The Legends of San Francisco | Page 4

the last reverberation
Died away into the distance,

And the trade winds from the ocean
Blew away the smoke and
vapors,
Those remaining of the Tamals
Gazed with wonder at a

mountain
That was standing, new, before them,
For upon it lay the
maiden
With her face upturned to heaven,
As it was when she was
praying
To her God to save her people.
On her youthful breast and
body
Lay a forest, like a mantle,
New and green, and decked with
flowers.
And her willing feet were resting
Near the bay and
new-made river;
While the Chief, her faithful lover,
Bending 'neath
his sacred burden,
Stretched his arms out to the valleys
Where his
people would find shelter.
Here for countless generations
We have lived in peace and safety,

Roaming through the wooded valleys,
Hunting on the grassy
meadows,
Fishing in the bays and rivers.
Now you know the sacred story
Of the Maid of Tamalpais -
Why
no Tamal ever ventured
To the holy crest above us.
Would we tread
upon the features
Of the martyred Maid who saved us?
Would we
desecrate the rock-tomb
Of our Chief, her well beloved?
There she lies in all her beauty,
Sacred Maid of Tamalpais!
If her
eyes should turn from heaven,
She would see across the waters

Piles of tumbled crags and boulders
In the Grove of Thousand Oak
Trees,
Where the buckeye trees still blossom
Over mortar holes,
half hidden.
Children play with merry laughter
Hide and seek
among the boulders.
Even now perhaps, the Fairies
Dressed as
butterflies may whisper
Secrets in the ears of children,
If they listen
to the voices.
If her eyes should trace the steamers
As they thread the curving
channel

Opened by the ancient earthquake,
She would see them
pass an island
On whose red and barren summit
She was wounded
in the battle.
White men call it Red Rock Island,
Knowing not the
crimson color
Is from blood, shed in the battle
Fought upon the
lofty summit
Of a mountain that was swallowed
When the mighty
chasm opened,
Leaving but its peak projecting
Through the surface

of the waters.
There she lies in queenly beauty,
Martyred Maid of Tamalpais,

With her face upturned to heaven,
As when praying, 'Take me, Father;

Save my people; Save the Tamals.'
On her head the snows of
winter
Lay a crown of shining crystals.
Fog banks twine their arms
about her
To embrace her and caress her.
Passing rainclouds bathe
her features
With their tear drops, shed in sorrow,
And the rainbow
arches over
With the glories of a halo.
She is first to have the greeting
Of the rising sun, and latest
To
receive his goodnight kisses.
On her sides the purple shadows

Linger longest in the twilight.
For her robe the fairest wildflowers

Bloom throughout the changing seasons -
Violets, and pink wild
roses,
Blue forget-me-nots, and lilies
Vie to give their sweetest
perfumes
To the Maid of Tamalpais.
Lovers climb the sacred mountain,
Roam the hillsides, tread the
wildwoods,
Finding there new inspiration,
Hope and happiness, not
knowing
That the Maid of Tamalpais
Gives her spirit to all lovers

Who approach her mystic presence.
I, the last of all the Tamals,
Soon will turn my face to heaven

Where my own, my best beloved,
Waits with outstretched arms, to
greet me.
Write the story for all people;
It is finished; I have spoken."
Thus
she spoke, that ancient woman,
Lone survivor of the Tamals,
By the
campfire in the redwoods,
On the slopes of Tamalpais.
The Twin Guardians of the Golden Gate.
Would you know the mystic legend
Of the peaks of San Francisco -

Of the Twin Peaks standing Guardian
Of the gay and careless city,

Ever laughing by the gateway

Of our Golden California?

Would you know what brings the westwind,
With its cool and filmy
vapors
Trailing like a scarf of chiffon
Through the narrow Golden
Gateway,
Screening shore and hills and harbor,
While the country
all around it
Bathes in floods of golden sunshine?
Would you know why great Sea Lions
Flounder on the rocky islands,

Standing by the Golden Gateway?
Why they fight in baffled fury,

Barking ever at the mainland?
Listen then, and I will tell you
As the legend was related
By an
ancient Tamal woman,
As she sat beside the campfire
In a grove of
giant redwoods
On the slopes of Tamalpais.
"It was long ago, my children,
Long ago, in mystic ages
When the
Gods lived near the people,
Who, like infants newly mothered,

Needed care and help and guidance.
As the children call to parents

So the people called to Spirits.
Then the Gods were quick to listen,

Quick to teach them and protect them,
Quick to punish when they
trespassed
On the rights of one another.
Near the place where Holy Fathers
Built the Mission of Dolores

Was a village of the Tamals,
Vanished now for many ages.
By it
was a singing streamlet,
Where the willows waved their banners;

Round it giant redwoods clustered,
Redolent with forest odors;
Live
oaks, bay trees, and madronas
Billowed over plains and hillsides.
Through the forest ranged the hunters,
Seeking game in glen and
canyon,
Meat for food, and fur for raiment;
Vanquishing the forest
creatures
With flint arrows and stone axes;
Seeking fish in bay and
river
With the spear or net of sinew.
On the bay the warriors
paddled

In canoes of bark or rawhide,
Or in mighty redwood
dugouts
Dared the currents of the narrows
Training warriors to be
ready
To defend their shores and harbor.

From the North the foemen threatened,
As an ever-present shadow.

O'er the water came the