To this day the faithful Sea Gulls Search the Bay, now free from tempests; Search the ferry boats and steamers, Soaring by on spreading pinions, Peering into people's faces, Searching for their Queen Ah-we-a. Winging, swinging, darting, calling In their plaintive tones, 'Ah-we-a;' For they know that when they find her They will change to human beings, Subjects of the Queen Ah-we-a. Thus was told the ancient legend Of Ah-we-a and the Sea Gulls. The Islands of the Bay. Tamalpais wrapped her mantle Of the clouds about her shoulders. Gray the day, and melancholy, For December rains were falling, Falling in a steady downpour. Mournful branches of the redwoods, Drooping, dripping, swayed above us; Moaned above the lonely cabin On the slope of Tamalpais. Raindrops pattered on the shingles, Beat against the eastern windows, Flooding down the glass in torrents. Through the veil of slanting rainfall. Could be seen the distant harbor, With its flecks of fleecy vapors Floating, merging, disappearing. In the fireplace of the cabin, Logs and knots of pine were blazing, Snapping with the pitch imprisoned; Flocks of sparks were flying upward; Flags of flame were waving welcome, Warming, cheering, exorcising Ghosts of Gloom and eerie phantoms; Bringing brightness and the odor Of the burning pitch that lingers As the incense of the forests. By the fireplace sat the Tamal, Lone survivor of her people-- Sat and listened to the patter Of the raindrops on the shingles, To the soughing of the west-wind In the branches of the redwoods. Long she gazed upon the harbor, Lying leaden-gray below us. Then, she told this ancient legend-- Legend of her tribe, the Tamals, Legend of an ancient deluge. "Do you see," she said, "the Islands Of the Albatross and Beaver? By another name you call them. One is crested by a prison, Grim and somber, melancholy; One is gay with flags and bunting, Ringing with the martial music Of your sailor boys in training; Yet, if you observe them closely, You will see in one the profile Of an Albatross, a giant Sea bird, sleeping on the water; While the other is a Beaver Facing always to the eastward. When the noon sun casts its shadows You may see his stony features From the deck of ferry steamers Near the pier that wades the shallows On the harbor's eastern border, Tamals call them Sacred Islands Of the Albatross and Beaver, For upon their backs were carried All the Tamals through the deluge. Down the ages came the legend, Told by Fathers to the children, Told on rainy winter evenings Round the campfires of the Tamals.