In her sweet companionship And the certainty of keeping her, he Laid aside his sadness and became as Light of heart and happy as herself. At Last they were all ready to begin their Wild and free nomadic life--a dozen Gentle burros, packed with all that they might Need for months to come; a tent with costly Furs and rugs, and blankets of bright colors Bo’t from the Indians, with toys and gaudy Trinkets; a snow-white pony, showily Equip’d with Spanish bit and bridle, Upon its back a basket, sedan-like, With crimson canopy, lined with softest Silken draperies, for his “Gypsy queen.” A princess of the Romany was ne’er Provided with such luxuries as she. In the early morning, long before the Ringing of the mission bells, Zola and Her strange retinue set forth; the pony, With its precious burden, led by Cedric’s Hand; then came the white milk goats with tinkling Bells; to the sound, the meek-faced burros, trained To follow, trailed patiently behind; and Then a faithful shepherd dog to keep them All in line. They moved by easy stages, Stopping often in some shady dell to Rest and let their burros feed upon the Grassy slopes. Then would Zola gather flowers, Or chase the yellow butterflies, with shouts Of childish glee that echoed thro’ the glen; To him a sweeter music than the chime Of great cathedral bells or orchestra. IN THE MOUNTAINS. They exploring, crossed the great Cuyamaca Range, traversed its broad plateaus, and thro’ the Silence of its lofty domes and canyons; Then beyond, where boiling waters gurgling Flowed thro’ Indian villages. They saw The waving pines upon the lofty crest Of Palomar; and wandering, vainly sought Along its base for passage leading to Its heights. They often reached an eminence, And thought they neared the goal, when overhanging Walls of granite turned them back. At last, by Persevering, came upon its table- Lands; and pressing forward found the place he Long had pictured in his mind--the sheltering Boughs of giant trees, the gushing fountain, Level plot of fertile land below, well Watered by the rivulets that trickled From the springs. Here he sowed the garden seeds And grain; and from the chaparral he bro’t The antlered buck and lesser game. The sweets The toiling honey bee had stored away, Drip’d from the boles of sycamore and oak. They happy lived in Nature’s luxury. Lest in their quietude he might become Indifferent or wasteful of the time, He took up an ancient system which they Faithfully observed thro’ all their years of Hermitage--eight hours for labor, eight for Rest, and eight for study and improvement Of his mind, and teaching Zola.