Page:The Gold-Gated West.djvu/117

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Which drifted evermore away
Before the Present's stern array—
The stumps and canyons, and the town
By fair Willamette straggling down.
Thus fitfully, as Fancy soared,
He darkly guessed and deeply pored
Until unto himself he said,
"It may be, in dim years ahead!
But oh, the waiting! who shall say
How many years must roll away
Before this mountain camp shall be
A mistress of the sail-swept sea,
Waving her sinewy, jewelled hands
In empire over boundless lands?"
A gurgling flow of elfish laughter
Echoed from rough log wall to rafter,
A sound the trav'ller hears with dread
In gloomy firs high overhead,
When night and forest shake his soul
With terror all beyond control.
Startled, the moody dreamer turned,
And lo! upon him glared and burned
The owl's wide eyes, commingled rays
Of yellow, purple, chrysoprase,
Burned deep, burned wide, as ne'er before,
As with Dodona's awful lore,
When muffled kings sought her dark ways.
"Aha! Those eyes that must have slept
When Hector bled and Priam wept
Are luminous this New Year's night
And I am vainly asking light,"