But whether she came as a faint perfume,
Or whether a spirit in stole of white,
I feel, as I pass from the darkened room,
She has been with my soul to-night!
The Hawk's Nest.
(Sierras.)
We checked our pace,--the red road sharply rounding;
We heard the troubled flow
Of the dark olive depths of pines, resounding
A thousand feet below.
Above the tumult of the canon lifted,
The gray hawk breathless hung;
Or on the hill a winged shadow drifted
Where furze and thorn-bush clung;
Or where half-way the mountain side was furrowed
With many a seam and scar;
Or some abandoned tunnel dimly burrowed,--
A mole-hill seen so far.
We looked in silence down across the distant
Unfathomable reach:
A silence broken by the guide's consistent
And realistic speech.
"Walker of Murphy's blew a hole through Peters
For telling him he lied;
Then up and dusted out of South Hornitos
Across the long Divide.
"We ran him out of Strong's, and up through Eden,
And 'cross the ford below;
And up this canon (Peters' brother leadin'),
And me and Clark and Joe.
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