Page:Portland, Oregon, its History and Builders volume 1.djvu/846

600 Onward ever Lovely river. Softly calling to the sea; Time that scars us, Maims and mars us, Leaves no track or trench on thee.

Spring's green witchery is weaving Braid and border for thy side; Grace forever haunts thy journey, Beauty dimples on thy tide. Through the purple gates of morning Now thy roseate ripples dance ; Golden, then when, day departing, On thy waters trails his lance. Waltzing, flashing, Tinkling, plashing, Limpid, volatile and free — Always hurried To be buried In the bitter moon-mad sea.

In thy crystal deeps, inverted Swings a picture of the sky; Like those wavering hopes of Aiden Dimly in our dreams that lie; Clouded often, drowned in turmoil. Faint and lovely far away. Wreathing sunshine on the morrow, Breathing fragrance 'round today. Love would wander Here and ponder — Hither Poetry would dream; Life's old questions. Sad suggestions, "Whence and wither?" throng thy stream,

On the roaring wastes of Ocean Shall thy scattered waves be tossed ; 'Mid the surge's rythmic thunder Shall thy silver tongues be lost. Oh ! thy glimmering rush of gladness Mocks this turbid life of mine. Racing to the wild Forever Down the sloping paths of time ! Onward ever. Lovely river. Softly calling to the sea ; Time that scars us. Maims and mars us, Leaves no track or trench on thee.

Frances Fuller Victor already noticed as the historian of Oregon, was also distinguished as a writer of verses of rare merit; her poems were collected and published ten years ago, two years before her death in this city, and cover 109 pages and 42 subjects.