Ours is the comfort, ease, the power, and fame
Of an exalted name;
Theirs was the struggle of a proud ambition—
Ours the full fruition.
Thou, yellow nugget, wert the star
That drew these willing votaries from afar,
'Twere wrong to call thee lusterless or base,
That lighted onward all the human race.
Emblem them art, in every song or story,
Of highest excellence and brightest glory;
Thou crown'st the angels, and enthronest Him
Who made the cherubim.
My reverent thought, indeed, is not withholden,
O nugget golden!
SUNSET AT THE MOUTH OF THE COLUMBIA.
There sinks the sun; like cavalier of old,
Servant of crafty Spain,
He flaunts his banner, barred with blood and gold,
Wide o'er the western main;
A thousand spear-heads glint beyond the trees
In columns bright and long,
While kindling fancy hears upon the breeze
The swell of shout and song.
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