A MENDOCINO MEMORY
Once in my lonely, eager youth I rode,
With jingling spur, into the clouds' abode -
Rode northward lightly as the high crane goes·
5 Rode into the hills in the month of the frail wild rose,
To find the soft-eyed heifers in the herds,
Strayed north along the trail of nesting birds,
Following the slow march of the springing grass,
From range to range, from pass to flowering pass.
10 I took the trail, the fields were yet asleep;
I saw the last star hurrying to its deep-
Saw the shy wood-folk starting from their rest
In many a crannied rock and leafy nest.
A bold, tail-flashing squirrel in a fir,
15 Restless as fire, set all the boughs astir;
A jay, in dandy blue, flung out a fine
First fleering sally from a sugar-pine.
A flight of hills, and then a deep ravine
Hung with madrono boughs - the quail's demesne;
20 A quick turn in the road, a wingéd whir,
And there he came with fluted whispering,
The captain of the chaparral, the king,
With nodding plume, with circumstance and stir,
And step of Carthaginian conqueror!
25 I climbed the canyon to a river-head,
And looking backward saw a splendor spread,
Miles beyond miles, of every kingly hue
And trembling tint the looms of Arras knew—
A flowery pomp as of the dying day,
A splendor where a god might take his way.
And farther on the wide plains under me,
I watched the light-foot winds of morning go,
Soft shading over wheat-fields far and free,
To keep their old appointment with the sea.
And farther yet, dim in the distant glow,
Hung on the east a line of ghostly snow.
After the many trails an open space
Walled by the tulés of a perished lake;
And there I stretched out, bending the green brake,
And felt it cool against my heated face.
My horse went cropping by a sunny crag,
In wild oats taller than the antlered stag
That makes his pasture there. In gorge below
Blind waters pounded boulders, blow on blow-
Waters that gather, scatter and amass
Down the long canyons where the grizzlies pass,
Slouching through manzanita thickets old,
Strewing the small red apples on the ground,
Tearing the wild grape from its tree-top hold,
And wafting odors keen through all the hills around.
Now came the fording of the hurling creeks,
And joyous days among the breezy peaks,
Till through the hush of many canyons fell
The faint quick tenor of a brazen bell,
A sudden, soft, hill-stilled, far-falling word,
That told the secret of the straying herd.
It was the brink of night, and everywhere Tall redwoods spread their filmy tops in air; Huge trunks, like shadow upon shadow cast, Pillared the under twilight, vague and vast. 5 And one had fallen across the mountain way, A tree hurled down by hurricane to lie With worn-out roots pronged-up against the sky And clutching still their little dole of clay.
Lightly I broke green branches for a bed,
10 And gathered ferns, a pillow for my head.
And what to this were kingly chambers worth -
Sleeping, an ant, upon the sheltering earth,
High over Mendocino's windy capes,
Where ships go flying south like shadow shapes 15 Gleam into vision and go fading on, Bearing the pines hewn out of Oregon.
HENRY VAN DYKE
AN ANGLER'S WISH
20 When tulips bloom in Union Square, And timid breaths of vernal air
Go wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;
When every long, unlovely row
Of westward houses stands aglow,
And leads the eyes towards sunset skies
Beyond the hills where green trees grow
Then weary seems the street parade,
And weary books, and weary trade:
I'm only wishing to go a-fishing;
For this the month of May was made.
I guess the pussy willows now
Are creeping out on every bough
Along the brook; and robins look
For early worms behind the plow.
The thistle birds have changed their dun
For yellow coats, to match the sun;
And in the same array of flame
The dandelion show's begun.
The flocks of young anemones
Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing
In days as full of joy as these?
I think the meadow lark's clear sound
Leaks upward slowly from the ground,
While on the wing the bluebirds ring
Their wedding bells to woods around.
The flirting chewink calls his dear
Behind the bush; and very near,
Where water flows, where green grass grows,
Song sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer."
And, best of all, through twilight's calm
The hermit thrush repeats his psalm.
How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music's balm!
'Tis not a proud desire of mine;
I ask for nothing superfine;
No heavy weight, no salmon great,
To break the record
Only an idle little stream,
Whose amber waters softly gleam,
Where I may wade, through woodland shade, And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:
Only a trout or two, to dart
From foaming pools, and try my art:
No more I'm wishing - old-fashioned fishing, And just a day on Nature's heart.
A MILE WITH ME
O, who will walk a mile with me
Along life's merry way?
A comrade blithe and full of glee,
Who dares to laugh out loud and free,
And let his frolic fancy play,
Like a happy child, through the flowers gay
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