She is first to have the greeting Of the rising sun, and latest To receive his goodnight kisses. On her sides the purple shadows Linger longest in the twilight. For her robe the fairest wildflowers Bloom throughout the changing seasons-- Violets, and pink wild roses, Blue forget-me-nots, and lilies Vie to give their sweetest perfumes To the Maid of Tamalpais. Lovers climb the sacred mountain, Roam the hillsides, tread the wildwoods, Finding there new inspiration, Hope and happiness, not knowing That the Maid of Tamalpais Gives her spirit to all lovers Who approach her mystic presence. I, the last of all the Tamals, Soon will turn my face to heaven Where my own, my best beloved, Waits with outstretched arms, to greet me. Write the story for all people; It is finished; I have spoken." Thus she spoke, that ancient woman, Lone survivor of the Tamals, By the campfire in the redwoods, On the slopes of Tamalpais. The Twin Guardians of the Golden Gate. Would you know the mystic legend Of the peaks of San Francisco-- Of the Twin Peaks standing Guardian Of the gay and careless city, Ever laughing by the gateway Of our Golden California? Would you know what brings the westwind, With its cool and filmy vapors Trailing like a scarf of chiffon Through the narrow Golden Gateway, Screening shore and hills and harbor, While the country all around it Bathes in floods of golden sunshine? Would you know why great Sea Lions Flounder on the rocky islands, Standing by the Golden Gateway? Why they fight in baffled fury, Barking ever at the mainland? Listen then, and I will tell you As the legend was related By an ancient Tamal woman, As she sat beside the campfire In a grove of giant redwoods On the slopes of Tamalpais. "It was long ago, my children, Long ago, in mystic ages When the Gods lived near the people, Who, like infants newly mothered, Needed care and help and guidance. As the children call to parents So the people called to Spirits. Then the Gods were quick to listen, Quick to teach them and protect them, Quick to punish when they trespassed On the rights of one another. Near the place where Holy Fathers Built the Mission of Dolores Was a village of the Tamals, Vanished now for many ages. By it was a singing streamlet, Where the willows waved their banners; Round it giant redwoods clustered, Redolent with forest odors; Live oaks, bay trees, and madronas Billowed over plains and hillsides.