San Andreas independent., 1857-01-31

Mourn not for the dead for they at rest but wee
him that journeyeth into far country for he shall r
n to his own land no more.
/ stood upon the barren summit
Of the lonely Russian Hill
With grass-grown grave beside me
On Sabbath morning still
And sighed for the old companions
Scattered through every zone,
Who sailed in the Margaret with me
But seven short years agone.
Yes, seven brief summers only
Have rolled past since that day
Twas balmy, soft June evening
When we anchored in the Bay;
Of the sixteen buoyant spirits
Enrolled in our companie,
1tretUe lie the green sod under,
And three, are lost for aye.
The first at my feet was lying
Far from his native home;
had watched by his bedside, dying,
Slain by the curse of Rum:
In the dark and rocky canon
Where the Freznos waters flow
The mangled corse of the second
Was buried long ago.
Three entered the wild Sierra
To search for the golden ore,
But back from their guest of 4ucre
10 our camp they came no more.
We sought them long and vainly,
But what their sad fate had been
We never could tell, but only
They never again were seen.
On the hills of the Mariposa
Where the dead of so sleep,
On the bank-side by the ravine
Where its sluggish waters creep,
Two mounds with long grass tangled
There mouldering side by side,
Are the gambler and his victim,
The unshriven suicide
In the green vale of Nuuanu,
On the fair Isle of Oahu,
Consumption demanded the youngest
Most gallant, most gentle, most true;
The graveyard of Yerba-Buena
Claimeth another; alone
Far from his friends and his kindred
Standeth his monument stone.
One died in the Independence,
Another on Chagres' shore;
One launched on the blue Pacific
His bark and returned no more:
Mourn not the dead /" the living yet
Alas there are but four
Who sailed in the good brig Margaret
Better their doom deplore.
In the valleys of Nuka-hiva-
Gem of the Southern Sea
The soul of our band, if living,
Hath fixed his destiny.
Gladly he went into exile,
Self-banished from his kind;
The stern worlds wrong and oppression
Made wreck of his noble mind.
From the dungeons of San Quentin
Ascendeth for evermore
The wall of convict, signing
For the days that are past and Ger;
His life to the law was forfeit,
For the blood his hand had shed,
But a cruel mercy spared him
To be, 'mongst the living dead.
The last and the saddest of any
A sister she was to us all
In the bloom of her girlish beauty
Was lured by ficnd to her fall.
On the banks of the Sacramento
She leadeth life of shame;
For her there is no redemption !
Forgotten ever be her name.
The gifted and brave had perished
The beautiful and the young;
All trace of their footsteps vanished
The paths of men from among
While / as the sole survivor
Was left to make my moan
On the shores of the broad Pacific
was standing all alone-Inclusus.
EDITOR OF THE BULLETIN.-Unpoetica AM
probable as the above rude lines may appear
y possess at least the sad recommendation 0
ral unexaggerated truth. The fate of tn
tier hangeth yet in the balance; it may b
N more terrible (if that is possible) than tn
om Of his once joyous and light-hearte,
ow-voyagers.
Ozark shall thy doom be-darker still
Thy Gread eternity of ill.,
rs, for the Margaret and her living freight o
pc and happiness Verify, rhomnae propose
is Diew dispose. INcLUsUs.]