clicking of the type; 
 Through printer's ink brave words were 
 
 sent 
 
 To prove the dawn of settlement; 
 And one by one, in sight of snows, 
 Suburban homes of beauty rose 
 To mark the progress of the plan 
 
The Story of Colorado Springs. 133 
 Where Nature aids the work of man. 
 
 The Healer came. The springs he traced 
 And held such virtues should not waste; 
 The upward floating bubbles told 
 Of healing balm for young and old. 
 The dancing waters ever sung: 
 "Taste us and be forever young; 
 Here Hygeia holds her magic sway; 
 Drink deep and bless the happy day." 
 
 The Teacher came. His thoughtful eyes 
 Saw stately college buildings rise 
 Beside the murmur of the rills, 
 Under the shadow of the hills; 
 The Eastern cult in Western soil 
 Transplanted; so, through student toil, 
 The scrolls of learning might unroll 
 And Youth reach Wisdom's shining goal. 
 
 The Lover came. With heart afire 
 And eyes lit up with love's desire, 
 He bent and kissed his Lady's hand, 
 
134 Wedding- Bells. 
 
 As once they kissed in that famed land 
 Of good old Haroun-al-Raschid 
 Where houris in the garden hid, 
 And unseen harps, touched by the breeze, 
 Made music 'neath th' acacia trees. 
 
 The Children came. In rosy flocks 
 They romped amid the glens and rocks; 
 Above the ripple of the rills 
 Their voices echoed in the hills 
 With childhood's joyance and delight; 
 While through the silence and the night 
 The stars their loving vigil kept 
 Wherever happy children slept. 
 
 The Poet came. She touched her lute 
 
 And Nature was no longer mute; 
 
 But answered back, from flowers and birds 
 
 In echoes of enchanted words. 
 
 She sleeps the sleep we all must sleep; 
 
 But loving hearts sweet memories keep 
 
 Of Helen Hunt, whose words and deeds 
 
 Were framed to fit the nation's needs. 
 
The Story of Colorado Springs. 135 
 
 The Writer came. His active brain, 
 His facile pen, were not in vain; 
 He at his work stood firm for years 
 Then fell and slept. And amid tears 
 Was heard the funeral anthem peal 
 Above the grave of honored Steele; 
 Closed lips, sealed eyes, abandoned pen 
 And quiet heart of prince of men. 
 
 The Tourist came. In sylvan glen 
 He found repose of mind; and then 
 In Garden of the Gods he walked 
 And to its classic statues talked; 
 On Cameron's Cone, on Cheyenne's crest, 
 He saw the mellow moonlight rest, 
 And braved, to win perchance to fail 
 The tangled, twisted Pike's Peak trail. 
 
 The wily Engineer came down. 
 He marked the progress of the town; 
 By Font qui Bouille's babbling brook 
 The gradients of Ute Pass he took; 
 On trestles high and firmly braced 
 
136 Wedding Bells. 
 
 The rails of steel he bravely placed, 
 And lo! the engine's whistle rose 
 From valley grass to woodland snows! 
 
 The Electrician came. He knew 
 The time had come his work to do; 
 From Colorado Springs, he drew 
 His lines to fairy Manitou; 
 Then up Pike's Peak he traced the course 
 By which the cog-wheeled iron horse 
 Should speed its sinuous upward road 
 Till on the summit it abode. 
 
 So passed the years. The city grew, 
 And to it, as a magnet, drew 
 The cult of student minds, the wealth 
 That broadens life. Its springs of health 
 Were wells of Zem-zem unto those 
 Who respite sought from human woes; 
 And all the tides of action ran 
 To realize the Master's plan. 
 
 From inland lakes, from coast to coast, 
 
The Story of Colorado Springs. 137 
 
 From prairie lands, there comes a host 
 Men skilled in science and in art; 
 Maidens and mothers with glad heart; 
 Skilled artisans of every grade; 
 Painters to sketch the stream and glade, 
 And invalids in search of rest 
 And Ponce de Leon's vainless quest. 
 
 All honor to the master mind 
 Who lives to see the plans defined 
 To rare completeness and a name 
 Linked by them to enduring fame. 
 While Colorado Springs remains 
 The Matchless City of the plains, 
 Will Palmer's name shine on its page, 
 Brighter with each succeeding age. 
 
 The name of Cameron I recall, 
 While Nettleton's and Potter's fall 
 In line with Kingsley, Whipple, Field- 
 Old pioneers whose hearts were steeled 
 To stern endurance in the days 
 
138 Wedding Bells. 
 
 That often passed through shadowed ways 
 In those first years before the town 
 Burgeoned into its grand renown. 
 
 I seem to see the little band 
 Around the stern surveyor stand; 
 I hear again the silvery tongue 
 Of Cameron charm the old and young; 
 And on a wagon's reach I see 
 The Governor who was to be; 
 As on that July day we stood 
 Outlined 'gainst Nature's solitude. 
 
 Oh! city full of fairest hopes 
 
 On La Fontaine qui Bouille's slopes, 
 
 Dreams to realities have grown; 
 
 Fancies as happy facts are shown; 
 
 A thousand homes where there were none, 
 
 In the spring days of 'seventy-one; 
 
 While culture, wealth and wide renown 
 
 This stately city's ramparts crown. 
 
 The years shall come, the years shall go 
 
The Story of Colorado Springs. 1 39 
 
 Humanity's wide wave shall flow 
 Against these slopes, these mesa lands, 
 Until this later Athens stands 
 Home of an hundred thousand lives, 
 Brave men, fair maidens, mothers, wives; 
 Belted as with a rainbow zone, 
 A queen upon a golden throne. 
 
 Claude: 
 Sweetheart 
 
 Constance: 
 
 My love 
 
 Claude and Constance: 
 Surely our one thought is to trace 
 Our way back to this charming place. 
 
 Claude: 
 To end 
 
 Constance; 
 
 Our Honeymoon? Its end? 
 Then in that city we shall spend 
 Our married life and never know 
 That honeymoons can come and go. 
 
140 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Epilogue. 
 
 (Constance and Claude at Manitou.) 
 
 'Tis said that once, to one and all 
 There comes the seven whistlers' call; 
 Strange birds on which no mortal eyes 
 Have ever rested. From what skies 
 They came from, where they build their 
 
 nests 
 
 No mortal knows. Strange silence rests 
 Upon the face of Nature, when 
 The twilight time falls down on men; 
 Then suddenly the hush of Time 
 Is broken by a sound sublime 
 The faint and far-off note is heard 
 As coming from some singing bird; 
 But not on earth or in the sky 
 Can man the whistling bird espy. 
 Once, twice, and thrice, and yet again, 
 Again and yet again the strain 
 Falls clearer on the human ear; 
 Each note grows more distinct and clear, 
 
Epilogue. 141 
 
 Until the seventh whistlers' note 
 Falls from the unknown feathered throat. 
 Then, like the sound of passing wings 
 The final note in mid air rings 
 Like that which through Arabian vales 
 Swept on the solemn sounding gales 
 (As in the ancient legend ran) 
 Telling the death of the Great Pan! 
 Great Pan, who died on Christmas morn; 
 Great Pan, who died when Christ was 
 born. 
 
 Some say that he who hears the call 
 
 Is marked of fate. The clear notes fall 
 
 Upon him, and no others hear, 
 
 Though by his side they stand so near 
 
 They note the beating of his heart. 
 
 It is as if he stood apart 
 
 Upon some lonely plain or hill 
 
 As Moses stood of old, until 
 
 The tables through the clouds were shown 
 
 With God's commands engraved on stone. 
 
142 Wedding Bells. 
 
 But be it sad or happy fate 
 
 Who knoweth till it be too late? 
 
 Once uttered in the twilight gloom, 
 
 The seven whistlers' call of doom 
 
 Is irrevocable, as when 
 
 The voice of Azrael calleth men. 
 
 But if two, clasping married hands, 
 
 Together hear the call, in lands 
 
 Blest by the suns of Honeymoon 
 
 That shine through all the months of June, 
 
 Then, then the omen is indeed 
 
 A happy one for human need. 
 
 Who hear the call together, know 
 
 That life for them will smoothly flow; 
 
 And happiness will crown the home 
 
 To which the whistlers' call shall come. 
 
 A solemn hush is everywhere; 
 The summer languor fills the air; 
 Across the hills the sunset dies, 
 And twilight over Pike's Peak lies. 
 
Epilogue. 143 
 
 Constance: 
 Hark, Claude! 
 
 Claude: 
 
 List, Constance, do you hear 
 A strange bird note fall on your ear? 
 
 Constance: 
 Yes, Love. 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Yes, Sweet. Oh! can it be 
 The whistlers' call to you and me? 
 
 Constance: 
 One two you hear it, Love? 
 
 Claude: 
 
 Yes, dear. 
 
 Constance and Claude: 
 Three four and five more loud and 
 
 clear, 
 
 As bells by hands of angels rung, 
 And sweet as songs by angels sung; 
 
144 Wedding Bells. 
 
 Six yes, the seventh and last we hear, 
 As through the darkening atmosphere 
 A rustle, as of upward flight 
 Of wings, goes sweeping through the night. 
 
 AU REVOIR. 
 

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 LD 21A-50m-9,'58 
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Pabor, W.E. 
 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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