Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BY THE CROSS OF MONTEREY, by RICHARD EDWARD WHITE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BY THE CROSS OF MONTEREY, by                    
First Line: Good junipero, the padre
Last Line: With the waters of thy bay!
Variant Title(s): Discovery Of San Francisco Bay;waiting For The Galleon
Subject(s): San Francisco Bay, California; Serra, Junipero (1713-1784); West (u.s.) - Exploration


GOOD Junipero, the Padre,
Slowly read the King's commands,
In relation to the missions
To be built in heathen lands.
And he said: "The good Saint Francis
Surely has some little claim,
Yet I find that here no mission
Is assigned unto his name."

Then the Visitador answered:
"If the holy Francis care
For a mission to his honor,
Surely he will lead you there;
And it may be by the harbor
That the Indian legends say
Lies by greenest hills surrounded
To the north of Monterey."

Spoke Junipero the Padre:
"It is not for me to tell
Of the truth of Indian legends,
Yet of this I know full well --
If there be such hidden harbor,
And our hope and trust we place
In the care of good Saint Francis,
He will guide us to the place."

Soon, the Governor Portala
Started northward, on his way
Overland, to rediscover
The lost port of Monterey.
Since the time within its waters
Viscaino anchor cast,
It remained unknown to Spaniards,
Though a century had passed.

On his journey went Portala
With his band of pioneers,
Padres, Indian guides, and soldiers,
And a train of muleteers;
And said Serra, as he blessed them,
As he wished them all Godspeed:
"Trust Saint Francis -- he will guide you
In your direst hour of need."

On his journey went Portala
Till he reached the crescent bay;
But he dreamed not he was gazing
On the wished-for Monterey.
So a cross on shore he planted,
And the ground about he blessed,
And then he and his companions
Northward went upon their quest.

On his journey went Portala,
And his army northward on,
And methinks I see them marching,
Or in camp when day was done;
Or at night when stars were twinkling,
As that travel-weary band
By the log-fire's light would gather,
Telling of their far-off land.

And they told weird Indian legends,
Tales of Cortes, too, they told,
And of peaceful reign of Incas,
And of Montezuma's gold;
And they sang, as weary exiles
Sing of home and vanished years,
Sweet, heart-treasured songs that always
Bring the dumb applause of tears.

When the day was sunk in ocean,
And the land around was dim,
On the tranquil air of midnight
Rose the sweet Franciscan hymn;
And when bugle told the dawning,
And the matin prayers were done,
On his journey went Portala,
And his army northward on.

Far away they saw sierras,
Clothed with an eternal spring,
While at times the mighty ocean
In their path her spray would fling;
On amid such scenes they journeyed,
Through the dreary wastes of sand,
Through ravines dark, deep, and narrow,
And through canons wild and grand.

And with what a thrill of pleasure,
All their toils and dangers through,
Gazed they on this scene of beauty
When it burst upon their view,
As Portala and his army,
Standing where I stand to-day,
Saw before them spread in beauty
Green-clad hills and noble bay.

Then the Governor Portala
Broke the spell of silence thus:
"To this place, through Padre Serra,
Hath Saint Francis guided us;
So the bay and all around it
For the Spanish King I claim,
And forever, in the future,
Let it bear Saint Francis' name."

Thus he spoke, and I am standing
On the self-same spot to-day,
And my eyes rest on the landscape,
And the green hills, and the bay,
And upon Saint Francis' city,
As, with youth and hope elate,
She is gazing toward the ocean,
Sitting by the Golden Gate.

Needless were such gifts as heaven
Gave to holy seers of yore,
To foretell the meed of glory,
Fairest town, for thee in store!
To foretell the seat of empire
Here will be, nor for a day,
Where Balboa's sea doth mingle
With the waters of thy bay!





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