The weekly Butte record., 1862-06-28
[For the BUTTE RECORD ]
Nimshew Picnic,

Win several pieces OF vocal music, which va
succeeded BY the reading of an original poem
on " California" by your humble correspon
dent; the greater portion of the poem wa
written two or three years ago and appeared
in the Golden Era, but if You think it worthy
! of publication, you can insert it 10 the RECORD
introductory to the poem. he made the follow
! ing remarks:
1t is very pleasant to me, and no doubt SC
to ycu all, to meet together here in the forest
shade on this bright Joyous day. TO mingle our
voices in social converse. and join in those in
nocent amusements that lend charm to the
otherwise monotonous events of life in the
mountains. We are now standing on the
bunting grounds of an Indian race that has
almost faded from existence since the car OF
civilization rolled its brilliant wheels across the
Rocky Mountains. TO beat down the tangled
forest, to erect cities and towns where but
twelve short years ago nothing was seen but
one vast wilderness, one great continuity OF
shade, where the uncouth Digger sat beneath
the breezy pines to dinner on his snails, his
grasshoppers and roots, where the terrible
grizzly growled defiance at the advancing
footsteps of strange race the antler horned
the trees in playful sport and Digger children
fed barefooted oer the hills, before the gaunt
coyotes hungry howl!
1t has been said that God made the country.
and man made the town, and most Of US know
how pleasant it seems after having been used
to the noise and din of the town, to wander out
into the dim old forest, to listen to the sweet
melody of bird language, with the clear blue
sky over our heads and the green fowry earth
beneath our feet. while low-tuned zephyrs are
sighing with their loads of fragrance, as they
&" creep from leaf TO leaf"
have an idea that the picnic was handed
down through many generations to the present
time, to show US the native simplicity of our
first parents, who lived in the garden among
the trees, having no pots to cook in, and de
pending entirely on the linsy fabrics of leaves
for pettcoats and pants For the first pic
mic of which we have an authentic account
was given by Adam and Eve, in the groves of
Eden. from which it no doubt derives its origin
and its name, for while Eve was wandering
through the enchanted groves" Nick came
that way and very gallantly assisted her in
picking the most delicious fruit, and when she
wanted a beautiful apple she would be very
apt to say picnic :"
California,
look DER California, with her sunny smiling face.
And ask myself in silence if this is not the place
My fancy painted long ago, in youths alluring
dream
Where golden stores lie hidden beneath each noun.
tain stream;
Where vaHes stretching far and wide, with YER
dure, fruit and flowers,
Where man can live in freedoms pride and scorn
despotic powers;
Oppression's hand can never dare to wrcst his
rights away,
Because his life and honor are. put forth each
wrong to stay,
While far above his peaceful home bend bright
cerulean skies,
Where heaven-daring eagles roam, our starry ban
ner flies;
Who would not live in such a cline. mid natures
grand display,
Where mountain monuments sublime reflect the
light Of day.
There calm old ocean lies asleep beneath balmy
breeze.
While Ger her bosom proudly sweep the navies Of
the seas:
And strewn, meandering by her side. in clustering
grandeur vast
The giant hills in silence stand, whose hydrotypes
are cast
Upon her mirrored breast serene. in fadeess glory
Whose passive forms and brilliant hues with heay-
ems dews are wet.
Bold Shasta stands in lofty pride, crowned with
eternal snow,
While down her worn and rugged side fierce tor
rents madly flow,
Like some tall giantess in tears. beneath the genial
Ter frozen cap she proudly wears while ages on
ward run.
The pioneer roams round her base and looks with
curious eye.
And asks himself, with upturned gaze, why she
was built so high.
She lifts her mighty, towering Spire, where only
eagles fly,
As if twas thrown by mundane ire to pierce the
clear blae sky
No doubt, in some volcanic spasm, the groaning
writing earth,
Dug in her side an ocean chasn, to give Mount
Shasta birth.
The RIPPING streams in music meet. and winding
their way.
Throw golden treasures at her feet, with budding
flowers Of May;
While farther up her eraggy sleeps, the grizzly
claims domain.
And mountain goats, with fearful leap, defy his
kugly reign.
On every side bright prospects rise, the gazer to
inspire,
To kindle with intense surprise the poets slumber
ing fire;
~laa- ra1r, l,LaS hn- -,ar,,ta;rs ,a1l hs-