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Gold Rush Gambler - Yuba County's John Rose (July-August 1990) (8 pages)
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Page: of 8
PORE Ya/PAS UG Urs) Tl oroRo THE CrA LF ©OFRIN TeASNES Je yeN
Willard Upham’s 1867 poem, epitome of the
“California school of homesick amateur poets,”
turned up in an East Coast antique shop
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“Musings, as I lay upon the headland heights,
and listened to the roaring of the waves id
caverns under me.”
By Willard Stow Upham
San Francisco, Nov. 10th 1867
To Maria
Dearest sister, . am sitting,
On the far famed golden shore
Of the mighty broad Pacific
Listening to her sullen roar.
On a rocky crag protruding,
Gainst which dash the snow-white foam, /
Am I sitting, lonely, thinking f
Of the darling ones at home.
Neath my seat — a granite boulder —
Leaps the wild and beauteous spray, /
Forming rainbows in the sunlight, /
As if it loved to sport and play.
/
\
The wide Main o’er old Neptunefroaring g
Roughly rolls the azure deep, —_/ Gazing toward the dim yen Yet in the twilight sit . musing,
And sends his mountain billows Where sky and sea unite as one), Fanned by the zephers pure and fresh,
thundering j There . see in beauty dipping —\ While on the rock, far spreading round me,
Upward on the craggy steep. / Neath Neptune’s wave, the lordly Sun. The restless waves continuous dash.
Never ceasing, wrathful, plynging, As he casts his lingering glances \ t Still I see the surging billows,
As if to extend his lordly rgign, O’er this bright, sequestered spot, \ Rolling grandly, springing high,
He undismayed, still hurls/his forces Methinks I hear him gently whisper, \ Then abashed, go tumbling backward,
Gainst the bulwarks, — but in vain. “Cheer up! Cheer up! You're not forgot.\\, . With a mournful, murmuring sigh.
}
.
O’er these snow-foam njountain billows “Though far from those you love so dearly"® But heed I not Pacific’s roaring,
Grandly sweeps the seabirds white, “Yer be contented with thy lot; Nor listen to the surging brine,
Some on crested wave§ are floating, “For of their Willie they are thinking, For my thoughts are turning backward
Some queen-like moye on pinions light. “So cheer thee up, you’re not not forgot.” To happy days of “Auld lang syne.”
Snowy sails, the breezes fluttering, Thus speaking — down he gently sank To the time when we, dear sister,
Dot Francisco’s golden gate; Neath the ocean’s heaving breast, With true happiness were blessed,
Steamers huge the waves are plowing, Where the billows roll more softly,
Voices continued on page 58
Laden down with precious freight. In the far and distant west.