'Twas sought by Cortez with his warrior band, In realms once ruled by Montezuma's hand; Where the old Aztec, 'neath his hills of snow, Built the bright domes of silver Mexico. Pizarro sought it where the Inca's rod Proclaimed the prince half-mortal, demi-god, When the mild children of unblest Peru Before the bloodhounds of the conqueror flew, And saw their country and their race undone, And perish 'neath the Temple of the Sun! De Soto sought it, with his tawny bride, Near where the Mississippi's waters glide, Beneath the ripples of whose yellow wave He found at last both monument and grave. Old Ponce de Leon, in the land of flowers, Searched long for Eden 'midst her groves and bowers, Whilst brave La Salle, where Texan prairies smile, Roamed westward still, to reach the happy isle. The Pilgrim Fathers on the Mayflower's deck, Fleeing beyond a tyrant's haughty beck, In quest of Eden, trod the rock-bound shore, Where bleak New England's wintry surges roar; Raleigh, with glory in his eagle eye, Chased the lost realm beneath a Southern sky; Whilst Boone believed that Paradise was found In old Kentucky's "dark and bloody ground!" In vain their labors, all in vain their toil; Doomed ne'er to breathe that air nor tread that soil. Heaven had reserved it till a race sublime Should launch its heroes on the wave of time! Go with me now, ye Californian band, And gaze with wonder at your glorious land; Ascend the summit of yon middle chain, When Mount Diablo rises from the plain, And cast your eyes with telescopic power, O'er hill and forest, over field and flower. Behold! how free the hand of God hath roll'd A wave of wealth across your Land of Gold! The mountains ooze it from their swelling breast, The milk-white quartz displays it in her crest; Each tiny brook that warbles to the sea, Harps on its strings a golden melody; Whilst the young waves are cradled on the shore On spangling pillows, stuffed with golden ore!