 | Rhymes of travel, ballads and poems |  |
II.
Picturesque Ballads of California.
Away we go!
Through fire and snow,
And rivers, whereto
All others are rills.
Through lands of silver,
And lands of gold;
Through lands untrodden
And lands untold!”
Festus.
[Three of of the ballads which follow, originally appeared in the Literary World, under fictitious initials, and accompanied by a letter dated from St. Louis, in which it was stated that they had been translated from the rude songs of California, by a Western naturalist who had resided on the Pacific Coast. This ruse, however, was only partially successful; they were attributed by journals in other cities, to Mr. Hoffman, then Editor of the Literary World, and frequently published under his name. Several other ballads having since been written, the author now corrects this error, so flattering to himself, and gives them together to the public.]
EL CANALO.
El Canalo, or the cinnamon-colored, is the name of the choicest breed of the Californian horse. These animals are capable of extraordinary speed and endurance, and between them and their riders exists the same constant friendship which characterizes the Arab and his steed. The noted ride of Col. Fremont from Pueblo de los Angeles to Monterey furnishes an evidence of what these horses have accomplished.
Down in the flowery vega, is stirring through the corn;
The thin smoke of the ranches grows red with coming day,
And the steed's impatient stamping is eager for the way!
Thy slender ears pricked forward, thy nostril straining wide;
And as thy quick neigh greets me, and I catch thee by the mane,
I'm off with the winds of morning—the chieftain of the plain!
From the flinty-paved sierra, the sparks go streaming back;
Where the red guerilla watches for many a lonely mile!
We've passed the bleak Nevada, and Tulé's icy stream;
But where, on sweeping gallop, my bullet backward sped,
The keen-eyed mountain vultures will circle o'er the dead!
From peaks upholding heaven, from deserts far below—
We've thundered through the forest, while the crackling branches rang,
And trooping elks, affrighted, from lair and covert sprang!
The baying wolves of Pinos, that panted with the chase;
And still thy mane streams backward, at every thrilling bound,
And still thy measured hoof-stroke beats with its morning sound!
And like a sheathless sabre, the far Pacific shines;
Thy hot and smoking haunches beneath his silver wave!
We'll sleep as trusty brothers, from out the mountain land;
The pines will sound in answer to the surges on the shore,
And in our dreams, Canalo, we'll make the journey o'er!
RIO SACRAMENTO.
Down the rough Nevada foaming,
Fain my heart would join thy water
In its glad, impetuous roaming,
For thy valley's fairest daughter
Watches oft to see thee coming!
From the shining threads that wove thee—
From the mountain woods that darken
All the mountain heaven above thee,
Teach her ear thy song to hearken
And, for what it says, to love thee!
Lead me downward to the glory
Of thy green and flowery meadows;
I will leave the deserts hoary,
And my love's impassioned story.
Every dancing rainbow broken
When thy falling waves are shattered,
Is a glad and beckoning token
Of the hopes so warmly scattered
And the vows that we have spoken!
She, beside thee, waits my coming;
Teach my step thy bounding fleetness,
Towards the bower of beauty roaming,
Where she stands, in maiden sweetness,
Gazing idly on thy foaming!
THE LAY OF LAS PALMAS.
A LEGEND OF OLD CALIFORNIA.
Over the waters,
Fronting the sunset
Lingered the maid;
Below, through the flashing
Of blue billows dashing,
Glided the shallop
Storms had delayed!
On the keel grated,
Leaped the young boatman
Shoreward amain;
And in the blessing
Of love's quick caressing,
Soon were forgotten
Peril and pain.
Low in the twilight;
Night on the waters
Deepened afar;
Under their cover
Clasped she her lover,
While their hearts' throbbings
Answered each star!
Under the palm-trees—
Dark was the midnight
When he had gone!
Tempests uprisen
Burst their cloud-prison;
Under their lightnings, burned
Dimly the dawn.
Rent by the red bolt,
While its lone brother
Sighed in the gale:
Shattered the shallop
Sank in the surges;
Wild was the maiden's
Desolate wail!
Palm of the summit;
Faded the maiden's
Life with its own:
Now on the rocky
Front of Las Palmas,
Mourn the wild sea-gusts,
Drear and alone.
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