Within the Golden Gate A Souvenir of San Francisco Bay   By: Laura Ann Young Pinney (1849-)

A SOUVENIR OF SAN FRANCISCO BAY

Within the Golden Gate

BY

LAURA YOUNG PINNEY

ILLUSTRATED BY ELLA N. PIERCE

SAN FRANCISCO: FROM THE PRESS OF THE SAN FRANCISCO PRINTING COMPANY 411 MARKET STREET 1893

Copyright 1893, by L. Y. PINNEY AND E. N. PIERCE

HALF TONE ENGRAVINGS BY UNION PHOTO ENGRAVING CO.

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AUTUMNAL skies were fair, and blue, And soft and mild the morning breeze; With sails unfurled a joyous crew We sought Pacific's tranquil seas, And entered there, a gate that stands, Unbarred to ships of many lands.

And as we passed its portal grand, Our hearts were glad, our spirits light, And we rejoiced, and eager scanned The scenes that came before our sight. Near Alcatraz, an island bold, We paused to hear this story told:

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GRIM Alcatraz! Thou sentinel That watch hath kept, thro' ages past, Over this shining way to sea, O where's the ship, with towering mast, That bore my loved one far from me?

Thou sentry, with thy guarded wall, Thou saw'st him pass and sail away, To thread the trackless, distant sea. Where rides the good "St. George" to day. That brings not back my love to me?

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Care'st thou, that some, who pass thee by, In morning time, with laugh and song, With evening shades, return no more, Tho' sad ones count the hours so long, And lone ones wait upon the shore?

THE singer in a little boat, Whose snowy sail gleamed in the sun, Paused there, until the last fond note Was sung, then swiftly sped away, Like some sweet bird whose plaintive cry Ere pity wakes, hath soared on high.

Our eyes then sought, thro' changing light, A distant mount's majestic form, 'Twas Tamalpais, whose lofty height, Doth rise above the fog and storm; While, neath its brow fair valleys bloom, Untouched by frost or winter's gloom.

FAR up the slopes of Tamalpais, Within a shady nook, Was born a dainty brook.

At birth of this new silvery stream The buds and blossoms smiled, And kissed the restless child,

As forth it went with merry song, Upon a winding way, That thro' a sweet vale lay;

And, as it went, it stronger grew, Until, o'er rock and fall, It dashed, unheeding all.

Upon the banks of this wild brook, Clothed, all in richest green, And with majestic mien,

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Arose the lofty redwood trees, Whose fragrant, leafy shade, Sweet trysting places made

For ferns, and flowers, and mosses rare; And time hath been. I ween, When this sweet, mountain stream

Hath paused to start, with whirring sound The wheel of yon old mill Now pulseless grown, and still

THE sweet brook song was scarcely o'er, When on our ears fell murmuring sounds Of life upon another shore; On speeds our bark with quickening bounds Until, among the ships, we lay Beside a city on the bay.

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LIKE some pure thought, by unknown lips let fall, Which grows, and bears abroad, rich truths for all, So fell a seed by Yerba Buena cove, And, like a giant young, who smiling lies, Nor heeds the dormant powers, so soon to rise So lay this seed a village fair