The Shasta courier., 1860-03-24
Humboldt River.

Humboldt rivert Oh, most horrible of rivers,
let us rename it. Let US call it the "River Of
Death" For three hundred miles its banks are
one continuous burying ground. Like the mon
ster serpent, which once impeded the march aud
thinned the ranks of the Roman army, by filing
the atmosphere with its pestiferous and death
dealing breath, so doth this monster stretch it.
self along the route, and lying in wait for the
great annual army of emigration, fill the all
with death producing miasma. 1t literally fat
tens its lean sides with the flesh OF the emf
grant husband, wife and babe. H, as some
think, departed spirits remain in the vicinity
where lie in corruption the feshly tenements
once inhabited by them, then indeed must the
banks of this stream. at midnight, when spirits
are supposed to commence their nightly roam
ing upon the earth, present to the spirit vision A
sadder sight than ever caused human eye to MI
with tears of sorrow Naught but the ghosts OF
worn-out and starved fathers, mothers and
babes Oh, horrible, most horrible of riversl-
Let us call thee the River of Death Shasta
Courier.
The River of Death, as it rolls
With a sound like the wailiDg Of soals
And, nursing their dust, may be seen
The ghosts of the dead by the green
Billowy heaps on the shore
L
And wall with the rush of the waves
On-seeking the desert before
Nursing their dust 'gainst the morn
Which surely shall US, newborn,
Arise from the womb of the earth
That. through rain or through dearth,
Through calm or through Storm
Through seasons and times, no part may be lost,
By the ruthless winds tost,
OF the mortal which shall be immortal of FORM
No leaf that may bud
By that dark, snllen Hood
No flower that may bloom,
With its tomb-like perfume,
In that region infectious of gloomi
No subtilized breath
That NAV ripple that River of Death,
Or, vapory, float in the desolate air,
But is watched, with vigilant, miserly care,
Lest it steal from the dust of the dead that are
there.
For the elements aye are in league,
With patience unknowing fatigue,
To scatter mortalty's mould,
And sweep from the graves what they hold.
/ would not, ween, be the wight
To roam by that river at night,
When the souls are abroad in the glooms;
Enough that the daytime is weird
With such mystical sights as are feared
Mid the silence OF moonilShteu tohos-
Weird shores, with their alkaline white,
That loom in the glare of the light;
Weird bones as they bleach in the sun,
Where the beast from his labors is donei
Weird trost-work of poisonous dews
On shrub and on herb which effuse
The death they have drank to their core;
Weird columns up-borne from the floor
OF the white -crusted deserts which boil
With the whirlwinds' bot, blasting turmoil
As ghost-lke he ghdes on his way,
Each ghastly. worn pilgrim looks gray
With the dust the envenomed winds fail;
And the beast he bestrides is as pale
As the steed of the Vision of John,
With ham, the DESTROYER, thereon.
Dark river, foul river, 'tis we'll
That into the jaws of thy He'll
The open-mouthed Desert*-should fall
Thy waves that so haunt and appall.
'Tis fit that thou seek the profound
0fthe all-biding Night underground;
Like the river which nine times around
The realm of grim Erebus wound,
To roll in that region of dread
A Stygan Stream of The Dead
n The Sink of the Humboldt"