Rhymes of the Rockies; or, What the poets have found to say of the beautiful scenery on the Denver & Rio Grande railroad, the scenic line of the world

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RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES;

OR,

WHAT THE POETS HAVE FOUND TO SAY

BEAUTIFUL SCENERY

DENVER & RIO GRANDE RAILROAD,

THE SCENIC LINE OF THE WORLD.

THIRD EDITION, 100.000

COPYRIGHT, 1887, BY S. K. HOOPER.

CHICAGO:
POOLE BROS., PRINTERS AND ENGRAVERS.

PRESENTATION.

Qitys little Book of poems,
Descriptipe of Scenes among tfye Kocky mountains

as meroeb from trains

of
Cfye Denser & Hio <£>ranbe Kailroab,

is presenteb tr>itfy tfye

compliments

of

General Passenger Agent,

COPIES OF "RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES" WILL BE SENT TO ANY ADDRESS ON APPLICATION TO

S. K. HOOPER, General Passenger Agent, - - - DENVER.
W. B. COBB, General Eastern Agent, 31V Broadway, NEW YORK.
MATT JOHNSON, General Agent, • 236 Clark Street, CHICAGO.
L. B. EVELAND, Traveling Agent, 100 AV. 9th St., KANSAS C'rry.

W. F. TIDBITS, Traveling Agent, DENVER.

C. L. PARIS, Traveling Agent, 126^ Walnut Street, CINCINNATI.
CHA.S A GII.LIO, Generil European Agent,

s) Strand. Charing Cross. I»NDON. EKOLAVD

PREFACE.

VHEREVER Nature appears in her grander moods,
her inspiration stirs the heart and the imagination,
and whether it be the " Banks and Braes o' Bonnie
Doon," the Crags of the "Rio de Las Animas," "The
Royal Gorge," the rocky declivities of " Ben Venue" or the
cleft summit of " The Mount of the Holy Cross," the poetic
spirit is invoked and a rhythmic offering laid upon the
altar of the muses. The picturesque countries of the old
world have been immortalized in song, and to show that
Colorado, one of the newest portions of the new world,
has not failed to inspire the same sentiments in the hearts
of none the less sincere poets, this book has been pre-
pared. Upon these pages are presented a few of the con-
tributions to poetic literature incited by beholding scenes
grander and more varied than those of Scotland, Italy or
Switzerland, all the more valuable because spontaneous
and therefore expressive of genuine emotions. In order
that nothing may be lacking in the conveying of a vivid
impression, pictures which are works of art supplement
the poems, and to further assist the imagination of those
who have not beheld these scenes and to refresh the mem-
ory of those who have beheld them, brief but accurate
descriptions have been added. In a work of this character,
brevity must be observed and only typical poems and
scenes have been selected. The mid-continent region
traversed by the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad possesses
without doubt the most magnificent scenery in the world
and the difficulty has been, not what to select, but what
to omit. As it is, this book must be considered as only a
hint as to what exists in the wonderland of the Rocky
mountains and its object will be attained if it excite an
intelligent interest in the most picturesque portion of our
country.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

PRELUDE.

My country 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing;
Land where our fathers died,
Land of the pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side

Let Freedom ring.

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free —

Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills

Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees,

Sweet freedonrs song;
Let mortal tongues awake,
Let all that breathe partake,
Let rocks their silence break,

The sound prolong.

Our father's God to thee,
Author of Liberty,

To thee I sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by thy might,

Great God, our King.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

PALMER LAKE.

PALMER LAKE, in addition to being a place of
exceeding beauty, is a natural curiosity, poised, as
it is, exactly on the summit of the "Divide," a spur
of the outlying range of the Rockies, extending eastward
into the great plains, and from this summit the waters of
the lake flow northward to the Platte and southward to
the Arkansas. Approached from either Denver or Pueblo,
via the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad, it breaks suddenly
upon the sight, a vision of sylvan beauty and delight.
Red-roofed, picturesque cottages nestle here and there
among the hills, gaily-painted boats float gracefully upon
the bright blue waters, a fountain in the center flings its
spray half a hundred feet into the air, and on either hand
rugged peaks, pine-clad and broken by castellated rocks,
rise into a sky whose cerulean hue is reflected by the
placid waters of the lake. Excellent hotels and livery
establishments furnish good accommodations for sojourn-
ers. Surely here can be found the realization of Petrarch's

lines:

" The ray

Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday,
Developing the mountains, leaves and flowers,
And shining in the brawling brook, whereby,
Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours

With a calm languor, which, though to the eye
Idlesse it seem, hath its morality."

Closely contiguous is Glen Park, an assembly ground
modeled after the famous Chautauqua and destined to
become equally as popular in the West as its prototype in
the East. Objects of natural interest are abundant and
the walks and drives to Glen D'Eau, Bellview Point, Ben
Lomond, the Arched Rocks and the canons and glens
adjacent afford material for enjoyment in the seeing and
for many pleasant memories.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

PALMER LAKE.

W. E. PABOR.

Serene and sweet and smiling as a bride
Nestles Lake Palmer on the green Divide;
The hills around it, the blue sky above,
The summer sunshine bathing it in love;
Fair as the lochs that lie in Scotia's glens,
Worthy the praise that comes from poets' pens.
Its sparkling waters in the sunshine gleam
Full of the glamour of the sweetest dream.

Toward the sunset, in the green defile,

The pine trees rustle and the wild flowers smile;

The crystal waters of the creek flow by,

White as the snows that on the mountains lie;

Within the shadow bits of sunshine rest

Like diamonds gleaming from an umber nest;

Wild roses blush at kisses given by bees

And black-birds twitter underneath the trees.

The waters ripple to the lake's green shore,
Timing the dipping of the boatman's oar;
The fountain glistens in the sun's warm beams,
The white spray falling down in rainbow streams ;
The air is full of melody and sound,
Voices float out as if from fairy ground.
And all our thoughts to happy fancies run
Under the languor of the summer sun.

Oh! lake of beauty, glen of sweet content!

On the headwaters of the Monument;

The hills that hide thee, and each bosky dell

That nestles near thee, but one story tell ;

To those who love fair Nature when she waits

And smiles a welcome at the open gates,

Where Pleasure stands to lead to leaf-robed nooks

And sweet delights we cannot find in books.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

THE GARDEN OF THE GODS.

THE GARDEN OF THE GODS is a valley of won-
ders easily accessible from Manitou. Approached
from the west the entrance is through what may
aptly be called a postern gate in contrast with the entrance
from the east through the grand gateway. In this solitude
nature has perpetrated many strange freaks of sculpture
and of architecture, as if she were diverting herself after
the strain of the mighty mood in which the mountains
were brought forth. Solitude is here unbroken by the resi-
dence of man, but inanimate forms of stone supply quaint
and grotesque suggestions of life. Here are found hints
of Athens and the Parthenon, Palmyra and the Pyramids,
Karnac and her crumbling columns. Many of these mono-
liths are nearly tabular and reach the height of three and
four hundred feet. Two of the loftier ones, with a small
space between, make the two portals of the famed gate-
way. After their form, their most striking feature is their
color, which glows with an intensity of red unknown in
any of the sandstones of the east. Standing outlined
against a spotless sky of blue, with the white light of the
sun falling upon them, these portals flash with the bright
splendor of carnelian. The inanimate forms have received
appropriate designations. There is a "Statue of Liberty,"
a "Cathedral Spire," a "Dolphin," a "Bear and Seal," a
"Lion," a "Griffin," and hundreds of other quaint and
curious figures, making a list far too extended for recapitu-
lation here. No words can describe the weird attractions
of this wonderful garden, which, once beheld, however, can
never be forgotten. The impression is of something
mighty, unreal and supernatural. Of the gods surely — but
of the gods of the Norse Walhalla in some of their strange
outbursts of wild rage or uncouth playfulness.

IO RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

THE GARDEN OF THE GODS

WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.

Beneath the rocky peak that hides

In clouds its snow -flecked crest,
Within these crimson crags abides

An Orient in the West.
These tints of flame, these myriad dyes,

This Eastern desert calm,
Should catch the gleam of Syrian skies,

Or shade of Egypt's palm.

As if to bar the dawn's first light

These ruby gates are hung;
As if from Sinai's frowning height

These riven tablets flung.
But not the Orient's drowsy gaze,

Young Empire's opening lids
Greet these strange shapes, of earlier days

Than Sphinx or Pyramids.

Here the New West its wealth unlocks,

And tears the veil aside,
Which hides the mystic glades and rocks

The Red man deified.
This greensward, girt with tongues of flame,

With spectral pillars strewn,
Not strangely did the savage name

A haunt of gods unknown.

Hard by the gentle Manitou
His healing fountains poured;

Blood -red, against the cloudless blue,
These storm-tossed Titans soared.

With torrents wild and tempest blast,

And fierce volcanic fires,
In secret moulds, has Nature cast

Her monoliths and spires.

Their shadows linger where we tread,

Their beauty fills the place;
A broken shrine — its votaries fled —

A spurned and vanished race.
Untouched by Time the garden gleams,

Unplucked the wild flower shines,
And the scarred summit's rifted seams

Are bright with glistening pines.

And still the guileless heart that waits

At Nature's feet may find,
Within the rosy, sun -lit gates,

A hidden glory shrined.
His presence feel to whom, in fear,

Untaught, the savage prayed,
And, listening in the garden, hear

His voice, nor be afraid.

12 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

MANITOU.

1L AANITOU is the ideal summer resort, having been
I V \ favored by nature with healing springs equal, if
M IL not superior, in efficacy to those of Ems or Spa
or Saratoga, and being surrounded by scenery more beau-
tiful, grand and varied than that of any similar resort in
the world. Here is an Arcadian valley, lying at the foot
of Pike's Peak, protected by encircling mountains and
enlivened by the foam-bedecked, flashing waters of the
Fountain que Bouille, which, full of the sprightliness of
its youth in Ute Pass and its escapade at Rainbow Falls,
comes dashing and splashing and singing its happy song:

" I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles ;
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.1'

This valley is made the site of a village, picturesque in its
construction and abounding in hotels which rival in elegance
and luxury those of the famous Eastern watering-places.
With a climate renowned for its salubrity, with medicinal
springs of acknowledged superiority, with pure air, bright
sunshine and a walk or drive leading to some new object
of interest for each day in the week, Manitou has justly
received the palm as the most charming of summer
resorts. Easily accessible, being a station on the Denver
& Rio Grande Railroad, only three hours' ride from Den-
ver or Pueblo, it is thronged each season by the wealth,
cultivation and fashion, not only of Colorado, but also of
the East, from all parts of which may be found represent-
atives whose days of enjoyment here not only secure
their return, but also the presence of their friends, attracted
by the glowing reports of those who have experienced its
manifold attractions.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 13

MANITOU.

EDGAR P. VANGASSEN.

Where the shadow of the mountain
Meets the sunshine of the fountain,
Listen to these -voices singing
And the message they are bringing :

SPIRIT OF THE SPRINGS: SPIRIT OF THE SPRINGS:

Sister spirit of the stream Sister spirit of the stream

Is it real or a dream? It is real, not a dream!

Face* in their color change, Echoes as from Eden wake

Voices take a wider range; Music such as seraphs make

Nature's emerald bosom shows In each glen and through each rift

Charm and color of the rose; Where your shining \vaters drift;

Tell me, spirit, is it true, While the song of youth and maid

All things old give place to new ? Crown each cool and shadowed glade.

SPIRIT OF THE STREAM: SPIRIT OF THE STREAM:

Sister spirit of the spring, From the peak down which I flow

Fresher, clearer voices sing With my water born of snow,

Of a whiter, later race To the valley lands that lie

Taking the swart Indian's place. 'Neath a warm and sunny sky,

Art to Nature gives her hand; All the air is full of change,

Fashion waves her magic wand, Change as sweet as it is strange ,

And the languorous glamour cast And my song forever chimes

Veils the glory of the past. To these later, happier times.

THE SPIRITS OF THE SPRINGS AND STREAM:

Whiter tepees crown our hills,
Sweeter lips now touch our rills;
Under Manitou's bright skies
Fairer faces meet our eyes;
And where crystal waters glide
Happy lovers blush and hide;
Dusky features fade away,
Saxon faces crown To- Day.

Flash on fountain, roll on river,
Snow-croTvned peak and sun- kissed vale /

These are Nature's gifts forever,
Until Nature's self shall fail.

IN CHEYENNE CANON.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

CHEYENNE CANON.

GiEYENNE CANON is full of surprises. A pleasant
drive of four miles from Colorado Springs brings
one to the place. The vulgar linear measure of its
length is out of harmony with the winding path, over
rocks, between straight pines and across the rushing waters
of the brook that boils down the whole rocky cut. The
narrow gorge ends in a round well of granite, down one
side of which leaps, slides, foams and rushes a series of
cascades — seven falls in line pouring the water from the
melted snow above into this cup. In this deep hollow
only the noonday sun ever shines. Going up the cafion,
with the roar of the waters ahead and the winding path
before one, the loftiness and savage wildness of the walls
catch only a dizzying glance, but coming out their sides
seem to touch the heavens and to be measureless. The
eye can hardly take in the vast height and, with the after-
noon sun touching only the extreme tops, one realizes in
.what a crevice and fissure of the rocks the cafion winds.
A comparison between this and the Via Mala and the
other wild gorges of the Alps is impossible, but had legend
and history and poetry followed it for centuries Cheyenne
cafion would have its great features acknowledged. Above
the waterfall, on the eastward slope of Cheyenne mount-
ain, is the grave of one of America's truest poets and most
remarkable'Women, "H. H." Here the late Helen Hunt
Jackson lies asleep among the scenes she loved.

" Such graves as these are pilgrims' shrines —

Shrines to no codes or creed confined,
The Delphian Vales, the Palestines,
The Meccas of the mind."

Cheyenne cafion has henceforth and forever a profounder
meaning, its unexampled beauty being supplemented by
a sacred and tender memory.

16 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

CHEYENNE CANON.

STANLEY WOOD.

Oh, Cheyenne canon ! in thy dim defiles,

Where glooms the light, as through cathedral aisles,

Where flash and fall bright waters, pure as air,

Where wild birds brood, wild blossoms bloom, and where

The wind sings anthems through the darkling trees,

A presence breathes the tenderest melodies,

Songs that the finer ears of poets feel
But do not hear, ethereal chords that steal
Upon the soul, as fragrance of the flowers,
Unseen, unknown, from undiscovered bowers,
Enwraps the senses with a deep delight,
Pure as the stars and tender as the night.

For here in Nature's arms there lies asleep
One who loved Nature with a passion deep,
Who knew her language and who read her book,
Who sang her music, which the bird, the brook,
The winds, the woods, the mountains and the seas
Chant ever, in commingling harmonies.

Oh, Cheyenne cafion ! through thy dim defiles

The music floats as through cathedral aisles;

The singer silent, but the song is heard

In sigh of wind and carolling of bird.

All these the poet's melodies prolong,

For Nature now sings o'er her loved one's song.

18 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

VETA PASS,

rROM VETA PASS one beholds a scene of great
magnificence, but it is not alone the view that
repays the tourist; the ascent itself is fraught with
the profoundest interest. The Denver & Rio Grande Rail-
road accomplishes the summit by a series of stupendous
grades and the most remarkable curve in the history of
railroad engineering. The " muleshoe curve " is a scientific
achievement worth a trip across the continent to see.
The road is a mere groove cut in the side of the mountain,
which is so steep that a boulder set in motion goes
thundering down and does not stop until it reaches the
bottom of the gorge. But thrilling as this passage is,
up the sinuous roadway along the mountain side, it has
no real elements of danger in it. No accident has ever
happened here and, should a part of the train break away,
it would be stopped in less than a car's length by the
prompt action of the automatic brake with which all
trains on this mountain-climbing system are provided.
But it is from the summit of the Pass that one looks upon
a scene of stupendous magnificence. From the pinnacle
he gazes eastward to the dim horizon line where the
cloudless sky shuts down upon the ever-widening plains,
broken, to the south, by the symmetrical Spanish peaks.
Turning to the west, he sees the majestic form of Sierra
Blanca, the loftiest mountain in the Rocky range, and
rendered more remarkable by its triple peak, while, to
the north, La Veta mountain stands stupendous and
sublime. The climb has been difficult up the tremendous
grade of 21 1 feet to the mile, but, when the apex has
been reached, the train glides into the timber and halts
at the handsome stone station over nine thousand feet
above the level of the distant sea.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 19

VETA PASS.

EDGAR PEARSON.

Imperial heights of Veta's star-crowned crest!

Entranced with rapture on the Pass I stand,
San Luis park, an empire, to the west,

Sky-piercing peaks upreared on every hand.

Chiefest of all Sierra Blanca towers,

Monarch of mountains, whose imperial frown

Marks him supreme among these giant powers,
Whose Titan brow upbears a triple crown.

Serenely grand against the azure sky,
Far to the «ast, the Spanish peaks uprear

Twin pyramids, snow-crowned and high,
A dream of Egypt to the sight appear.

A granite ocean slumbers at my feet,

Whose waves are mountains and whose foam is snov ;
The clouds beneath me, like a ghostly fleet,

Sail slowly by, but whither none may know.

Below the serpent path, the sinuous coil,

By which we pass beyond these granite bars,

Bears witness that it is alone by toil

Mankind may reach at last the shining stars.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 21

SIERRA BLANCA.

SIERRA BLANCA is the monarch of the Rocky
range and the loftiest mountain, with one excep-
tion, in the United States. It is 'characterized by
the peculiarity of a triple peak and rises directly from the
plain to the stupendous height of 14,469 feet, over two
miles and three-fifths of sheer ascent. A magnificent view
of this mountain is obtained from the cars of the Denver
& Rio Grande Railroad as soon as the descent from Veta
Pass into the San Luis Valley has been made. Surely it
is worth a journey across the continent to obtain a view of
such a mountain! Although a part of the range, it stands
at the head of the valley, like a monarch taking pre-
cedence of a lordly retinue. Two-thirds of its height is
above timber-line, bare and desolate, and except for a
month or two of midsummer, dazzling white with snow,
while in its abysmal gorges it holds eternal reservoirs of ice.

" Oh, sacred mount with kingly crest

Through tideless ether reaching,
The earth-world kneels to hear the prayer

Thy dusky slopes are teaching.
With mystic glow on sunset eyes
All trembling lie thy blood-red leaves,
Their silken veins with gold inwrought.
Oh, glorious is thy world-wide thought!"

The lower slopes of the mountain are clad in vast
forests of pine and hemlock, while its grand triad of gray
granite peaks lift into the sky their sharp pyramidal pin-
nacles, splintered and furrowed by the storm-compelling
and omnipotent hand of the Almighty. To the north and
south, for a distance of nearly two hundred miles, it is
flanked by the serrated crests of the Sangre de Cristo
range, the whole forming a panorama of unexampled
grandeur and beauty.

22

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

SIERRA BLANCA.

PATIENCE STAPLETON.

North star o'er seas of land,
Mountain, serene and grand,
Sentinel of the Rockies stand,

Sierra Blanca;
Dial of recorded time
Reared in solitude sublime.

In the light of that far day

What strange races, who shall say,

Lived their lives and went their way?

Sierra Blanca;

What strange monsters of the deep
Went to dust in death's last sleep?

Poets, raptured, long have told
Of the crown of sunset gold
Resting on thy crest so old,

Sierra Blanca;
In all this land is given
Thee to be nighest Heaven.

Ere that exile on him fell
Once the Indian loved him well,
Happy in thy shades to dwell,

Sierra Blanca;
Now the wolf in hidden lair
Unmolested scents the air.

Vision to the artist rare

Is the purple robe so fair

Thou with kingly grace doth wear,

Sierra Blanca;

And thy velvet pall of night,
Crown stars deck with jewels bright.

Once the Spanish cavalier
Held thee in his heart so dear,
Half in love, half in fear,

Sierra Blanca;

Martyr priests might happy sigh
At thy glorious feet to die.

Once the waves of oceans past —
Silver waves rolling fast —
Sunny spray o'er thee cast,

Sierra Blanca;

Forests green crept up thy side,
Followed close the ebbing tide.

Over all the green plains wide
Peace and joy do now abide,
Happy homes below thee hide,

Sierra Blanca;
High uplifted childish eyes
Liken thee to Paradise.

24 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

WAGON WHEEL GAP.

LN the Del Norte Branch of the Denver & Rio Grande
Railroad is Wagon Wheel Gap, which has become
the favorite sporting ground for seekers of health
and the lovers of the rod and gun. The scenery is won-
derfully beautiful. As the Gap is approached the valley
narrows until the river is hemmed in between massive
walls of solid rock and rise to such a height on either side
as to throw the passage into twilight shadow. The river
rushes roaring down over gleaming gravel or precipitous
ledges. Progressing, the scene becomes wilder and more
romantic, until at last the waters of the Rio Grande pour
through a cleft in the rocks just wide enough to allow the
construction of a road along the river's edge. On the
right, as one enters, tower cliffs to a tremendous height,
suggestive in their appearance to the Palisades of the
Hudson. On the left rises the round shoulder of a massive
mountain. The vast wall is unbroken for more than half
a mile, its crest presenting an almost unserrated sky-line.
Once through the Gap, the traveler, looking toward the
south, sees a valley encroached upon and surrounded by
hills

" Bathed in the tenderest purple of distance,
Tinted and shadowed by pencils of air."

Here is an old stage station, a primitive and pictur-
esque structure of hewn logs, made cool and inviting by
wide-roofed verandas. Not a hundred feet away rolls the
Rio Grande river, swarming with trout. A drive of a mile
along a winding road, each turn in which reveals new
scenic beauties, brings the tourist to the famous springs.
The medicinal qualities of the waters, both of the cold and
hot springs, have been thoroughly tested and proved equal,
if not superior, to the Hot Springs of Arkansas.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 25

WAGON WHEEL GAP.

BY H. L. WASSON.

So " pretty " expresses the scene tc you —

You only gather what meets the eye,
A charming spot for a picture view ;

A vale where the sunbeams tender lie.

But to us, who know how sublime can be

This relic of Eden in summer green,
Where the Rio Grande sings of the sea,

And its silver waves fringe the rocks between,

The word falls null, for our trained ears

In every ripple detect a sob;
But we face our birthright of toil and tears

With hearts that beat to a fearless throb.

For have we not seen the Storm King ride
Through the narrow gorge with his armed Knights,

Their snow-white banners in martial pride
Defiantly streaming upon the heights;

Have felt the shock as they thundered past,
On the heart of Nature, pulsing strong,

Their bugle note but a shrieking blast,

Prolonged and clear as a Norse God's song.

Yes, seen the morning encrown the peaks

In silver beams on a helmet blue,
And learned the language this grandeur speaks —

No tempest conquers if faith stands true.

And the scene becomes a cathedral pile —

A choir in the Rio Grande hymn,
Our passions buried in every aisle,

And peace, High Priest at the altar dim.

TOLTEC GORGE AND TUNNEL.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 2/

TOLTEC GORGE.

N hour's ride from Antonita brings the traveler to
the brow of a precipitous hill, from whence he
looks down on the picturesque valley of the Los
Pinos. As the advance is made around mountain spurs
and deep ravines, glimpses are caught of profound depths
and towering heights, and then the train, making a detour
of four miles around a side cafton, plunges into the
blackness of Toltec tunnel, which is remarkable in that
it pierces the summit of the mountain instead of its base.
Twelve hundred feet of perpendicular descent would take
one to the bottom of the gorge, while the seared and
wrinkled expanse of the opposite wall confronts us, lifting
its massive bulwarks high above us,

" Fronting heaven's splendor,
Strong and full and clear."

When the train emerges from the tunnel it is upon the
brink of a precipice. A solid bridge of trestle-work, set in
the rock after the manner of a balcony, supports the track,
and from this coigne of vantage the traveler beholds a
most thrilling spectacle. The tremendous gorge, whose
sides are splintered rocks and monumental crags and
whose depths are filled with the snt>w-white waters of
a foaming torrent, lies beneath him, the blue sky is above
him and all around the majesty and mystery of the
mountains. On the 2Oth day of September, 1881, the
National Association of General Passenger Agents (then
on an excursion over the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad),
at the time President Garfield was being buried in Cleve-
land, held memorial services at the mouth of Toltec tun-
nel and since have erected a beautiful monument in com-
memoration of the event.

28 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

TOLTEC GORGE.

PATIENCE STAPLETON.

Against the snows of cloud hills high,

Majestic mountains, centuries old,
Reach rugged heights far up the sky,

Like Babel's tower in story old.

The winds of night in furious rage

Beat 'gainst the wall 'twixt earth and Heaven;
Each element tireless war did wage ;

Backward, defeated each was driven.

The warm Chinook o'er the prairie sighed;

The north wind fled to frozen seas ;
The chill east wind in coast fogs died;

The avalanche crashed amid the trees.

Furrowed and tortured, in silent woe,
One mountain bore the storms of ages,

And sun of summer or winter's snow
Left no trace on its mystic pages.

But a drift of snow that lay long hidden
In creviced niche on a lean peak's crest,

Wept bitter tears that crept unchidden

Far down the mountain's unyielding breast.

The river down in the valley knew,

For the stream whispered when they met —

The brook and river — and, laughing, too,
The hills had never a thought as yet.

In years the mountain's heart of rock
Yields to the subtle brook, and fast,

With thunder peal and earthquake shock,
Crashed chasm open — defeat at last.

Centuries pass. The deep drifted snows
Fade 'neath summer suns, and the stream

Widens the gorge, and misty breath throws
High up black walls that silvery gleam.

But a web is cast of iron strong,

Like a spider's home of thread-like coil.

The brook is tamed, and its echoing song
Praises the power of human toil.

THE NEEDLE MOUNTAINS.

3O RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

ANIMAS CANON.

NIMAS CANON is one of the wildest and most pict-
uresque gorges in the Rocky mountains. Through
it the Rio de las Animas Perdidas, or " River of
Lost Souls," finds its way to the valley below. For a
dozen miles north of Durango the Denver & Rio Grande
Railroad traverses the fertile and cultivated valley of the
Animas in its approach to the canon. Soon the valley
becomes more broken and contracted, the approaching
walls grow more precipitous and the smooth meadows
give place to stately pines and sighing sycamores. The
silvery Animas frets in its narrowing bed and breaks into
foam against the opposing boulders. The road climbs
and clings to the rising cliffs and presently the earth and
stately pines have receded and the train rolls along a mere
granite shelf in mid-air. Above, the vertical wall rises a
thousand feet; below, hundreds of feet of perpendicular
depth and a fathomless river. The cafion is here a mere
rent in the mountain, so narrow one may toss a pebble
across, and the cramped stream has assumed the deep
emerald hue of the ocean. In the shadows of the rocks
all is solitary, and weird, and awful. The startled traveler
quickly loses all apprehension in the wondrous beauty and
grandeur of the scene and, as successive curves repeat
and enhance the enchantment, nature asserts herself in
ecstacy. Emerging from the marvelous gorge, the bed of
the cafion rapidly rises until the roadway is but a few feet
above the stream. Dark walls of rock are replaced with
clustering mountains of supreme height, whose abruptness
defies the toot of man, and The Needles, the most peculiar
and striking of the Rockies, thrust their splintered pinna-
cles into the regions of perpetual snow.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 3!

RIO DE LAS ANIMAS PERDIDAS.

EDGAR P. VANGASSEN.

Rapid the current rolls

In the river of lost souls!

Rapid and white when the night

Lies swathed in the warm moonlight.

Rapid and white in the day

As it swirls along its way,

Born of the silvery rills

In the pine and cedared hills.

Flashing, dashing,

Swirling, crashing,
Moaning in the gulch of shadow,
Laughing through the shining meadow,
Hugging close the rocky rifts,
Gliding amid boulder drifts;

Loving, smiling,

Care beguiling,
Cool and limpid in the shade ;
"Warm and sunny in the glade ;
Rapid the current rolls
In the river of lost souls.

Still I linger by the stream

As if in a pleasant dream,

With the current running down

Through the canon, past the town,

To the pleasant lands that lie

Underneath a southern sky.

Let the snow rest on the hills,

Let the snow melt in the rills,

So the shining volume flows

Where the peach's pink bloom blows.

Lotos land in legend lies
Hidden amid shadowed skies;
Here, a human Eden waits
At the shining river's gates,
Opening for willing hands
Into fruitful orchard lands.
Souls lost in such vale as this
Wake again in lands of bliss.
He who in these meadows stands
Holds Love's Lotos in his hands.

HOMES OF THE CLIFF DWELLERS.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 33

HOMES OF THE CLIFF-DWELLERS.

of the most attractive portions of Colorado, to
the scientist, antiquarian and, indeed, the general
tourist, is that part in which are found the cliff-
dwellings of a long extinct race. A brief description of
one found in Mancos cafton will serve as a characterization
of all. Perched seven hundred feet above the valley, on a
little ledge only just large enough to hold it, stands a two-
story house made of finely-cut sandstone, each block about
fourteen by six inches, accurately fitted and set in mortar,
now harder than the stone itself. The floor is the ledge
of rock and the roof the overhanging cliff. There are
three rooms on the ground floor, each one six by nine
feet, with partition walls of faced stone. Traces of a floor
which once separated the upper from the lower story still
remain. Each of the stories is six feet in height and all
the rooms are nicely plastered and painted what now looks
a dull brick red color, with a white band along the floor.
The windows are square apertures with no signs of glaz-
ing, commanding a view of the whole valley for many
miles. The illustration shows a fortified watch-tower, indi-
cating that these strange cliff-dwelling people were pre-
pared to resist assault. Traditions are few and of history
there is nothing concerning this lost race. Their ruined
houses only remain and some broken fragments of the
implements made use of in war and peace. Typical cliff-
dwellings are found near Espanola, the southern terminus
of the New Mexico extension of the Denver & Rio Grande
Railroad, and in the Animas valley, twenty-five miles south
of Durango. Researches are in progress concerning these
extremely interesting ruins and new facts are being
developed concerning their architecture, but it is quite
improbable that any certain light will ever be thrown on
their origin or history.

34 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

HOMES OF THE CLIFF-DWELLERS,

HEADLANDS OF HOVEN-WEEP.

STANLEY WOOD.

In the sad Southwest, in the mystical Sunland,

Far from the toil and the turmoil of gain;
Hid in the heart of the only — the one land

Beloved of the Sun, and bereft of the rain ;
The one weird land where the wild winds blowing,

Sweep with a wail o'er the plains of the dead,
A ruin, ancient beyond all knowing,

Rears its head.

On the cafion's side, in the ample hollow,

That the keen winds carved in ages past,
The Castle walls, like the nest of a swallow,

Have clung and have crumbled to this at last.
The ages since man's foot has rested

Within these walls, no man may know;
For here the fierce grey eagle nested

Long ago.

Above those walls the crags lean over,

Below, they dip to the river's bed ;
Between, fierce-winged creatures hover,

Beyond, the plain's wild waste is spread.
No foot has climbed the pathway dizzy,

That crawls away from the blasted heath,
Since last it felt the ever busy

Foot of Death.

In that haunted castle — it must be haunted,

For men have lived here, and men have died,
And maidens loved, and lovers daunted,

Have hoped and feared, have laughed and sighed —
In that haunted Castle the dust has drifted,

But the eagles only may hope to see
What shattered Shrines and what Altars rifted,

There may be.

RHYMES Ot THE ROCKIES. 35

The white, bright rajs of the sunbeam sought it,

The cold, clear light of the moon fell here,
The west wind sighed, and the south wind brought it,

Songs of Summer year after year.
Runes of Summer, but mute and runeless,

The Castle stood ; no voice was heard,
Save the harsh, discordant, wild and tuneless

Cry of bird.

The spring rains poured, and the torrent rifted

A deeper way ; — the foam-flakes fell,
Held for a moment poised and lifted,

Down to a fiercer whirlpool's hell.
On the Castle tower no guard, in wonder,

Paused in his marching to and fro,
For on the turret the mighty thunder

Found no foe.

No voice of Spring — no Summer glories

May wake the warders from their sleep,
Their graves are made by the sad Dolores,

And the barren headlands of Hoven-weep.
Their graves are nameless — their race forgotten,

Their deeds, their words, their fate, are one
With the mist, long ages past begotten,

Of the Sun.

Those castled cliffs they made their dwelling,

They lived and loved, they fought and fell,
No faint, far voice comes to us telling

More than those crumbling walls can tell.
They lived their life, their fate fulfilling,

Then drew their last faint, faltering breath,
Their hearts, congealed, clutched by the chilling

Hand of Death.

Dismantled towers, and turrets broken.

Like grim and war-worn braves who keep
A silent guard, with grief unspoken

Watch o'er the graves by the Hoven-weep.
The nameless graves of a race forgotten ;

Whose deeds, whose words, whose fate are one
With the mist, long ages past beeotten,

Of the Sun.

THE ROYAL GORGE.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 37

THE ROYAL GORGE.

THE crowning wonder of this wonderful Denver &
Rio Grande Railroad is the Royal Gorge. Situated
between Cafion City and Salida, it is easy of access
either from Denver or Pueblo. After the entrance of the
cafion has been made, surprise and almost terror comes.
The train rolls around a long curve close under a wall
of black and banded granite, beside which the ponderous
locomotive shrinks to a mere dot, as if swinging on
some pivot in the heart of the mountain, or captured
by a centripetal force that would never resign its grasp.
Almost a whole circle is accomplished and the grand
amphitheatrical sweep of the wall shows no break in its
smooth and zenith-cutting fa9ade. Will the journey end
here? Is it a mistake that this crevice goes through the
range? Does not all this mad water gush from some
powerful spring, or boil out of a subterranean channel
impenetrable to us? No, it opens. Resisting centripetal,
centrifugal force claims the train and it breaks away at a
tangent past the edge or round the corner of the great
black wall which compelled its detour and that of the
river before it. Now, what glories of rock-piling confront
the wide distended eye. How those sharp-edged cliffs,
standing with upright heads that play at hand-ball with
the clouds, alternate with one another, so that first the
right, then the left, then the right one beyond strike our
view, each one half obscured by its fellow in front, each
showing itself level-browed with its comrades as we come
even with it, each a score of hundreds of dizzy feet in
height, rising perpendicular from the water and the track,
splintered atop into airy pinnacles, braced behind against
the almost continental mass through which the chasm has
been cleft. This is the Royal Gorge !

38 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

THE ROYAL GORGE.

Ci. G. FERGUSON.

In the Royal Gorge I stand,

With its mountain forms around me,
With infinity behind me and infinity before;

Cliff and chasm on every hand,
Peaks and pinnacles surround me;

At my feet the river rushes with its never-ceasing roar.

Oh! the power that piled these wonders,

As the mountains took their stations;
As a great red belt rose upward in a glittering zone of fire.

Oh! the crash of blended thunders
Shaking earth to its foundations,

As each struggling cliff rose upward, climbing higher, ever higher.

Oh! the crashing and the groaning,

And the deep and awful shudder
As that great red belt was parted and the mountains crashed in twain ;

And the Arkansas came roaring,
Raging with its dreadful thunder,

Sweeping through the mighty chasm dashing madly toward the main.

Oh! this myriad crested canon,

With its walls of massive marble,
With the granite and red sandstone piled in peaks that pierce the sky;

Where no bird dare dip its pinion
In the narrow veil of azure,

Where the solemn shadows linger o'er the river rolling by.

Mortal ! ere you enter here,

Pause and bare thy brow before Him,
You are entering a temple which the Mighty One did rear.

Put thy shoes from off thy feet,
And with sacred awe adore Him,

Throned in awful might and majesty, the Great One dwelleth here.

40 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

TWIN LAKES.

^T^UE TWIN LAKES possess peculiar merits as a
place of resort. Lying at an altitude of 9,357 feet
1 at the mouth of a canon, in a little nook, surrounded
by lofty mountains, from whose never-failing snows their
waters are fed, their seclusions invite the tired denizens of
dusty cities to fly from debilitating heat and the turmoil
of traffic to a quiet haven where "Jack Frost" makes him-
self at home in July and August. The lakes are easily
reached by an hour's ride from Granite, a station on the
Leadville Branch of the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad.
On the lakes are numerous sail and row-boats and fishing
tackle can always be obtained. Both lakes are well stocked
with fish and the neighboring streams also abound in
mountain trout. The scene is of surpassing beauty and
one is loth to leave

"The green sea wave, whose waters gleam

Limpid, as if her mines of pearl
Were melted all to form the stream ;

And her fair islets, small and bright,
With their green shores reflected there,

Look like those Peri isles of light
That hang by spell-work in the air."

Surrounding the lakes are large forests of pine which
add their characteristic odor to the air. The nearest
mountains, whose forms are reflected in the placid waters,
are Mount Elbert, 14,351 feet in height, La Plata, 14,311
(each higher than Pike's Peak), Lake mountain and
the Twin Peaks. Just across the narrow Arkansas valley
rises Mount Sheridan, far above timber line, flanked by
the hoary summits of Park range. Twin Lakes is one of
the highest of the popular Rocky mountain resorts and
furnishes an unfailing "antidote" for hot weather.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 4!

TWIN LAKES.

THE YACHT DAUNTLESS.
HELEN HUNT JACKSON IN YOUTHS COMPANION.

Far off in the Rocky mountains
And. two miles up in the air,

Lie the Twin Lakes, close together,
All rippling, shining and fair.

The mountains wall in the water;

It looks like a great blue cup;
And the sky looks like another

Turned over, bottom side up.

'Tis the sweetest place I know of;

No sweeter one could be planned
For summer and winter pleasure

On the water and the land.

Each sunset and sunrise, glowing
With bright colors, spread the lake,

And along the shore gay blossoms
Even brighter colors make.

But there were only little row-boats
Which crept o'er the water blue,

And every one said, " If onlv
With a swelling sail we flew! "

" We'll fly with a sail all swelling,
And make light work of the miles !

I'll build with my hands a vessel,"
Cried out the good Captain Stiles.

42 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

So he hewed hint down great fir-trees,
And hewed him logs of the pine,

And the splendid slender balsams,
All full of fragrances fine.

And he sawed and planed and hammered
With tools of good iron and steel,

And he made the deck all shining,
And bent and hollowed the keel.

And he set the mast of balsam
Upright, as it used to grow,

And he sewed a sail of canvas,
And a pennon white as snow.

And I wonder when he launched it
What the birds thought overhead —

If they thought it was another

Great bird with its wings outspread.

Then he christened it " The Dauntless,"
Though why I could never see ;

For a ship more free from danger
In the world there could not be.

So long as she holds together,

With her timbers strong and sound,

The lake will but gently rock her,
The mountains will wall her round.

Far off in the Rocky mountains,
And two miles up in the air,

On the lake so blue and shining,
Her light burdens she will beaV.

And if you will come some summer
And journey our mountains through,

You can sail in this Yacht Dauntless,
And see I have told you true!

MOUNT OF THE HOLY CRO33.

44 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS.

rROM the crest of Fremont Pass, and also from
Tennessee Pass, can be seen the Mount of the Holy
Cross. It is a summit that would attract the eye
anywhere, its foot hidden in verdurous hills, guarded by
knightly crags half buried in seething clouds, its helmet
vertical, frowning, plumed with gleaming snow,

"Aye, every inch a king."

The snow-white emblem of the Christian faith gleams
with bright splendor against an azure sky. The cross is
formed by two transverse canons of immense depth riven
down and across the summit of the mountain. In these
canons lies eternal snow. The symbol is perfect in shape,
and while gazing with wonder and awe upon this "sign set
in the heavens," the adventurous wayfarer at last realizes
that he has reached that height "around whose summit
splendid visions rise" and those thrilling lines of Keats
come involuntarily to his lips:

" Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;

Or like stout Cortes, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men

Looked at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent upon a peak in Darien."

Shining grandly out of the pure ether and above all
turbulence of earthly strife, it seems to say: "Humble
thyself, O man! Uncover thy head, forget not that as high
as gleams the splendor of this ever-living cross above thy
gilded spires, so are the thoughts of its Creator above
thy thoughts, his ways above thy ways."

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 45

MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS,

WILL L. VISCHEK.

Where Nature's God hath roughest wrought;

Where spring the purest fountains;
Where long ago the Titans fought »

And hurled for missiles, mountains;
Where everlasting snows abide,

And tempest clouds are driven
Along the solid granite side

Of yawning cafions, riven
Deep in the Rockies' grandest pride

That lifts its head to heaven ;

Amid the wilds, where awful rise

The giant peaks, that fathom
Night's starry depths and day's blue skies,

And brood above the chasm,
One monarch 'mongst the mighty hills

Rears high his summit hoary,
Like some grim king whose legend fills

A page of olden story,
And heart o'erawes and soul enthrills

Before his regal glory.

The holy cross of Christian faith,
Above the royal velvet

In beauty shines, an emblem wraith,
High on the beetling helmet;

Its white arms stretching through the sheen
Of silvery mist, are gleaming;

A talisman, the world to screen,
Hope's symbol, in its seeming;

A wonder grand, a joy serene,
Upon the ages beaming.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 47

FREMONT PASS.

^Tp H ROUGH an Arcadian valley the approach to Fre-
mont Pass is made. A famous pass with the
1 historic name of him who has been called the
"pathfinder," although a later day has witnessed greater
achievements than his among the Rocky mountains. A
journey here deserves the name of a pilgrimage, for from
the summit of the Pass the traveler can discern the
"Mount of the Holy Cross." The ascent is one replete
with vivid interest. Fainter and fainter grow the lines of
objects in the valley, until at last the clouds envelop the
train, and at the next moment the traveler looks down
upon a rolling mass of vapor through which the light
strikes in many colored beams. The sublimity of the
scene forbids all thoughts other than those of reverence
and rapture. The Denver & Rio Grande Railroad crosses
the pass at an altitude of eleven thousand five hundred
and forty feet, higher than any iron trail yet established
in North America or the Old World. Down in the valley
the Arkansas river has its source in a little rivulet one
could stand astride like another Colossus of Rhodes.

"There in the gorges that widen, descending
From cloud and from cold into summer eternal,
Gather the threads of the ice-gendered fountains —
Gather to riotous torrents of crystal,
And giving each shelvy recess where they dally
The blooms of the north and its evergreen turfage."

This little brook pushes its way eastward, escapes through
the Grand cafton with indescribable turmoil, and always
growing bigger, broader and stronger, deeper and more
dignified until it leaves the mountains, finally strikes
boldly across a thousand miles of rolling prairie to join
the mighty Mississippi on its way to the sea.

48 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

FREMONT PASS.

J. D. DILLENBACK.

He who has climbed in this rare atmosphere,
By giddy roads, up to this lofty height
And paused upon the pass, awed by the sight,
Looks forth in wonder, shadowed still by fear.

The snow-crowned monarchs of an upper world,
Rugged and steep and bare, the mountains rise;
Their very feet are planted in the skies ;
Adown their sides are avalanches hurled.

Man seldom, for adventure or for gain,
To greater heights ascends. Here is the crest
Of the great Rocky Mountains; East and West
Drop toward the Atlantic and Pacific main.

Time was, when few and daring were the men
Who might behold this pass, that Fremont gained
Through toil and danger, and, its heights attained,
Perils beset the long leagues down again.

Now all may come who seek, afar from crowds,
The grand in nature, for we now engage
The potent genii of this iron age,
Fire, steam and steel, and rise above the clouds !

5O RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

MARSHALL PASS.

KA ARSHALL PASS is entered almost imperceptibly

I * \ from Poncha Pass and the whole wonderful ascent
L \ might very readily be imagined as one and the
same. The summit is almost eleven thousand feet above
the sea and the tortuous method by which the daring
engineers of the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad have
achieved this summit can best be understood by a glance
at the cut illustrating the alignment of the track shown
on another page. As the train progresses up the steep,
the view becomes less obstructed by mountain sides and
the eye roams over miles of cone-shaped summits. The
timberless tops of towering ranges show him that he is
among the heights and in a region familiar with the
clouds. Then he beholds, stretching away to the left, the
most perfect of all, the Sierras. The sunlight falls with
a white, transfiguring radiance upon the snow-crowned
spires of the Sangre de Christo range. Their sharp and
dazzling pyramids, which near at hand are clearly defined,
extend to the southward until cloud and sky and snowy
peak commingle and form a vague and bewildering vision.
To the right towers the fire-scarred front of old Ouray,
grand, solitary and forbidding. Ouray holds the pass,
standing sentinel at the rocky gateway to the fertile Gun-
nison. Slowly the steeps are conquered, until at last the
train halts upon the summit of the continental divide
which separates the waters of the Atlantic and Pacific.
The traveler looks down upon four lines of road, terrace
beyond terrace, the last so far below as to be quite indis-
tinct to view. Wonder at the triumphs of engineering
skill is strangely mingled with the feelings of awe and
admiration at the stupendous grandeur of the scene.

52 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

MARSHALL PASS.

ALICE S. MITCHELL.

Above the world's wild roar and clash
Unnumbered waves of emerald dash,
One giant rears a lofty dome,
His wrinkled forehead flecked with foam.
Here smoky pennons wave in air,
Two armies grand, the brave, the fair
Wind swiftly up the mountain side.
They reach the cleft, the great "divide;
With joyful shout, upon its crest,
The East gives greeting to the West.
Here generations yet unborn
Shall watch the sunset kiss the morn,
And glad winds "hallelujahs" sing
As Winter clasps the hand of Spring.

Upon the summit of this crest
Columbia's eagle built his nest.
The plumage of his mighty wings
From sea to sea their shadow flings.
Sheltered beneath this faithful breast
A continent doth safely rest.
Guarded by piercing eyes so true
His beek holds firm the banner blue.

Sometimes to mortal man 'tis given
To breathe the perfumed air of heaven,
The folded wings of souls unfurled
Like soaring birds above the world,
Mounting beyond our love and hate
We, reverent, whisper " God is great."

CHIPPETA FALLS IN THE BLACK CANON.

54 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

THE BLACK CANON.

IX all the world there is no place so beautiful, imposing,
sublime and awful that may be so easily and comfort-
ably visited as the Black canon, for the iron horse of
the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad has a pathway through
the canon and he draws after him coaches as handsome
and pleasant as those which he draws on the level plain.
Along many miles of this grand gorge the railway lies
upon a shelf that has been blasted in the solid walls of
God's masonry; walls that 3tand sheer two thousand feet
in height and so close together that for most of the dis-
tance through the canon only a streak of sky, sometimes
in broad daylight, spangled with stars, is seen above.

"I'll look no more;

Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong."

Unlike many of the Colorado canons, the scenery in this
one is kaleidoscopic, ever changing. Here the train glides
along between the close, regular and exalted walls, then
suddenly it passes the mouth of another mighty canon
which looks as if it were a great gateway to an unroofed
arcade leading from the pathway of some monstrous
giant. Now, at a sharp turn, Chippeta falls, a stream of
liquid crystal, pitches from the top of the dizzy cliffs to
the bosom of the sparkling rive'r which dashes beside the
road. Then a spacious amphitheater is passed, in the
center of which stands Currecanti Needle solitary and
alone, a towering monument of solid stone, which reaches
to where it flaunts the clouds, like some great cathedral
spire. Truly there is no gorge in all the Rocky range
that presents such variety and grandeur as the Black
canon of the Gunriison.

CUKRECANTI NEtDLE— BLACK. CANON.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

THE BLACK CANON.

FANNIE ISABEL SHERRICK.

The midday sun in this deep gorge

Resigns his old-time splendor,
His palace walls of dreamy gold
The rose-hues warm and tender.

The cleft is dark below
Where foaming flows the somber river,
The wild winds sigh and blossoms shiver,
And violet mists ascending

Obscure the Orient glow.

O! rushing river emerald -hued,

How mad thou art and fearless,
No frowning gates, though granite -barred,
Can curb thy waters peerless !

The silent gods of stone
Revoke their ancient laws of might
When through the gorge with wing-swift flight
Thy wind-tossed waves are speeding,
Each moment wilder grown.

The faint stars shine in broad midday
Through twilight mists, gold -rifted,
WJiere opal streams make dizzy leaps
O'er jasper walls blue-rifted.

Below no naiads dream

'Ntath dim arcades, through sunless deeps
The nomad river lonely leaps,
Where castled crags rise skyward

Like watch-towers o'er the stream.

On massive cliff- walls Nature's hand
Has turned time's sun-worn pages,
In faces carved and figures hewn
We trace the work of ages.

The gold -tipped spires sublime,
That pierce the sky- like shafts of light,
But mark the measureless heavenward height
Of Nature's own cathedral,

Whose stern high priest is Time.

In this grand temple, eons old
Her .organ notes are pealing,
In gold -flecked arch and wave -worn aisles
The flower-nuns are kneeling;

Her altars echo prayer,
And when at dusk the cold moon shines,
O ! awful are the far white shrines
From earth to God upreaching

Through spirit-flooded air.

CASTLt GATE

58 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES.

CASTLE GATE.

UARDING the entrance to Price River canon,
through which the railroad runs into the very heart
of the range, stands Castle Gate, similar in many
respects to the gateway of the Garden of the Gods. The
two huge pillars or ledges of rock composing it are off-
shoots of the cliffs behind. They are of different heights,
one measuring five hundred and the other four hundred
and fifty feet from top to base. They are richly dyed
with red and the firs and pines growing about them, but
reaching only to their lower strata, render this coloring
more noticeable and beautiful. Between the two sharp
promontories, which are separated only by a narrow space,
the river and the railroad both run, one pressing closely
against the other. The stream leaps over a rocky bed
and its banks are lined with tangled brush. The turreted
rocks, the rushing stream and the darkling canon bring
forcibly to mind that wonderful dream of Coleridge:

" In Xanadn did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree;
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man,

Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round;
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossom'd many an incense -bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Infolding sunnv spots of greenery."

Once past the gate, and looking back, the bold head-
lands forming it have a new and more attractive beauty.
They are higher and more massive, it seems, than when
we were in their shadow. Huge rocks project far out
from their perpendicular faces. No other isolated pin-
nacles in this region approach them in size or majesty.
They are landmarks up and down the cafion, their lofty
tops catching the eye before their bases are discovered.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 59

AT CASTLE GATE.

W. E. PABOR.

'Stand, stranger, stand. The castle gate
Through which you pass to fairy land
Is mine to guard. What happy fate
Bids you within its border ? Stand ! "

Warder of this stately castle,

Stay the menace of your hand ,
I am but a simple singer

Singing songs throughout the land.
Through the time-stained rugged portals

I can catch a glimpse afar,
Where the light shines on the woodland

Like the light of the morning star.

Let me pass, Oh stern-faced warder,

Through the wondrous castle gate;
Let me walk within the garden

Led by fancy and by fate.
For the sunlight and the moonlight

And the starlight, as they fall,
Seem replete with happy fancies

Making pictures on the wall.

Gateway to a happy valley,

Open wide and let my feet
Wander in the flowery meadows

Where the shining waters meet.
Frowning cliffs lift up to front me,

Sunset hues the rocks that rise,
But my eyes have caught a vision

Of green fields and violet skies.

Lying over Soldier Summit

In the valleys of the West,
With the bloom and blush of Eden

Lying softly on their breast,
Vales of splendor, vales of beauty,

Meet to melt a heart of stone;
Vale of Tempe pales in glory

When beside thy brightness shown.

Other lips have uttered fancies,

Other eyes on thee have shone,
Other feet have walked these meadows,

Passing through the gate of stone.
But my lips can not keep silence,

Or my eyes their rapture bate,
As they eatch a glimpse of Eden

Through the cliff-crowned Castle Gate.

' Pass, stranger, pass, the olden time
Was full of song of mirth and cheer;

Sing any song that suits your rhyme,
And let it echo round the year."

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 6l

GREAT SALT LAKE.

S\LT LAKE CITY is in a veritable garden. Low
and picturesque houses harmonize in their cool,
quiet tones with the extensive orchards of fruit
and gardens of flowers which surround them and the
business blocks in the center of the city are imposing and
strong. Back upon a "bench," and several hundred feet
above the city, is Fort Douglas, the flag of the Republic
standing out in bright relief against the Wasatch. Strong
and rapid mountain streams come rushing through the
canons and are led into the city, where the clear, cold,
limpid waters sing a pleasant song as they sport and play
along the sides of the streets where they are conducted
through the entire city. The Oquirrh mountains shut in
the valley to the west. The great object of interest to the
tourist and stranger is Temple Square; here are situated
the great ecclesiastical buildings of the Mormon Church.
Prominent among them is the Temple, Tabernacle and
Assembly Hall.

The Great Salt Lake is a mysterious inland sea, which,
more than any other body of water on the globe, has
created and left unsatisfied the curiosity of mankind. Its
dead, dreamy, silent, tideless waters are still an enigma,
both to the learned and unlearned. Here one can recall
with aptness Byron's apostrophe to Leman:

" Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face,

The mirror where the stars and mountains view
The stillness of their aspect in each trace

Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue."

The lake's surface is higher than the Alleghanies and
mountainous islands rise from its bosom, casting their
dark shadows on the blue expanse which lies slumbering
at their feet.

RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES. 63

SUNSET ON GREAT SALT LAKE.

W. E. PABOR.

Over the Oquirrh ranges

Pearly clouds of softness rest,
Blending1 with the rippling changes

On great Salt Lake's wave-swept breast.
In the sunset I am roaming,

Looking out across the deep
Tideless waves, that in the gloaming

Moan as if in dreamy sleep.

Locked in the embrace of mountains,

Whose green frontlets watch the isles,
Guarding the enchanted fountains

Where a siren sits and smiles.
Lake of mystery and wonder,

Lake of silence so sublime,
In thy depths we look and ponder

On the strangest gift of time.

Lower down the crimson chamber

Of the west the sunset falls;
Creamy cumuli of amber

Penciled on its crystal walls;
Now the tints change into umber,

Twilight shadows creep along
Slowly, like the sense of slumber,

Through the solace of a song.

As the sunset's charm thrills through me,

Musing on the sand-swept marge,
Fancy brings a boatman to me

With his pearl-enameled barge;
And he bids me leave the highlands,

With their shadow and their stain,
And sail with him to the islands

Lying in the azure main.

Farewell now to all things human,

In the boatman's barge I stand,
Trust of man or love of woman

I leave on the shore of sand.
Through empurpled mists that hover

Round the islands of the blest,
In the sunset I go over

To the lotus land of rest.

64 RHYMES OF THE ROCKIES,

L'ENVOY.

Through wond'rous scenes our pleasant path has wound

From " Palmer Lake " to that enchanted ground

The " Garden of the Gods." We've paused to view

The many marvels of fair " Manitou."

Have gazed with reverence upon " Cheyenne,"

Made doubly sacred by the poet's pen

And poet's grave; have seen the mighty earth

Grow small beneath us, and new stars take birth

As " Veta Pass " was conquered, and with brown

Rocks girded, gazed on " Blanca's " triple crown ;

Have passed o'er "Toltec," marvelous, sublime!

Triumphant work of science, art and time;

Have seen the " Castles" of that perished race

Who dwelt on cliffs, and have beheld the place,

Wondrous and wild, where flows the " Animas "

Through cloven cliffs which let its waters pass.

Then northward turned we've seen upreared on high

The " Holy Cross " emblazoned on the sky,

From " Fremont Pass " beheld beneath our feet

The soaring eagle ply his pinions fleet.

Deep in the " Royal Gorge " have breathless whirled

As through some cavern of the under- world.

On " Marshall Pass " the clouds have by us sped

Like white- sailed ships with all their canvas spread,

Then circling downward to the verdant plain,

Through which the Gunnison flows to the main,

We reach the cafion " Black " and deep and long

Wherein the river sings its battle song;

We pass beyond to where the warders wait

Beside the portals of the " Castle Gate."

Through this we pass to that enchanted sea

The " Great Salt Lake," enwrapped in mystery,

And as it slumbers 'neath the setting sun,

We sigh to think our wondrous journey's done.