GILBERT.

To that same port where Cedric landed with His Zola, others came from distant parts. Some came to seek their fortunes, others came To buy and till the soil, some to obey The inborn instinct of the pioneer. One family, leaving all behind, had bro’t A sickly child. Rich and prosperous they Had been, and with children blessed; but a dread Contagion had swept them all away save One; and he, left delicate and frail, the Idol of their hopes—no other left to Keep the family name. From those who best could Speak, they learned there was no hope unless it be In taking him to that fair, sunny clime. They hastened there and gave him for his home A quaint old hacienda of the Dons; With many leagues of land that lay between The mountains and the sea. There amid the Orange groves and vineyards, in the freedom Of the range where roamed his father’s flocks and Herds, young Gilbert soon became a gay young Caballero—grew as strong and fearless As vaqueros of the range—could twirl the Lariat or aim the rifle true as they. Sunburned, strong and handsome was Gilbert, in Showy costume of the Dons, with clanking Spurs, gold-mounted trappings on his coal-black Leo, ambling thro’ the massive arches Of the mission. Señoritas smiled on Him; he returned their loving glances. This His parents seeing, feared their Angelo Blood be mixed with that of darker hue, besought Him to return to their old home and there To find a bride of his own faith and kind. He quieted their fears and said that he Was wedded to the mesa and the hills. He loved the mountains more than ever Bridegroom loved his bride, his heart was free; But kind and true and dutiful to them, He promised solemnly that he would do As they desired before he took a wife; For ne’er could he repay the love and care By them bestowed on him, their sacrifice. Foremost in all manly sports, he reckless Rode along the beach where foaming breakers Lashed the cliffs, fleet-footed Leo dashed between. His black horse was known on El Camino Real—far beyond the shady groves of Monte Vista. He loved the mountains And on their bosom laid his head beneath The starlit skies, companion of their silence, Partaker of their rest. In midnight darkness Could he thread the winding Indian trail Across the high Cuyamacas, and often Had he reached the base of Palomar, and Longed to see beyond its frowning granite Walls. At last, undaunted, came nearly to The summit—came where a deep-walled canyon held Him back, there rested. The autumn sun was Slowly sinking to the sea and bathed the Mountain side in flood of rosy-tinted Brilliancy.