Then no Sacramento River
Poured its flood of silt into it,
For a range of hills continued,
All unbroken, from Diablo
To the distant smoking mountain
Which is now called Saint Helena.

Long they watched the bay and marveled
At its strange, alluring beauty;
Watched it in its changing colors -
In the gray of misty mornings,
In the blue of sunny mid-day,
In the glories of the sunset,
In the silver flood of moonlight -
It enticed and seemed to beckon,
Then, as ever, to the strangers.

Long their Wizards danced, and rattled
With their gourds, to rouse the Demon
Of the Mountain to assist them -
Danced until they fell in frenzy,
Prophesying wealth of plunder.
Warriors danced and chanted war songs,
Stamped and shouted, waved their war clubs,
With the war paint on their bodies,
Black and yellow and vermillion.
Hideous and terrifying
Were they when they took the warpath.

Oh, the terror of their coming!