Came at last the welcome singing Of the Meadow Lark and Robin, And above the eastern mountains Flushed the rose-light of the morning; Then again the sky was tinted By the Elf who plays with colors, And the sleeping poppies wakened When the sunbeams kissed their eyelids. From the Heights of Point Bonita Rose a thread of smoke that lengthened, Broadened, flaunted like a banner, Black and ominous of evil. "They are coming!" Yana whispered, "See, the signal fires are lighted! They are coming. Guardian Spirit Of our native country, save us!" And she pressed the Yellow Iris Closely to her throbbing bosom. Over northern rim of ocean Came the war canoes by hundreds, Came until the waters darkened With the number of the warboats. Never could the Tamals conquer Such a multitude of foemen. Swiftly rose and fell their paddles, Flashing in the brilliant sunshine, Trailing scarfs of foam behind them, As they raced toward the harbor. Tana searched the far horizon, Saw the signal fires blazing On the mountain tops and headlands, Heard the war drums in the village Roll in constant wild alarum. Yana held the Yellow Iris With the Magic in its petals, Held and gazed with adoration On the velvet mystic markings. Then she plucked a magic petal, Held it high, and ere it fluttered To the breeze this prayer was uttered: 'Spirit of our Native Country, Goddess guarding home and harbor, Roll the fog-banks o'er the headlands, Hide the narrows from the foemen; Bring the west-wind from the ocean, Drive their boats to crash and shatter On the rocky surf-bound islands. Bring the west-wind! Bring the fogbanks!' From the ocean came the west-wind, Blowing stronger, growing cooler, Bringing in protecting fog-banks, Sweeping landward o'er gray waters, Flooding through the Golden Gateway, Rolling over shore and headlands. Through the fog the boats were racing For the entrance to the harbor, When they plunged into the smother Of the breakers round the islands-- Crashed upon the rocks and splintered. From the surf the foemen struggled To the rocks and scrambled on them. Then the Maiden plucked another Petal from the Magic Iris, And she prayed again, 'Oh, Spirit Of our Native Country, hear us, Change the foemen to Sea-creatures, That they never more attack us.' As the magic petal fluttered To the ground the foe was changing. Arms and paddles changed to flippers; Legs were bound as in a bandage, And their brown and hairy bodies Wriggled on the rocks, and crowded, Barking, fighting one another.