’Tis the grief for their fate gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
Campbell.
’Tis evening, and I stand alone
On San Francisco’s desert shore,
The wandering night-winds sadly moan,
And shrieking sea-birds round me soar.
The weary sun hath sunk to sleep
Beyond the great Pacific’s wave,
While here I stand and idly weep