WATER BORDERS 



I LIKE that name the Indians give to 

 the mountain of Lone Pine, and find it 

 pertinent to my subject, — Oppapago, The 

 Weeper. It sits eastward and solitary from 

 the lordliest ranks of the Sierras, and above 

 a range of little, old, blunt hills, and has a 

 bowed, grave aspect as of some woman 

 you might have known, looking out across 

 the grassy barrows of her dead. From twin 

 gray lakes under its noble brow stream 

 down incessant white and tumbling waters. 

 " Mahala all time cry," said Winnenap', 

 drawing furrows in his rugged, wrinkled 

 cheeks. 



The origin of mountain streams is like 

 the origin of tears, patent to the under- 

 standing but mysterious to the sense. 

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