Bore-in the clustering grape, the fruits that wave Even thus they laid a great and marvellous feast; And Earth her children summoned joyously, Throughout that goodliest land wherein had ceased The vision of battle, and with glad hands free These took their fill, and plenteous measures poured, Beside, for those who dwelt beyond the sea. Praise, like an incense, upward rose to Heaven For that full harvest,-and the autumnal Sun Stayed long above,-and ever at the board Peace, white-robed angel, held the high seat given, And War far off withdrew his visage dun. F. BRET HARTE. [Born about 1835. A name now universally known, by the authorship of The Luck of Roaring Camp, and especially of the verses on That Heathen Chinee]. THE MIRACLE OF PADRE JUNIPERO. THIS is the tale that the Chronicle Tells of the wonderful miracle Wrought by the pious Padre Serro, The very reverend Junipero. The Heathen stood on his ancient mound, Into the distant hazy South, Over the dusty and broad champaign And fissure cracked by the fervid drouth, The wells were empty and choked with sand; Slipped like ghosts of the streams below. Deep in its bed lay the river's bones, Thus they stood as the sun went down But to bring-so ran the tale The welcome springs of eternal life, Said one, "He will come like Manitou, Said one to him: "It seems thy god Thy limbs are racked with the fever-pain. "Drink but this cup," said the Padre straight, And the thirsty soil drank the precious store That emblem and consecrated sign And blessed symbol of blood divine. Then, says the legend (and they who doubt From the dry and feverish soil leaped out Till the granite ribs and the milk-white stones Such was the wonderful miracle Wrought by the cup of wine that fell From the hands of the pious Padre Serro, THE RÉVEILLÉ. HARK! I hear the tramp of thousands, Freemen, come! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. 66 'Let me of my heart take counsel : Who shall stay and reap the harvest Echoed, "Come! Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn. sounding drum. "But, when won the coming battle, Answered, "Come! You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankeeanswering drum. "What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder, Whistling shot and bursting bomb, When my brothers fall around me, Should my heart grow cold and numb?" Answered, "Come! Better there in death united than in life a recreant,— come!" Thus they answered,-hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming Lo! was dumb, For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, "Lord, we come!" TO A SEA-BIRD. SANTA CRUZ, 1869. SAUNTERING hither on listless wings, Little thou hast, old friend, that's new; I on the shore, and thou on the sea. All of thy wanderings, far and near, Bring thee at last to shore and me; I on the shore, and thou on the sea. Lazily rocking on ocean's breast, Something in common, old friend, have we; I to the waters look for rest,— I on the shore, and thou on the sea. |