and angelus and vesper swelled from the choir.
The soil is black, the odour aromatic; for at every step, you tread on thyme and sage.
Sweet herbs and grasses make their home along these shores.
Not long ago, the site now covered by the banks and wharves of San Francisco
, was known as Yerba Buena
, otherwise Good Herb, the Spanish
name for mint; and yet these court-yards of San Carlos
are deserted wastes, choked up with briars, and scratched by catamounts into deep and treacherous holes.
Along the outer fence stand wrecks of school and bastion, hut and hospital, as desolate as a heap of ruins on the Sea of Galilee
Blocks in which the Red-skins lodged and the Christian
fathers prayed, stand open to the sky, hedged in by weeds, and overgrown with grass.
Some hundreds of natives lived within this fence, yet nothing but these heaps of dust and earth remain.
Adobe walls soon melt away.
The summer sun is frying them to dust; the winter rain is washing them to earth.
Each zephyr steals some grains of loam and drops them over wood and field.
Ere long, lovers of the past will seek for them in vain.
The stone pile may stand a few years longer than