WILLIAM MORRIS. HARRIET MCEWEN KIMBALL. 297 vain, And still and bright the evening star The bitter wind makes not thy victory Twinkles above the golden bar That in the west lies quietly. Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky. Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry Make April ready for the throstle's song, Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong! Bits of ancient observation by his fathers garnered, each As a pebble worn and polished in the So in vain the barren hillsides with their current of his speech: "Those who wait the coming rider travel twice as far as he'; "Tired wench and coming butter never did in time agree. "He that getteth himself honey, though a clown, he shall have flies'; In the end God grinds the miller'; 'In the dark the mole has eyes." "He whose father is Alcalde, of his trial hath no fear,' And be sure the Count has reasons that will make his conduct clear." Then the voice sententious faltered, and And on "Concha," "Conchitita," and "Conchita," he would dwell With the fond reiteration which the Spaniard knows so well. gay serapes blazed, Blazed and vanished in the dust-cloud that their flying hoofs had raised. Then the drum called from the rampart, and once more with patient mien The Commander and his daughter each took up the dull routine, — Each took up the petty duties of a life apart and lone, Till the slow years wrought a music in its dreary monotone. V. Forty years on wall and bastion swept the hollow idle breeze, Since the Russian eagle fluttered from the California seas. Forty years on wall and bastion wrought its slow but sure decay; And St. George's cross was lifted in the port of Monterey. FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 301 And the citadel was lighted, and the hall | Till one arose, and from his pack's scant was gayly drest, All to honor Sir George Simpson, famous traveller and guest. Far and near the people gathered to the costly banquet set, treasure A hoarded volume drew, And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure And exchanged congratulation with the And To hear the tale anew; then, while round them shadows gathered faster, And as the firelight fell, Till the formal speeches ended, and He read aloud the book wherein the The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, And on that grave where English oak and holly And laurel wreaths entwine, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, This spray of Western pine! |