HE Indians of the Shasta 
mountains tell 
A legend strange 
and beautiful; . 
That the Great Spirit stepped from cloud to 
cloud 
In the primeval day, 
<= 
And first upon the dome of Shasta stood, 
The spotless face of new-born earth to see, 
And everywhere he touched the land, up sprung 
A green, luxuriant tree. 
Pleased with the sight, the splendor of his smile 
Melted the snows and made the rivers run, 
And soon the branches tossed their leafly plumes 
And blossomed in the sun. 
Day after day, while the first summer shone, 
He watched with fresh delight the growing ™ 
trees; 
But Autumn came, and fast the bright leaves fell, 
Swept by the keener breeze. 
Yet were they radiant now, in every hue 
Of red and gold which could with sunset vie; 
Looking on them, He loved 5 
them,—they were still 
Too beautiful to die. 
