Page:The Overland Monthly, Jan-June 1894.djvu/183

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1894.]
Copalis.
119

Photo from Painting by K. C. Bashford.

COPALIS.

High above the wild Pacific, rising solemnly and lone,
Looms the rugged rock, Copalis, like a mountain built of stone.

Break the heavy waves against it, roaring through its caverns wide;
Caverns worn by maddened waters and the moon-enchanted tide.

All around are curling breakers, sifting spray, and flying foam,
Where the slim sea-otter gambols and the gray gull has a home.

All around is fierce commotion, pale forms reaching toward the skies,
Sounds of awful cannonading, haunting moans, and battle cries.

Clinging to its craggy summit, fastened down with massive chains,
Bathed in summer's golden sunshine, drenched in winter's driving rains,

Rests a low, quaint hut, the dwelling of the brave Copalis Jim,
Rests the hut whose door is opened, opened never save by him.

From this airy habitation keen black eyes peer on the seas,
Raven locks are tossed and tangled in the sighing ocean breeze.

Night and morn he scans the billows marching grandly far below,
Night and morn he sees them lifting bristling peaks all white with snow.

Day by day he keeps his vigil, caring naught for any man,
Watching ever with the patience that the otter hunter can.

Oft his swarthy face grows eager, oft his rifle darts its flame,
And a dying creature struggles from that quick, unerring aim.

Oft when midnight winds are calling, in his mind sad thoughts arise,
Thoughts of her who held him captive by the magic of her eyes.

In his dreams she stands before him as she stood in days agone,
Ere his heart had grown more hardened than the rock he dwells upon.