ur Home—that is our cabin, Jo's and mine,
A single room to dwell in, sleep or dine,
Stood in a hollow near the mountain top,
Where massive walls the blue sky seemed to prop.
A stern, bleak, strange, a lonely rugged place
From whence down-looking one could distant trace
The far-sunk canon and the ledges damp
That sloped toward the little mining camp.
A Babylonish pile at one end rose
On which lay through the year the spiral snows;
And at the other, lichened, richly mossed,
Inlaid by nature's hand, all wild up-tossed,
A mass of terraces did steeply lean,
While tumbled debris lay these heights between.
And higher still the hoary mountain passed
Into a peak, all naked, pale, and vast;
Bleached into gray, but marked with mineral stain—
The source of which it was our hope to gain.
So thus we tunneled and did slow proceed,
Striving from day to day to reach "the lead."
Across the debris lay a zig-zag track
Our feet had made in climbing up and back.
And 'tween our claim and cabin, lost in sleep,
A mountain lake lay cold, and dark, and deep.
Three years we lived there—in that hollow stern,
The mountain's sights and voices well did learn.
Peered down the ledges sunk in watery gloom,
Beheld the flowers that exhaled rich perfume.
By the lake margin they in myriads grew—
Unfolded there the starry asters blue;
Around each boulder, ere the snow was old,
Came gleaming buttercups in rings of gold;
Where swift the gathered waters fell away,
Forget-me-nots were drenched in crystal spray.
The mimulus, the brush, geraniums bright,
Lit up the shadows with a sunny light.
These sounds we heard—the new-born torrent's plaint,
The bird-like chirp of hidden squirrel faint;
And others, too, uncanny, savage, wild—
The wind that fiend-like shrieked 'mong rocks all aisled,
Anon, oh, dreadful sound! the thunder-peal,
When e'en the giant mountain seemed to reel.
Sometimes the echo of a distant blast—
Which sound of promise made our hearts beat fast—
Full many a sound that made our bosoms swell;
Oh, yes, we learned to know the mountains well!
But who was Jo? We met upon the slope
When I, at least, was well-nigh without hope.
I'd struggled long—it was my fate, you see—
Had been held down by dark adversity.
But from the moment I met Jo—'twas change,
Then for my life began an upward range.
Upon the cliffs of purple, iron-gray,
Heavy and wan, the clouds held fast that day.
The Tower of Babel, in the thick murk gloom'd,
Like to a mighty, spectral shadow loom'd
Dim, black, gigantic, save for lines of snow
Reflected vaguely in the lake below.
And clouds as heavy on the peak did rest,
While vapors white lay wild along each crest.
'Twas ominous truly, but sudden—lo, behold!
The sunbeams darted through the thick enfold.
And then was transformation! 'Twas a sign—
An omen surely good, I did divine.
We stood and gazed in silence. All the moss
Seemed turned to emerald fire by the cross
Of slanting sunbeams. Silver flash they gave
To edge of every shoreward lapping wave.
And then the flowers! As by magic turned,
Each rain-wet leaf as topaz, ruby, burned!
Oh, 'twas inspiring! But why more recite?
Our friendship dated from that glorious sight.
I thought that Fortune dealt anew the cards,
When Jo consented to try luck as "pards."
Nor did I rue it. 'Twas a well-fought game.
Ere that day ended we had staked a claim.
Led by a hope not easy to dispel,
We built our hut by that deep mountain well.
And there we lived. All gloomy thoughts we quelled,
Believed success was in the future held.
Oft we would sit beside our cabin door,
Each chance of winning look at o'er and o'er;
And as we lit and smoked a friendly pipe,
We'd boast how Fortune's hair we'd tightly gripe.
We saw the yellow twilight in the west
Grow dim and fade upon the mountain's breast.
Oft when the lake and crags had turned to jet,
The moon came up and found us watchers yet.
Dear lad, I loved him truly as my life,—
In those three years we passed no word of strife;
I played the father, he was like a son.
Alas! the end to that so well begun!
A curious fact—and why not tell it here?
Though you may think it just a little queer—
I wished when my time came, and I lay dead,
Within that hollow, Jo should make my bed.
In some strange way—I scarce can make it clear,
Nor in my hopefulness should it appear—
That one of us would live to see his mate,
The labors of his life there terminate.
And so, in shelter that a dwarfed pine gave
With mental sight I saw my cone-strewn grave.
Yet nothing said to give to Jo distress,
And—let an ending come to this digress—
I wish to make this truth appear quite plain,
'Twas Jo I thought of more than hope of gain.
Brave lad! There shone within his honest eye
A daring will to conquer or to die.
Perhaps 'twas that endeared him to me so,
His fiery youth—and I so tame and slow.
Besides my past had all been a mistake,
While golden promise said to him, Awake!
We started different, I had lost my chance,
The future bade him boldly to advance.
It seemed to me to take but little guess
To know that Jo would make of life success.