Barcarola [pp. 22]

OVERLAND MONTHLY
up for a dance, after which desolation again
reigned. A year or two ago it perished by
fire.
The Custom House, the barracks occupied
by the United States marines, and some stout
log-built warehouses near the wharf also owe
their origin to the Russians. If we cross
the grassy parade-ground, where once was
the Russian ship-yard, and walk towards the
Greek church, we pass on the right a sturdy
log structure which was the main office of
the Russian American company. Behind the
church is a building formerly used as a clubhouse by the Russian officers. Not far
from the club were tea-gardens and a race
course, both now entirely hidden under the
mantle of dense vegetation that rapidly
covers every deserted spot in the moist
climate of southeastern Alaska. The sawmill with the flume that supplied it with
water is still visible, though rapidly falling
into decay. Another legacy of the Muscovite to the American is the walk leading
round the curving beach to the woods bordering the banks of Indian river. This
charming promenade furnishes the residents of Sitka with the chance of obtaining
a little pedestrian exercise, a great boon
in a country where there are practically no
roads.
BARCAROLA
AFLOAT on ocean's heaving breast,
Rocked by the swelling tide,
Or poised upon the breaker's crest,
My boat shall gayly ride.
The salt spray dashes in my face,
Hark, how the sea birds cry,
Up with the sail, ho for a race
With the white clouds sailing by.
The mighty surges madly leap
With angry, sullen roar,
Then die away and softly sweep
Like lace upon the shore.
Oh how I love thee, restless sea,
Thy presence stirs my soul,
Blow, blow, ye wild winds, blow for me,
And roll, ye billows, roll.
Elliott Reed.
22