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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of a Sourdough, by Robert W. Service
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Songs of a Sourdough
+
+Author: Robert W. Service
+
+Release Date: May 20, 2008 [EBook #25546]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SOURDOUGH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Clarke, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+_Songs of a Sourdough_
+
+
+
+
+_"Songs from Overseas"_
+
+
+SONGS OF A SOURDOUGH. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
+
+BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
+
+LYRA NIGERIĆ. By "ADAMU" (E. C. ADAMS).
+
+SOUTH AFRICA, AND OTHER POEMS. By A. VINE HALL.
+
+SONGS OUT OF EXILE (RHODESIAN RHYMES). By CULLEN GOULDSBURY.
+
+COWBOY SONGS. By JOHN A. LOMAX.
+
+RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
+
+THE HELL-GATE OF SOISSONS, AND OTHER POEMS. By HERBERT KAUFMAN.
+
+THE WAITING WOMAN. By HERBERT KAUFMAN.
+
+FROM THE OUTPOSTS. By CULLEN GOULDSBURY.
+
+RHYMES OF A RED CROSS MAN. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
+
+
+LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, LTD.
+
+
+
+
+ _Songs of a Sourdough_
+
+
+          _By
+   Robert W. Service_
+
+
+        _London
+  T. Fisher Unwin, Ltd.
+    Adelphi Terrace_
+
+
+
+
+ _First Fifteen Impressions published in Canada
+        Sixteenth Impression,      1907
+            (First English Edition)
+        Seventeenth Impression,    1908
+        Eighteenth Impression,     1908
+        Nineteenth Impression,     1909
+        Twentieth Impression,      1909
+        Twenty-first Impression,   1909
+        Twenty-second Impression,  1910
+        Twenty-third Impression,   1910
+        Twenty-fourth Impression,  1911
+        Twenty-fifth Impression,   1912
+        Twenty-sixth Impression,   1913
+        Twenty-seventh Impression, 1913
+        Twenty-eighth Impression,  1914
+        Twenty-ninth Impression,   1915
+        Thirtieth Impression,      1915
+        Thirty-first Impression,   1916
+        Thirty-second Impression,  1916
+        Thirty-third Impression,   1916_
+
+
+(_All rights reserved_)
+
+
+
+
+To
+
+C. M.
+
+
+
+
+    _The lonely sunsets flare forlorn
+      Down valleys dreadly desolate;
+    The lordly mountains soar in scorn,
+      As still as death, as stern as fate._
+
+          _The lonely sunsets flame and die;
+            The giant valleys gulp the night;
+          The monster mountains scrape the sky,
+            Where eager stars are diamond-bright._
+
+    _So gaunt against the gibbous moon,
+      Piercing the silence velvet-piled,
+    A lone wolf howls his ancient rune,
+      The fell arch-spirit of the Wild._
+
+          _O outcast land! O leper land!
+            Let the lone wolf-cry all express--
+          The hate insensate of thy hand,
+            Thy heart's abysmal loneliness._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                     PAGE
+ THE LAW OF THE YUKON                  11
+ THE PARSON'S SON                      17
+ THE SPELL OF THE YUKON                21
+ THE CALL OF THE WILD                  25
+ THE LONE TRAIL                        28
+ THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH            31
+ THE THREE VOICES                      34
+ THE PINES                             36
+ THE HARPY                             39
+ THE LURE OF LITTLE VOICES             43
+ THE SONG OF THE WAGE-SLAVE            46
+ GRIN                                  49
+ THE SHOOTING OF DAN MCGREW            51
+ THE CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE            56
+ MY MADONNA                            62
+ UNFORGOTTEN                           63
+ THE RECKONING                         64
+ QUATRAINS                             66
+ THE MEN THAT DON'T FIT IN             68
+ MUSIC IN THE BUSH                     70
+ THE RHYME OF THE REMITTANCE MAN       73
+ THE LOW-DOWN WHITE                    76
+ THE LITTLE OLD LOG CABIN              78
+ THE YOUNGER SON                       81
+ THE MARCH OF THE DEAD                 85
+ "FIGHTING MAC"                        89
+ THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL               93
+ THE RHYME OF THE RESTLESS ONES        96
+ NEW YEAR'S EVE                        99
+ COMFORT                              103
+ PREMONITION                          105
+ THE TRAMPS                           106
+ L'ENVOI                              108
+
+
+
+
+Songs of a Sourdough
+
+
+
+
+THE LAW OF THE YUKON
+
+
+    This is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain:
+    "Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane.
+    Strong for the red rage of battle; sane, for I harry them sore;
+    Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core;
+    Swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat,
+    Sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat.
+    Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones;
+    Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons;
+    Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat;
+    But the others--the misfits, the failures--I trample under my feet.
+    Dissolute, damned, and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,
+    Ye would send me the spawn of your gutters--Go! take back your spawn
+          again.
+
+    "Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway;
+    From my ruthless throne I have ruled alone for a million years and a
+          day;
+    Hugging my mighty treasure, waiting for man to come:
+    Till he swept like a turbid torrent, and after him swept--the scum.
+    The pallid pimp of the dead-line, the enervate of the pen,
+    One by one I weeded them out, for all that I sought was--Men.
+    One by one I dismayed them, frighting them sore with my glooms;
+    One by one I betrayed them unto my manifold dooms.
+    Drowned them like rats in my rivers, starved them like curs on my
+          plains,
+    Rotted the flesh that was left them, poisoned the blood in their veins;
+    Burst with my winter upon them, searing forever their sight,
+    Lashed them with fungus-white faces, whimpering wild in the night;
+    Staggering blind through the storm-whirl, stumbling mad through the
+          snow,
+    Frozen stiff in the ice pack, brittle and bent like a bow;
+    Featureless, formless, forsaken, scented by wolves in their flight,
+    Left for the wind to make music through ribs that are glittering white;
+    Gnawing the black crust of failure, searching the pit of despair,
+    Crooking the toe in the trigger, trying to patter a prayer;
+    Going outside with an escort, raving with lips all afoam;
+    Writing a cheque for a million, drivelling feebly of home;
+    Lost like a louse in the burning ... or else in tented town
+    Seeking a drunkard's solace, sinking and sinking down;
+    Steeped in the slime at the bottom, dead to a decent world,
+    Lost 'mid the human flotsam, far on the frontier hurled;
+    In the camp at the bend of the river, with its dozen saloons aglare,
+    Its gambling dens a-riot, its gramophones all a-blare;
+    Crimped with the crimes of a city, sin-ridden and bridled with lies,
+    In the hush of my mountained vastness, in the flush of my midnight
+          skies.
+    Plague-spots, yet tools of my purpose, so natheless I suffer them
+          thrive,
+    Crushing my Weak in their clutches, that only my Strong may survive.
+
+    "But the others, the men of my mettle, the men who would 'stablish
+          my fame,
+    Unto its ultimate issue, winning me honour, not shame;
+    Searching my uttermost valleys, fighting each step as they go,
+    Shooting the wrath of my rapids, scaling my ramparts of snow;
+    Ripping the guts of my mountains, looting the beds of my creeks,
+    Them will I take to my bosom, and speak as a mother speaks.
+    I am the land that listens, I am the land that broods;
+    Steeped in eternal beauty, crystalline waters and woods.
+    Long have I waited lonely, shunned as a thing accurst,
+    Monstrous, moody, pathetic, the last of the lands and the first;
+    Visioning camp-fires at twilight, sad with a longing forlorn,
+    Feeling my womb o'er-pregnant with the seed of cities unborn.
+    Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway,
+    And I wait for the men who will win me--and I will not be won in a day;
+    And I will not be won by weaklings, subtile, suave, and mild,
+    But by men with the hearts of vikings, and the simple faith of a child;
+    Desperate, strong, and resistless, unthrottled by fear or defeat,
+    Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat.
+
+    "Lofty I stand from each sister land, patient and wearily wise,
+    With the weight of a world of sadness in my quiet, passionless eyes;
+    Dreaming alone of a people, dreaming alone of a day,
+    When men shall not rape my riches, and curse me and go away;
+    Making a bawd of my bounty, fouling the hand that gave--
+    Till I rise in my wrath and I sweep on their path and I stamp them
+          into a grave.
+    Dreaming of men who will bless me, of women esteeming me good,
+    Of children born in my borders, of radiant motherhood;
+    Of cities leaping to stature, of fame like a flag unfurled,
+    As I pour the tide of my riches in the eager lap of the world."
+
+    This is the Law of the Yukon, that only the Strong shall thrive;
+    That surely the Weak shall perish, and only the Fit survive.
+    Dissolute, damned, and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,
+    This is the Will of the Yukon,--Lo! how she makes it plain!
+
+
+
+
+THE PARSON'S SON
+
+
+    _This is the song of the parson's son, as he squats in his shack alone,
+    On the wild, weird nights when the Northern Lights shoot up from the
+          frozen zone,
+    And it's sixty below, and couched in the snow the hungry huskies moan._
+
+    "I'm one of the Arctic brotherhood, I'm an old-time pioneer.
+    I came with the first--O God! how I've cursed this Yukon--but still
+          I'm here.
+    I've sweated athirst in its summer heat, I've frozen and starved in
+          its cold;
+    I've followed my dreams by its thousand streams, I've toiled and
+          moiled for its gold.
+
+    "Look at my eyes--been snow-blind twice; look where my foot's half
+          gone;
+    And that gruesome scar on my left cheek where the frost-fiend bit to
+          the bone.
+    Each one a brand of this devil's land, where I've played and I've
+          lost the game,
+    A broken wreck with a craze for 'hooch,' and never a cent to my name.
+
+    "This mining is only a gamble, the worst is as good as the best;
+    I was in with the bunch and I might have come out right on top with
+          the rest;
+    With Cormack, Ladue and Macdonald--O God! but it's hell to think
+    Of the thousands and thousands I've squandered on cards and women
+          and drink.
+
+    "In the early days we were just a few, and we hunted and fished around,
+    Nor dreamt by our lonely camp-fires of the wealth that lay under the
+          ground.
+    We traded in skins and whiskey, and I've often slept under the shade
+    Of that lone birch-tree on Bonanza, where the first big find was made.
+
+    "We were just like a great big family, and every man had his squaw,
+    And we lived such a wild, free, fearless life beyond the pale of the
+          law;
+    Till sudden there came a whisper, and it maddened us every man,
+    And I got in on Bonanza before the big rush began.
+
+    "Oh, those Dawson days, and the sin and the blaze, and the town all
+          open wide!
+    (If God made me in His likeness, sure He let the devil inside.)
+    But we all were mad, both the good and the bad, and as for the
+          women, well--
+    No spot on the map in so short a space has hustled more souls to hell.
+
+    "Money was just like dirt there, easy to get and to spend.
+    I was all caked in on a dance-hall jade, but she shook me in the end.
+    It put me queer, and for near a year I never drew sober breath,
+    Till I found myself in the bughouse ward with a claim staked out on
+          death.
+
+    "Twenty years in the Yukon, struggling along its creeks;
+    Roaming its giant valleys, scaling its god-like peaks;
+    Bathed in its fiery sunsets, fighting its fiendish cold,
+    Twenty years in the Yukon ... twenty years--and I'm old.
+
+    "Old and weak, but no matter, there's 'hooch' in the bottle still.
+    I'll hitch up the dogs to-morrow, and mush down the trail to Bill.
+    It's so long dark, and I'm lonesome--I'll just lay down on the bed,
+    To-morrow I'll go ... to-morrow ... I guess I'll play on the red.
+
+    "... Come, Kit, your pony is saddled. I'm waiting, dear, in the
+          court ...
+    ... Minnie, you devil, I'll kill you if you skip with that flossy
+          sport ...
+    ... How much does it go to the pan, Bill?... play up, School, and
+          play the game ...
+    ... Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name ..."
+
+    _This was the song of the parson's son, as he lay in his bunk alone,
+    Ere the fire went out and the cold crept in, and his blue lips
+          ceased to moan,
+    And the hunger-maddened malamutes had torn him flesh from bone._
+
+
+
+
+THE SPELL OF THE YUKON
+
+
+    I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
+      I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
+    Was it famine or scurvy--I fought it,
+      I hurled my youth into the grave.
+    I wanted the gold and I got it--
+      Came out with a fortune last fall,--
+    Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,
+      And somehow the gold isn't all.
+
+    No! There's the land. (Have you seen it?)
+      It's the cussedest land that I know,
+    From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it,
+      To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
+    Some say God was tired when He made it;
+      Some say it's a fine land to shun;
+    Maybe: but there's some as would trade it
+      For no land on earth--and I'm one.
+
+    You come to get rich (damned good reason),
+      You feel like an exile at first;
+    You hate it like hell for a season,
+      And then you are worse than the worst.
+    It grips you like some kinds of sinning;
+      It twists you from foe to a friend;
+    It seems it's been since the beginning;
+      It seems it will be to the end.
+
+    I've stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow
+      That's plumb-full of hush to the brim;
+    I've watched the big, husky sun wallow
+      In crimson and gold, and grow dim,
+    Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,
+      And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;
+    And I've thought that I surely was dreaming,
+      With the peace o' the world piled on top.
+
+    The summer--no sweeter was ever;
+      The sunshiny woods all athrill;
+    The grayling aleap in the river,
+      The bighorn asleep on the hill.
+    The strong life that never knows harness;
+      The wilds where the caribou call;
+    The freshness, the freedom, the farness--
+      O God! how I'm stuck on it all.
+
+    The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
+      The white land locked tight as a drum,
+    The cold fear that follows and finds you,
+      The silence that bludgeons you dumb.
+    The snows that are older than history,
+      The woods where the weird shadows slant;
+    The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,
+      I've bade 'em good-bye--but I can't.
+
+    There's a land where the mountains are nameless,
+      And the rivers all run God knows where;
+    There are lives that are erring and aimless,
+      And deaths that just hang by a hair;
+    There are hardships that nobody reckons;
+      There are valleys unpeopled and still;
+    There's a land--oh, it beckons and beckons,
+      And I want to go back--and I will.
+
+    They're making my money diminish;
+      I'm sick of the taste of champagne.
+    Thank God! when I'm skinned to a finish
+      I'll pike to the Yukon again.
+    I'll fight--and you bet it's no sham-fight;
+      It's hell!--but I've been there before;
+    And it's better than this by a damsite--
+      So me for the Yukon once more.
+
+    There's gold, and it's haunting and haunting;
+      It's luring me on as of old;
+    Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting,
+      So much as just finding the gold.
+    It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder,
+      It's the forests where silence has lease;
+    It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
+      It's the stillness that fills me with peace.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALL OF THE WILD
+
+
+    Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
+      Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
+    Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
+      Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
+    Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking
+          through it,
+      Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
+    Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;
+      Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.
+
+    Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sage-brush desolation,
+      The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
+    Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
+      And learned to know the desert's little ways?
+    Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges,
+      Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
+    Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes?
+      Then listen to the wild--it's calling you.
+
+    Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig
+          a-quiver?
+      (Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies.)
+    Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
+      Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
+    Have you marked the map's void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
+      Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
+    And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses?
+      Then hearken to the wild--it's wanting you.
+
+    Have you suffered, starved, and triumphed grovelled, down, yet
+          grasped at glory,
+      Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
+    "Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
+      Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
+    Have you seen God in His splendours, heard the text that nature
+          renders?
+      (You'll never hear it in the family pew.)
+    The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things--
+      Then listen to the wild--it's calling you.
+
+    They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their
+          preaching,
+      They have soaked you in convention through and through;
+    They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching--
+      But can't you hear the wild?--it's calling you.
+    Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
+      Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
+    There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
+      And the wild is calling, calling ... let us go.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE TRAIL
+
+
+    _Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
+    Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.
+    Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-bye;
+    The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die._
+
+    The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;
+    You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways
+          divide;
+    And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,
+    Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.
+    And somehow you're sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy
+          needs,
+    And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.
+    And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the tongue swells out of
+          the mouth,
+    And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.
+    And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone
+          camp-fire,
+    And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of hunger-goaded desire.
+    And sometimes it leads to the Southland, to the swamp where the
+          orchid glows,
+    And you rave to your grave with the fever, and they rob the corpse
+          for its clothes.
+    And sometimes it leads to the Northland, and the scurvy softens your
+          bones,
+    And your flesh dints in like putty, and you spit out your teeth like
+          stones.
+    And sometimes it leads to a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea,
+    And you sit and stare at the empty glare where the gulls wait greedily.
+    And sometimes it leads to an Arctic trail, and the snows where your
+          torn feet freeze,
+    And you whittle away the useless clay, and crawl on your hands and
+          knees.
+    Often it leads to the dead-pit; always it leads to pain;
+    By the bones of your brothers ye know it, but oh, to follow you're
+          fain.
+    By your bones they will follow behind you, till the ways of the
+          world are made plain.
+
+    _Bid good-bye to sweetheart, bid good-bye to friend;
+    The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end.
+    Tarry not, and fear not, chosen of the true;
+    Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you._
+
+
+
+
+THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH
+
+
+    There where the mighty mountains bare their fangs unto the moon;
+    There where the sullen sun-dogs glare in the snow-bright, bitter noon,
+    And the glacier-gutted streams sweep down at the clarion call of June:
+
+    There where the livid tundras keep their tryst with the tranquil snows;
+    There where the Silences are spawned, and the light of hell-fire flows
+    Into the bowl of the midnight sky, violet, amber, and rose:
+
+    There where the rapids churn and roar, and the ice-floes bellowing run;
+    Where the tortured, twisted rivers of blood rush to the setting sun--
+    I've packed my kit and I'm going, boys, ere another day is done.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I knew it would call, or soon or late, as it calls the whirring wings;
+    It's the olden lure, it's the golden lure, it's the lure of the
+          timeless things;
+    And to-night, O God of the trails untrod, how it whines in my
+          heart-strings!
+
+    I'm sick to death of your well-groomed gods, your make-believe and
+          your show;
+    I long for a whiff of bacon and beans, a snug shake-down in the snow,
+    A trail to break, and a life at stake, and another bout with the foe;
+
+    With the raw-ribbed Wild that abhors all life, the wild that would
+          crush and rend;
+    I have clinched and closed with the naked North, I have learned to
+          defy and defend;
+    Shoulder to shoulder we've fought it out--yet the Wild must win in
+          the end.
+
+    I have flouted the Wild. I have followed its lure, fearless,
+          familiar, alone;
+    By all that the battle means and makes I claim that land for mine own;
+    Yet the Wild must win, and a day will come when I shall be overthrown.
+
+    Then when as wolf-dogs fight we've fought, the lean wolf-land and I;
+    Fought and bled till the snows are red under the reeling sky;
+    Even as lean wolf-dog goes down will I go down and die.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE VOICES
+
+
+    The waves have a story to tell me,
+      As I lie on the lonely beach;
+    Chanting aloft in the pine-tops,
+      The wind has a lesson to teach;
+    But the stars sing an anthem of glory
+      I cannot put into speech.
+
+    The waves tell of ocean spaces,
+      Of hearts that are wild and brave,
+    Of populous city places,
+      Of desolate shores they lave;
+    Of men who sally in quest of gold
+      To sink in an ocean grave.
+
+    The wind is a mighty roamer;
+      He bids me keep me free,
+    Clean from the taint of the gold-lust,
+      Hardy and pure as he;
+    Cling with my love to nature
+      As a child to the mother-knee.
+
+    But the stars throng out in their glory,
+      And they sing of the God in man;
+    They sing of the mighty Master,
+      Of the loom His fingers span;
+    Where a star or a soul is a part of the whole,
+      And weft in the wondrous plan.
+
+    Here by the camp-fire's flicker,
+      Deep in my blanket curled,
+    I long for the peace of the pine-gloom
+      When the scroll of the Lord is unfurled,
+    And the wind and the wave are silent,
+      And world is singing to world.
+
+
+
+
+THE PINES
+
+
+    We sleep in the sleep of ages, the bleak, barbarian pines;
+    The grey moss drapes us like sages, and closer we lock our lines,
+    And deeper we clutch through the gelid gloom where never a sunbeam
+          shines.
+
+    On the flanks of the storm-gored ridges are our black battalions
+          massed;
+    We surge in a host to the sullen coast, and we sing in the ocean blast;
+    From empire of sea to empire of snow we grip our empire fast.
+
+    To the niggard lands were we driven; 'twixt desert and foe are we
+          penned.
+    To us was the Northland given, ours to stronghold and defend;
+    Ours till the world be riven in the crash of the utter end.
+
+    Ours from the bleak beginning, through the ćons of death-like sleep;
+    Ours from the shock when the naked rock was hurled from the hissing
+          deep;
+    Ours through the twilight ages of weary glacier-creep.
+
+    Wind of the East, wind of the West, wandering to and fro,
+    Chant your songs in our topmost boughs, that the sons of men may know
+    The peerless pine was the first to come, and the pine will be last
+          to go!
+
+    We pillar the halls of perfumed gloom; we plume where the eagles soar;
+    The North-wind swoops from the brooding Pole, and our ancients crash
+          and roar;
+    But where one falls from the crumbling walls shoots up a hardy score.
+
+    We spring from the gloom of the canyon's womb; in the valley's lap
+          we lie;
+    From the white foam-fringe where the breakers cringe to the peaks
+          that tusk the sky
+    We climb, and we peer in the crag-locked mere that gleams like a
+          golden eye,--
+
+    Gain to the verge of the hog-back ridge where the vision ranges free:
+    Pines and pines and the shadow of pines as far as the eye can see;
+    A steadfast legion of stalwart knights in dominant empery.
+
+    Sun, moon and stars, give answer; shall we not staunchly stand
+    Even as now, forever, wards of the wilder strand,
+    Sentinels of the stillness, lords of the last lone land!
+
+
+
+
+THE HARPY
+
+
+    _There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she;
+    She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three;
+    And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity._
+
+    There is no hope for such as I, on earth nor yet in Heaven;
+    Unloved I live, unloved I die, unpitied, unforgiven;
+    A loathčd jade I ply my trade, unhallowed and unshriven.
+
+    I paint my cheeks, for they are white, and cheeks of chalk men hate;
+    Mine eyes with wine I make to shine, that men may seek and sate;
+    With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait.
+
+    Until they come, the nightly scum, with drunken eyes aflame;
+    Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones--'tis I who know their shame;
+    The gods ye see are brutes to me--and so I play my game.
+
+    For life is not the thing we thought, and not the thing we plan;
+    And woman in a bitter world must do the best she can;
+    Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke, and serve the will of man;
+
+    Must serve his need and ever feed the flame of his desire;
+    Though be she loved for love alone, or be she loved for hire;
+    For every man since life began is tainted with the mire.
+
+    And though you know he love you so, and set you on love's throne,
+    Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs, and let your heart be stone,
+    Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.
+
+    From love's close kiss to hell's abyss is one sheer flight, I trow;
+    And wedding-ring and bridal bell are will-o'-wisps of woe;
+    And 'tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.
+
+    Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged upon the lamb, their prey,
+    With siren smile and serpent guile I make the wolf-pack pay;
+    With velvet paws and flensing claws, a tigress roused to slay.
+
+    One who in youth sought truest truth, and found a devil's lies;
+    A symbol of the sin of man, a human sacrifice:
+    Yet shall I blame on man the shame? Could it be otherwise?
+
+    Was I not born to walk in scorn where others walk in pride?
+    The Maker marred, and evil-starred I drift upon His tide;
+    And He alone shall judge His own, so I His judgment bide.
+
+    _Fate has written a tragedy; its name is "The Human Heart."
+    The theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer's part:
+    The Devil enters the prompter's box and the play is ready to start._
+
+
+
+
+THE LURE OF LITTLE VOICES
+
+
+    There's a cry from out the Loneliness--Oh, listen, Honey, listen!
+      Do you hear it, do you fear it, you're a-holding of me so?
+    You're a-sobbing in your sleep, dear, and your lashes, how they
+          glisten--
+      Do you hear the Little Voices all a-begging me to go?
+
+    All a-begging me to leave you. Day and night they're pleading, praying,
+      On the North-wind, on the West-wind, from the peak and from the
+          plain;
+    Night and day they never leave me--do you know what they are saying?
+      "He was ours before you got him, and we want him once again."
+
+    Yes, they're wanting me, they're haunting me, the awful lonely places;
+      They're whining and they're whimpering as if each had a soul;
+    They're calling from the wilderness, the vast and god-like spaces,
+      The stark and sullen solitudes that sentinel the Pole.
+
+    They miss my little camp-fires, ever brightly, bravely gleaming
+      In the womb of desolation where was never man before;
+    As comradeless I sought them, lion-hearted, loving, dreaming;
+      And they hailed me as a comrade, and they loved me evermore.
+
+    And now they're all a-crying, and it's no use me denying:
+      The spell of them is on me and I'm helpless as a child;
+    My heart is aching, aching, but I hear them sleeping, waking;
+      It's the Lure of Little Voices, it's the mandate of the Wild.
+
+    I'm afraid to tell you, Honey, I can take no bitter leaving;
+      But softly in the sleep-time from your love I'll steal away.
+    Oh, it's cruel, dearie, cruel, and it's God knows how I'm grieving;
+      But His Loneliness is calling and He knows I must obey.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE WAGE-SLAVE
+
+
+    When the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay,
+    I hope that it won't be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say.
+    And I hope that it won't be heaven, with some of the parsons I've met--
+    All I want is just quiet, just to rest and forget.
+    Look at my face, toil-furrowed; look at my calloused hands;
+    Master, I've done Thy bidding, wrought in Thy many lands--
+    Wrought for the little masters, big-bellied they be, and rich;
+    I've done their desire for a daily hire, and I die like a dog in a
+          ditch.
+    I have used the strength Thou hast given, Thou knowest I did not shirk;
+    Threescore years of labour--Thine be the long day's work.
+    And now, Big Master, I'm broken and bent and twisted and scarred,
+    But I've held my job, and Thou knowest, and Thou wilt not judge me
+          hard.
+    Thou knowest my sins are many, and often I've played the fool--
+    Whiskey and cards and women, they made me the devil's tool.
+    I was just like a child with money: I flung it away with a curse,
+    Feasting a fawning parasite, or glutting a harlot's purse,
+    Then back to the woods repentant, back to the mill or the mine,
+    I, the worker of workers, everything in my line.
+    Everything hard but headwork (I'd no more brains than a kid),
+    A brute with brute strength to labour, doing as I was bid;
+    Living in camps with men-folk, a lonely and loveless life;
+    Never knew kiss of sweetheart, never caress of wife.
+    A brute with brute strength to labour, and they were so far above--
+    Yet I'd gladly have gone to the gallows for one little look of Love.
+    I with the strength of two men, savage and shy and wild--
+    Yet how I'd ha' treasured a woman, and the sweet, warm kiss of a child.
+    Well, 'tis Thy world, and Thou knowest. I blaspheme and my ways be
+          rude;
+    But I've lived my life as I found it, and I've done my best to be good;
+    I, the primitive toiler, half naked, and grimed to the eyes,
+    Sweating it deep in their ditches, swining it stark in their styes,
+    Hulling down forests before me, spanning tumultuous streams;
+    Down in the ditch building o'er me palaces fairer than dreams;
+    Boring the rock to the ore-bed, driving the road through the fen,
+    Resolute, dumb, uncomplaining, a man in a world of men.
+    Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands;
+    Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands.
+    Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west,
+    And the long, long shift is over ... Master, I've earned it--Rest.
+
+
+
+
+GRIN
+
+
+    If you're up against a bruiser and you're getting knocked about--
+                                                            Grin.
+    If you're feeling pretty groggy, and you're licked beyond a doubt--
+                                                            Grin.
+    Don't let him see you're funking, let him know with every clout,
+    Though your face is battered to a pulp, your blooming heart is stout;
+    Just stand upon your pins until the beggar knocks you out--
+                                                            And grin.
+
+    This life's a bally battle, and the same advice holds true,
+                                                            Of grin.
+    If you're up against it badly, then it's only one on you,
+                                                            So grin.
+    If the future's black as thunder, don't let people see you're blue;
+    Just cultivate a cast-iron smile of joy the whole day through;
+    If they call you "Little Sunshine," wish that _they'd_ no troubles,
+          too--
+                                                            You may--grin.
+
+    Rise up in the morning with the will that, smooth or rough,
+                                                            You'll grin.
+    Sink to sleep at midnight, and although you're feeling tough,
+                                                            Yet grin.
+    There's nothing gained by whining, and you're not that kind of stuff;
+    You're a fighter from away back, and you _won't_ take a rebuff;
+    Your trouble is that you don't know when you have had enough--
+                                                            Don't give in.
+    If Fate should down you, just get up and take another cuff;
+    You may bank on it that there is no philosophy like bluff
+                                                            And grin.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHOOTING OF DAN MCGREW
+
+
+    A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
+    The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
+    Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
+    And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known
+          as Lou.
+
+    When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and
+          the glare,
+    There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty and loaded
+          for bear.
+    He looked like a man with a foot in the grave, and scarcely the
+          strength of a louse,
+    Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks
+          for the house.
+    There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched
+          ourselves for a clue;
+    But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan
+          McGrew.
+
+    There's men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard
+          like a spell;
+    And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;
+    With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,
+    As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one
+          by one.
+    Then I got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he'd do,
+    And I turned my head--and there watching him was the lady that's
+          known as Lou.
+
+    His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of
+          daze,
+    Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.
+    The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the
+          stool,
+    So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like
+          a fool.
+    In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him
+          sway;
+    Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands--my God! but that man
+          could play!
+
+    Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear,
+    And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could
+          _hear_;
+    With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold,
+    A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck
+          called gold;
+    While high overhead, green, yellow, and red, the North Lights swept
+          in bars--
+    Then you've a haunch what the music meant ... hunger and night and
+          the stars.
+
+    And hunger not of the belly kind, that's banished with bacon and beans;
+    But the gnawing hunger of lonely men for a home and all that it means;
+    For a fireside far from the cares that are, four walls and a roof
+          above;
+    But oh! so cramful of cosy joy, and crowned with a woman's love;
+    A woman dearer than all the world, and true as Heaven is true--
+    (God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge,--the lady that's
+          known as Lou.)
+
+    Then on a sudden the music changed, so soft that you scarce could hear;
+    But you felt that your life had been looted clean of all that it
+          once held dear;
+    That some one had stolen the woman you loved; that her love was a
+          devil's lie;
+    That your guts were gone, and the best for you was to crawl away and
+          die.
+    'Twas the crowning cry of a heart's despair, and it thrilled you
+          through and through--
+    "I guess I'll make it a spread misere," said Dangerous Dan McGrew.
+
+    The music almost died away ... then it burst like a pent-up flood;
+    And it seemed to say, "Repay, repay," and my eyes were blind with
+          blood.
+    The thought came back of an ancient wrong, and it stung like a
+          frozen lash,
+    And the lust awoke to kill, to kill ... then the music stopped with
+          a crash,
+
+    And the stranger turned, and his eyes they burned in a most peculiar
+          way;
+    In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him
+          sway;
+    Then his lips went in in a kind of grin, and he spoke, and his voice
+          was calm;
+    And, "Boys," says he, "you don't know me, and none of you care a damn;
+    But I want to state, and my words are straight, and I'll bet my poke
+          they're true,
+    That one of you is a hound of hell ... and that one is Dan McGrew."
+
+    Then I ducked my head, and the lights went out, and two guns blazed
+          in the dark;
+    And a woman screamed, and the lights went up, and two men lay stiff
+          and stark;
+    Pitched on his head, and pumped full of lead, was Dangerous Dan McGrew,
+    While the man from the creeks lay clutched to the breast of the lady
+          that's known as Lou.
+
+    These are the simple facts of the case, and I guess I ought to know;
+    They say that the stranger was crazed with "hooch," and I'm not
+          denying it's so.
+    I'm not so wise as the lawyer guys, but strictly between us two--
+    The woman that kissed him and--pinched his poke--was the lady that's
+          known as Lou.
+
+
+
+
+THE CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE
+
+
+    _There are strange things done in the midnight sun
+      By the men who moil for gold;
+    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
+      That would make your blood run cold;
+    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
+      But the queerest they ever did see
+    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
+      I cremated Sam McGee._
+
+    Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
+    Why he left his home in the South to roam round the Pole God only
+          knows.
+    He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a
+          spell;
+    Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in
+          hell."
+
+    On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
+    Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven
+          nail.
+    If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze, till sometimes we
+          couldn't see;
+    It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
+
+    And that very night as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the
+          snow,
+    And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and
+          toe,
+    He turned to me, and, "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
+    And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
+
+    Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no: then he says with a
+          sort of moan:
+    "It's the cursčd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled
+          clean through to the bone.
+    Yet 'taint being dead, it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains:
+    So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last
+          remains."
+
+    A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
+    And we started on at the streak of dawn, but God! he looked ghastly
+          pale.
+    He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in
+          Tennessee;
+    And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
+
+    There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror
+          driven,
+    With a corpse half-hid that I couldn't get rid because of a promise
+          given;
+    It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your
+          brawn and brains,
+    But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last
+          remains."
+
+    Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern
+          code.
+    In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I
+          cursed that load.
+    In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies,
+          round in a ring,
+    Howled out their woes to the homeless snows--O God! how I loathed
+          the thing!
+
+    And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
+    And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
+    The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give
+          in;
+    And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
+
+    Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
+    It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the
+          "Alice May."
+    And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen
+          chum:
+    Then, "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
+
+    Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
+    Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
+    The flames just soared, and the furnace roared--such a blaze you
+          seldom see;
+    And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
+
+    Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
+    And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began
+          to blow.
+    It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I
+          don't know why;
+    And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
+
+    I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
+    But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
+    I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep
+          inside.
+    I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked," ... then the door I
+          opened wide.
+
+    And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the
+          furnace roar;
+    And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close
+          that door.
+    It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and
+          storm--
+    Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've
+          been warm."
+
+    _There are strange things done in the midnight sun
+      By the men who moil for gold;
+    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
+      That would make your blood run cold;
+    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
+      But the queerest they ever did see
+    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
+      I cremated Sam McGee._
+
+
+
+
+MY MADONNA
+
+
+    I haled me a woman from the street,
+      Shameless, but, oh, so fair!
+    I bade her sit in the model's seat,
+      And I painted her sitting there.
+
+        I hid all trace of her heart unclean;
+          I painted a babe at her breast;
+        I painted her as she might have been
+          If the Worst had been the Best.
+
+    She laughed at my picture, and went away.
+      Then came, with a knowing nod,
+    A connoisseur, and I heard him say:
+      "'Tis Mary, the Mother of God."
+
+        So I painted a halo round her hair,
+          And I sold her, and took my fee,
+        And she hangs in the church of Saint Hilaire,
+          Where you and all may see.
+
+
+
+
+UNFORGOTTEN
+
+
+    I know a garden where the lilies gleam,
+      And one who lingers in the sunshine there;
+      She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,
+    And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream.
+
+        I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,
+          And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,
+          Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary--then
+        He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.
+
+    And ah, it's strange, for desolate and dim
+      Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;
+      Yet he is in the garden by her side,
+    And she is in the garret there with him.
+
+
+
+
+THE RECKONING
+
+
+    It's fine to have a blow-out in a fancy restaurant,
+    With terrapin and canvas-back and all the wine you want;
+    To enjoy the flowers and music, watch the pretty women pass,
+    Smoke a choice cigar, and sip the wealthy water in your glass;
+    It's bully in a high-toned joint to eat and drink your fill,
+    But it's quite another matter when you
+                                                  Pay the bill.
+
+    It's great to go out every night on fun or pleasure bent,
+    To wear your glad rags always, and to never save a cent;
+    To drift along regardless, have a good time every trip;
+    To hit the high spots sometimes, and to let your chances slip;
+    To know you're acting foolish, yet to go on fooling still,
+    Till Nature calls a show-down, and you
+                                                  Pay the bill.
+
+    Time has got a little bill--get wise while yet you may,
+    For the debit side's increasing in a most alarming way;
+    The things you had no right to do, the things you should have done,
+    They're all put down: it's up to you to pay for every one.
+    So eat, drink, and be merry, have a good time if you will,
+    But God help you when the time comes, and you
+                                                  Foot the bill.
+
+
+
+
+QUATRAINS
+
+
+    One said: Thy life is thine to make or mar,
+    To flicker feebly, or to soar, a star;
+    It lies with thee--the choice is thine, is thine,
+    To hit the ties or drive thy auto-car.
+
+    I answer Her: The choice is mine--ah, no!
+    We all were made or marred long, long ago.
+    The parts are written: hear the super wail:
+    "Who is stage-managing this cosmic show?"
+
+    Blind fools of fate, and slaves of circumstance,
+    Life is a fiddler, and we all must dance.
+    From gloom where mocks that will-o'-wisp, Freewill,
+    I heard a voice cry: "Say, give us a chance."
+
+    Chance! Oh, there is no chance. The scene is set.
+    Up with the curtain! Man, the marionette,
+    Resumes his part. The gods will work the wires.
+    They've got it all down fine, you bet, you bet!
+
+    It's all decreed: the mighty earthquake crash;
+    The countless constellations' wheel and flash;
+    The rise and fall of empires, war's red tide,
+    The composition of your dinner hash.
+
+    There's no haphazard in this world of ours:
+    Cause and effect are grim, relentless powers.
+    They rule the world. (A king was shot last night.
+    Last night I held the joker and both bowers.)
+
+    From out the mesh of fate our heads we thrust.
+    We can't do what we would, but what we must.
+    Heredity has got us in a cinch.
+    (Consoling thought, when you've been on a "bust.")
+
+    Hark to the song where spheral voices blend:
+    "There's no beginning, never will be end."
+    It makes us nutty; hang the astral chimes!
+    The table's spread; come, let us dine, my friend.
+
+
+
+
+THE MEN THAT DON'T FIT IN
+
+
+    There's a race of men that don't fit in,
+      A race that can't stay still;
+    So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
+      And they roam the world at will.
+    They range the field and they rove the flood,
+      And they climb the mountain's crest;
+    Theirs is the curse of the gipsy blood,
+      And they don't know how to rest.
+
+        If they just went straight they might go far;
+          They are strong and brave and true;
+        But they're always tired of the things that are,
+          And they want the strange and new.
+        They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
+          What a deep mark I would make!"
+        So they chop and change, and each fresh move
+          Is only a fresh mistake.
+
+    And each forgets, as he strips and runs,
+      With a brilliant, fitful pace,
+    It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
+      Who win in the lifelong race.
+    And each forgets that his youth has fled,
+      Forgets that his prime is past,
+    Till he stands one day with a hope that's dead
+      In the glare of the truth at last.
+
+        He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
+          He has just done things by half.
+        Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
+          And now is the time to laugh.
+        Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
+          He was never meant to win;
+        He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
+          He's a man who won't fit in.
+
+
+
+
+MUSIC IN THE BUSH
+
+
+    O'er the dark pines she sees the silver moon,
+      And in the west, all tremulous, a star;
+    And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune
+      Of cow-bells jangled in the fields afar.
+
+    Quite listless, for her daily stent is done,
+      She stands, sad exile, at her rose-wreathed door,
+    And sends her love eternal with the sun
+      That goes to gild the land she'll see no more.
+
+    The grave, gaunt pines imprison her sad gaze,
+      All still the sky and darkling drearily;
+    She feels the chilly breath of dear, dead days
+      Come sifting through the alders eerily.
+
+    Oh, how the roses riot in their bloom!
+      The curtains stir as with an ancient pain;
+    Her old piano gleams from out the gloom,
+      And waits and waits her tender touch in vain.
+
+    But now her hands like moonlight brush the keys
+      With velvet grace, melodious delight;
+    And now a sad refrain from overseas
+      Goes sobbing on the bosom of the night.
+
+    And now she sings. (O singer in the gloom,
+      Voicing a sorrow we can ne'er express,
+    Here in the Farness where we few have room
+      Unshamed to show our love and tenderness,
+
+    Our hearts will echo, till they beat no more,
+      That song of sadness and of motherland;
+    And stretched in deathless love to England's shore,
+      Some day she'll hearken and she'll understand.)
+
+    A prima-donna in the shining past,
+      But now a mother growing old and grey,
+    She thinks of how she held a people fast
+      In thrall, and gleaned the triumphs of a day.
+
+    She sees a sea of faces like a dream;
+      She sees herself a queen of song once more;
+    She sees lips part in rapture, eyes agleam;
+      She sings as never once she sang before.
+
+    She sings a wild, sweet song that throbs with pain,
+      The added pain of life that transcends art,
+    A song of home, a deep, celestial strain,
+      The glorious swan-song of a dying heart.
+
+    A lame tramp comes along the railway track,
+      A grizzled dog whose day is nearly done:
+    He passes, pauses, then comes slowly back
+      And listens there--an audience of one.
+
+    She sings--her golden voice is passion-fraught
+      As when she charmed a thousand eager ears;
+    He listens trembling, and she knows it not,
+      And down his hollow cheeks roll bitter tears.
+
+    She ceases and is still, as if to pray;
+      There is no sound, the stars are all alight--
+    Only a wretch who stumbles on his way,
+      Only a vagrant sobbing in the night.
+
+
+
+
+THE RHYME OF THE REMITTANCE MAN
+
+
+    There's a four-pronged buck a-swinging in the shadow of my cabin,
+      And it roamed the velvet valley till to-day;
+    But I tracked it by the river, and I trailed it in the cover,
+      And I killed it on the mountain miles away.
+    Now I've had my lazy supper, and the level sun is gleaming
+      On the water where the silver salmon play;
+    And I light my little corn-cob, and I linger softly dreaming,
+      In the twilight, of a land that's far away.
+
+    Far away, so faint and far, is flaming London, fevered Paris,
+      That I fancy I have gained another star;
+    Far away the din and hurry, far away the sin and worry,
+      Far away--God knows they cannot be too far.
+    Gilded galley-slaves of Mammon--how my purse-proud brothers taunt me!
+      I might have been as well-to-do as they
+    Had I clutched like them my chances, learned their wisdom, crushed
+          my fancies,
+      Starved my soul and gone to business every day.
+
+    Well, the cherry bends with blossom, and the vivid grass is springing,
+      And the star-like lily nestles in the green;
+    And the frogs their joys are singing, and my heart in tune is ringing,
+      And it doesn't matter what I might have been,
+    While above the scented pine-gloom, piling heights of golden glory,
+      The sun-god paints his canvas in the west;
+    I can couch me deep in clover, I can listen to the story
+      Of the lazy, lapping water--it is best.
+    While the trout leaps in the river, and the blue grouse thrills the
+          cover,
+      And the frozen snow betrays the panther's track,
+    And the robin greets the dayspring with the rapture of a lover,
+      I am happy, and I'll nevermore go back.
+    For I know I'd just be longing for the little old log cabin,
+      With the morning-glory clinging to the door,
+    Till I loathed the city places, cursed the care on all the faces,
+      Turned my back on lazar London evermore.
+
+    So send me far from Lombard Street, and write me down a failure;
+      Put a little in my purse and leave me free.
+    Say: "He turned from Fortune's offering to follow up a pale lure,
+      He is one of us no longer--let him be."
+    I am one of you no longer: by the trails my feet have broken,
+      The dizzy peaks I've scaled, the camp-fire's glow,
+    By the lonely seas I've sailed in--yea, the final word is spoken,
+      I am signed and sealed to nature. Be it so.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOW-DOWN WHITE
+
+
+    This is the pay-day up at the mines, when the bearded brutes come down;
+    There's money to burn in the streets to-night, so I've sent my
+          klooch to town,
+    With a haggard face and a ribband of red entwined in her hair of brown.
+
+    And I know at the dawn she'll come reeling home with the bottles,
+          one, two, three;
+    One for herself to drown her shame, and two big bottles for me,
+    To make me forget the thing I am and the man I used to be.
+
+    To make me forget the brand of the dog, as I crouch in this hideous
+          place;
+    To make me forget once I kindled the light of love in a lady's face,
+    Where even the squalid Siwash now holds me a black disgrace.
+
+    Oh, I have guarded my secret well! And who would dream as I speak
+    In a tribal tongue like a rogue unhung, 'mid the ranch-house filth
+          and reek,
+    I could roll to bed with a Latin phrase, and rise with a verse of
+          Greek?
+
+    Yet I was a senior prizeman once, and the pride of a college eight;
+    Called to the bar--my friends were true! but they could not keep me
+          straight;
+    Then came the divorce, and I went abroad and "died" on the River Plate.
+
+    But I'm not dead yet; though with half a lung there isn't time to
+          spare,
+    And I hope that the year will see me out, and, thank God, no one
+          will care--
+    Save maybe the little slim Siwash girl with the rose of shame in her
+          hair.
+
+    She will come with the dawn, and the dawn is near; I can see its
+          evil glow,
+    Like a corpse-light seen through a frosty pane in a night of want
+          and woe;
+    And yonder she comes, by the bleak bull-pines, swift staggering
+          through the snow.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE OLD LOG CABIN
+
+
+    When a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town,
+      An' he ain't got nothin' comin', an' he can't afford ter eat,
+    An' he's in a fix fer lodgin', an' he wanders up an' down,
+      An' you'd fancy he'd been boozin', he's so locoed 'bout the feet;
+    When he's feelin' sneakin' sorry, an' his belt is hangin' slack,
+      An' his face is peaked an' grey-like, an' his heart gits down an'
+          whines,
+    Then he's apt ter git a-thinkin' an' a-wishin' he was back
+      In the little ol' log cabin in the shadder of the pines.
+
+    When he's on the blazin' desert, an' his canteen's sprung a leak,
+      An' he's all alone an' crazy, an' he's crawlin' like a snail,
+    An' his tongue's so black an' swollen that it hurts him fer to speak,
+      An' he gouges down fer water, an' the raven's on his trail;
+    When he's done with care and cursin', an' he feels more like to cry,
+      An' he sees ol' Death a-grinnin', an' he thinks upon his crimes,
+    Then he's like ter hev' a vision, as he settles down ter die,
+      Of the little ol' log cabin an' the roses an' the vines.
+
+    Oh, the little ol' log cabin, it's a solemn shinin' mark
+      When a feller gits ter sinnin', an' a-goin' ter the wall,
+    An' folks don't understand him, an' he's gropin' in the dark,
+      An' he's sick of bein' cursed at, an' he's longin' fer his call:
+    When the sun of life's a-sinkin' you can see it 'way above,
+      On the hill from out the shadder in a glory 'gin the sky,
+    An' your mother's voice is callin', an' her arms are stretched in love,
+      An' somehow you're glad you're goin', an' you ain't a-scared to die;
+    When you'll be like a kid again, an' nestle to her breast,
+      An' never leave its shelter, an' forget, an' love, an' rest.
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNGER SON
+
+
+    If you leave the gloom of London and you seek a glowing land,
+      Where all except the flag is strange and new,
+    There's a bronzed and stalwart fellow who will grip you by the hand,
+      And greet you with a welcome warm and true;
+    For he's your younger brother, the one you sent away,
+      Because there wasn't room for him at home;
+    And now he's quite contented, and he's glad he didn't stay,
+      And he's building Britain's greatness o'er the foam.
+
+    When the giant herd is moving at the rising of the sun,
+      And the prairie is lit with rose and gold;
+    And the camp is all a-bustle, and the busy day's begun,
+      He leaps into the saddle sure and bold.
+    Through the round of heat and hurry, through the racket and the rout,
+      He rattles at a pace that nothing mars;
+    And when the night-winds whisper, and camp-fires flicker out,
+      He is sleeping like a child beneath the stars.
+
+    When the wattle-blooms are drooping in the sombre she-oak glade,
+      And the breathless land is lying in a swoon,
+    He leaves his work a moment, leaning lightly on his spade,
+      And he hears the bell-bird chime the Austral noon.
+    The parakeets are silent in the gum-tree by the creek;
+      The ferny grove is sunshine-steeped and still;
+    But the dew will gem the myrtle in the twilight ere he seek
+      His little lonely cabin on the hill.
+
+    Around the purple, vine-clad slope the argent river dreams;
+      The roses almost hide the house from view;
+    A snow-peak of the Winterberg in crimson splendour gleams;
+      The shadow deepens down on the karroo.
+    He seeks the lily-scented dusk beneath the orange-tree:
+      His pipe in silence glows and fades and glows,
+    And then two little maids come out and climb upon his knee,
+      And one is like the lily, one the rose.
+    He sees his white sheep dapple o'er the green New Zealand plain,
+      And where Vancouver's shaggy ramparts frown,
+    When the sunlight threads the pine-gloom he is fighting might and main
+      To clinch the rivets of an Empire down.
+    You will find him toiling, toiling, in the south or in the west,
+      A child of nature, fearless, frank and free;
+    And the warmest heart that beats for you is beating in his breast,
+      And he sends you loyal greeting o'er the sea.
+
+    You've a brother in the Army, you've another in the Church;
+      One of you is a diplomatic swell;
+    You've had the pick of everything and left him in the lurch;
+      And yet I think he's doing very well.
+    I'm sure his life is happy, and he doesn't envy yours;
+      I know he loves the land his pluck has won;
+    And I fancy in the years unborn, while England's fame endures,
+      She will come to bless with pride--the Younger Son.
+
+
+
+
+THE MARCH OF THE DEAD
+
+
+    The cruel war was over--oh, the triumph was so sweet!
+      We watched the troops returning, through our tears;
+    There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street,
+      And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers.
+    And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew
+          between,
+      The bells were pealing madly to the sky;
+    And every one was shouting for the Soldiers of the Queen,
+      And the glory of an age was passing by.
+
+    And then there came a shadow, swift and sudden, dark and drear;
+      The bells were silent, not an echo stirred.
+    The flags were drooping sullenly, the men forgot to cheer;
+      We waited, and we never spoke a word.
+    The sky grew darker, darker, till from out the gloomy rack
+      There came a voice that checked the heart with dread:
+    "Tear down, tear down your bunting now, and hang up sable black;
+      They are coming--it's the Army of the Dead."
+
+    They were coming, they were coming, gaunt and ghastly, sad and slow;
+      They were coming, all the crimson wrecks of pride;
+    With faces seared, and cheeks red smeared, and haunting eyes of woe,
+      And clotted holes the khaki couldn't hide.
+    Oh, the clammy brow of anguish! the livid, foam-flecked lips!
+      The reeling ranks of ruin swept along!
+    The limb that trailed, the hand that failed, the bloody finger-tips!
+      And oh, the dreary rhythm of their song!
+
+    "They left us on the veldt-side, but we felt we couldn't stop,
+      On this, our England's crowning festal day;
+    We're the men of Magersfontein, we're the men of Spion Kop,
+      Colenso,--we're the men who had to pay.
+    We're the men who paid the blood-price. Shall the grave be all our
+          gain?
+      You owe us. Long and heavy is the score.
+    Then cheer us for our glory now, and cheer us for our pain,
+      And cheer us as ye never cheered before."
+
+    The folks were white and stricken, and each tongue seemed weighed
+          with lead;
+      Each heart was clutched in hollow hand of ice;
+    And every eye was staring at the horror of the dead,
+      The pity of the men who paid the price.
+    They were come, were come to mock us, in the first flush of our peace;
+      Through writhing lips their teeth were all agleam;
+    They were coming in their thousands--oh, would they never cease!
+      I closed my eyes, and then--it was a dream.
+
+    There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet gleaming street;
+      The town was mad, a man was like a boy.
+    A thousand flags were flaming where the sky and city meet;
+      A thousand bells were thundering the joy.
+    There was music, mirth and sunshine; but some eyes shone with regret:
+      And while we stun with cheers our homing braves,
+    O God, in Thy great mercy, let us nevermore forget
+      The graves they left behind, the bitter graves.
+
+
+
+
+"FIGHTING MAC"
+
+A LIFE TRAGEDY
+
+
+    A pistol-shot rings round and round the world:
+      In pitiful defeat a warrior lies.
+    A last defiance to dark Death is hurled,
+      A last wild challenge shocks the sunlit skies.
+      Alone he falls with wide, wan, woeful eyes:
+    Eyes that could smile at death--could not face shame.
+
+    Alone, alone he paced his narrow room,
+      In the bright sunshine of that Paris day;
+    Saw in his thought the awful hand of doom;
+      Saw in his dream his glory pass away;
+      Tried in his heart, his weary heart, to pray:
+    "O God! who made me, give me strength to face
+    The spectre of this bitter, black disgrace."
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    The burn brawls darkly down the shaggy glen,
+      The bee-kissed heather blooms around the door;
+    He sees himself a barefoot boy again,
+      Bending o'er page of legendary lore.
+      He hears the pibroch, grips the red claymore,
+    Runs with the Fiery Cross a clansman true,
+    Sworn kinsman of Rob Roy and Roderick Dhu.
+
+    Eating his heart out with a wild desire,
+      One day, behind his counter trim and neat,
+    He hears a sound that sets his brain afire--
+      The Highlanders are marching down the street.
+      Oh, how the pipes shrill out, the mad drums beat!
+    "On to the gates of Hell, my Gordons gay!"
+    He flings his hated yardstick far away.
+
+    He sees the sullen pass, high-crowned with snow,
+      Where Afghans cower with eyes of gleaming hate.
+    He hurls himself against the hidden foe.
+      They try to rally--ah, too late, too late!
+      Again, defenceless, with fierce eyes that wait
+    For death, he stands, like baited bull at bay,
+    And flouts the Boers, that mad Majuba day.
+
+    He sees again the murderous Soudan,
+      Blood-slaked and rapine swept. He seems to stand
+    Upon the gory plain of Omdurman.
+      Then Magersfontein, and supreme command
+      Over his Highlanders. To shake his hand
+    A King is proud, and princes call him friend,
+    And glory crowns his life--and now the end.
+
+    The awful end. His eyes are dark with doom;
+      He hears the shrapnel shrieking overhead:
+    He sees the ravaged ranks, the flame-stabbed gloom.
+      Oh, to have fallen! the battle-field his bed,
+      With Wauchope and his glorious brother-dead.
+    Why was he saved for this, for this? And now
+    He raises the revolver to his brow.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    In many a Highland home, framed with rude art,
+      You'll find his portrait, rough-hewn, stern and square:
+    It's graven in the Fuyam fellah's heart;
+      The Ghurka reads it at his evening prayer;
+      The raw lands know it, where the fierce suns glare;
+    The Dervish fears it. Honour to his name,
+    Who holds aloft the shield of England's fame.
+
+    Mourn for our hero, men of Northern race!
+      We do not know his sin; we only know
+    His sword was keen. He laughed death in the face,
+      And struck, for Empire's sake, a giant blow.
+      His arm was strong. Ah! well they learnt, the foe.
+    The echo of his deeds is ringing yet,
+    Will ring for aye. All else ... let us forget.
+
+
+
+
+THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL
+
+
+    An angel was tired of heaven, as he lounged in the golden street;
+    His halo was tilted sideways, and his harp lay mute at his feet;
+    So the Master stooped in His pity, and gave him a pass to go,
+    For the space of a moon, to the earth-world, to mix with the men below.
+
+    He doffed his celestial garments, scarce waiting to lay them straight;
+    He bade goodbye to Peter, who stood by the golden gate;
+    The sexless singers of heaven chanted a fond farewell,
+    And the imps looked up as they pattered on the red-hot flags of hell.
+
+    Never was seen such an angel: eyes of a heavenly blue,
+    Features that shamed Apollo, hair of a golden hue;
+    The women simply adored him, his lips were like Cupid's bow;
+    But he never ventured to use them--and so they voted him slow.
+
+    Till at last there came One Woman, a marvel of loveliness,
+    And she whispered to him: "Do you love me?" And he answered that
+          woman, "Yes."
+    And she said: "Put your arms around me, and kiss me, and hold me--so--"
+    But fiercely he drew back, saying: "This thing is wrong, and I know."
+
+    Then sweetly she mocked his scruples, and softly she him beguiled:
+    "You, who are verily man among men, speak with the tongue of a child.
+    We have outlived the old standards; we have burst, like an
+          over-tight thong,
+    The ancient, outworn, puritanic traditions of Right and Wrong."
+
+    Then the Master feared for His angel, and called him again to His side,
+    For oh, the woman was wondrous, and oh, the angel was tried.
+    And deep in his hell sang the Devil, and this was the strain of his
+          song:
+    "The ancient, outworn, puritanic traditions of Right and Wrong."
+
+
+
+
+THE RHYME OF THE RESTLESS ONES
+
+
+    We couldn't sit and study for the law;
+      The stagnation of a bank we couldn't stand;
+    For our riot blood was surging, and we didn't need much urging
+    To excitements and excesses that are banned.
+    So we took to wine and drink and other things,
+      And the devil in us struggled to be free;
+    Till our friends rose up in wrath, and they pointed out the path,
+    And they paid our debts and packed us o'er the sea.
+
+    Oh, they shook us off and shipped us o'er the foam,
+    To the larger lands that lure a man to roam;
+            And we took the chance they gave
+            Of a far and foreign grave,
+    And we bade goodbye for evermore to home.
+
+    And some of us are climbing on the peak,
+      And some of us are camping on the plain;
+    By pine and palm you'll find us, with never claim to bind us,
+    By track and trail you'll meet us once again.
+
+    We are fated serfs to freedom--sky and sea;
+      We have failed where slummy cities overflow;
+    But the stranger ways of earth know our pride and know our worth,
+    And we go into the dark as fighters go.
+
+    Yes, we go into the night as brave men go,
+    Though our faces they be often streaked with woe;
+            Yet we're hard as cats to kill,
+            And our hearts are reckless still,
+    And we've danced with death a dozen times or so.
+
+    And you'll find us in Alaska after gold,
+      And you'll find us herding cattle in the South.
+    We like strong drink and fun; and when the race is run,
+      We often die with curses in our mouth.
+
+    We are wild as colts unbroke, but never mean;
+      Of our sins we've shoulders broad to bear the blame;
+    But we'll never stay in town, and we'll never settle down,
+      And we'll never have an object or an aim.
+
+    No, there's that in us that time can never tame;
+    And life will always seem a careless game;
+            And they'd better far forget--
+            Those who say they love us yet--
+    Forget, blot out with bitterness our name.
+
+
+
+
+NEW YEAR'S EVE
+
+
+    It's cruel cold on the water-front, silent and dark and drear;
+      Only the black tide weltering, only the hissing snow;
+    And I, alone, like a storm-tossed wreck, on this night of the glad
+          New Year,
+      Shuffling along in the icy wind, ghastly and gaunt and slow.
+
+    They're playing a tune in McGuffy's saloon, and it's cheery and
+          bright in there
+      (God! but I'm weak--since the bitter dawn, and never a bite of food);
+    I'll just go over and slip inside--I mustn't give way to despair--
+      Perhaps I can bum a little booze if the boys are feeling good.
+
+    They'll jeer at me, and they'll sneer at me, and they'll call me a
+          whiskey soak;
+      ("Have a drink? Well, thankee kindly, sir, I don't mind if I do.")
+    A drivelling, dirty gin-joint fiend, the butt of the bar-room joke;
+      Sunk and sodden and hopeless--"Another? Well, here's to you!"
+
+    McGuffy is showing a bunch of the boys how Bob Fitzsimmons hit;
+      The barman is talking of Tammany Hall, and why the ward boss got
+          fired;
+    I'll just sneak into a corner, and they'll let me alone a bit;
+      The room is reeling round and round ... O God, but I'm tired, I'm
+          tired....
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Roses she wore on her breast that night. Oh, but their scent was sweet;
+      Alone we sat on the balcony, and the fan-palms arched above;
+    The witching strain of a waltz by Strauss came up to our cool retreat,
+      And I prisoned her little hand in mine, and I whispered my plea of
+          love.
+
+    Then sudden the laughter died on her lips, and lowly she bent her head;
+      And oh, there came in the deep, dark eyes a look that was heaven
+          to see
+    And the moments went, and I waited there, and never a word was said,
+      And she plucked from her bosom a rose of red, and shyly gave it to
+          me.
+
+    Then the music swelled to a crash of joy, and the lights blazed up
+          like day;
+      And I held her fast to my throbbing heart, and I kissed her bonny
+          brow;
+    "She is mine, she is mine for evermore!" the violins seemed to say,
+      And the bells were ringing the New Year in--O God! I can hear them
+          now.
+
+    Don't you remember that long, last waltz, with its sobbing, sad
+          refrain?
+      Don't you remember that last goodbye, and the dear eyes dim with
+          tears?
+    Don't you remember that golden dream, with never a hint of pain,
+      Of lives that would blend like an angel-song in the bliss of the
+          coming year?
+
+    Oh, what have I lost! What have I lost! Ethel, forgive, forgive!
+      The red, red rose is faded now, and it's fifty years ago.
+    'Twere better to die a thousand deaths than live each day as I live!
+      I have sinned, I have sunk to the lowest depths--but oh, I have
+          suffered so!
+
+    Hark! Oh hark! I can hear the bells!... Look! I can see her there,
+      Fair as a dream ... but it fades ... And now--I can hear the
+          dreadful hum
+    Of the crowded court ... See! the Judge looks down ... NOT GUILTY,
+          my Lord, I swear ...
+      The bells, I can hear the bells again ... Ethel, I come, I come!...
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "Rouse up, old man, it's twelve o'clock. You can't sleep here, you
+          know.
+      Say! ain't you got no sentiment? Lift up your muddled head;
+    Have a drink to the glad New Year, a drop before you go--
+      You darned old dirty hobo ... My God! Here, boys! He's DEAD!"
+
+
+
+
+COMFORT
+
+
+    Say! You've struck a heap of trouble--
+      Bust in business, lost your wife;
+    No one cares a cent about you,
+      You don't care a cent for life;
+    Hard luck has of hope bereft you,
+      Health is failing, wish you'd die--
+    Why, you've still the sunshine left you,
+      And the big, blue sky.
+
+            Sky so blue it makes you wonder
+              If it's heaven shining through;
+            Earth so smiling 'way out yonder,
+              Sun so bright it dazzles you;
+            Birds a-singing, flowers a-flinging
+              All their fragrance on the breeze;
+            Dancing shadows, green, still meadows--
+              Don't you mope, you've still got these.
+
+    These, and none can take them from you;
+      These, and none can weigh their worth.
+    What! you're tired and broke and beaten?--
+      Why, you're rich--you've got the earth!
+    Yes, if you're a tramp in tatters,
+      While the blue sky bends above,
+    You've got nearly all that matters,
+      You've got God, and God is love.
+
+
+
+
+PREMONITION
+
+
+    'Twas a year ago and the moon was bright
+      (Oh, I remember so well, so well),
+    I walked with my love in a sea of light,
+      And the voice of my sweet was a silver bell.
+
+        And sudden the moon grew strangely dull,
+          And sudden my love had taken wing;
+        I looked on the face of a grinning skull,
+          I strained to my heart a ghastly thing.
+
+    'Twas but fantasy, for my love lay still
+      In my arms with her tender eyes aglow,
+    And she wondered why my lips were chill,
+      Why I was silent and kissed her so.
+
+        A year has gone and the moon is bright,
+          A gibbous moon like a ghost of woe;
+        I sit by a new-made grave to-night,
+          And my heart is broken--it's strange, you know.
+
+
+
+
+THE TRAMPS
+
+
+    Can you recall, dear comrade, when we tramped God's land together,
+      And we sang the old, old Earth-song, for our youth was very sweet;
+    When we drank and fought and lusted, as we mocked at tie and tether,
+      Along the road to Anywhere, the wide world at our feet.
+
+    Along the road to Anywhere, when each day had its story;
+      When time was yet our vassal, and life's jest was still unstale;
+    When peace unfathomed filled our hearts as, bathed in amber glory,
+      Along the road to Anywhere we watched the sunsets pale.
+
+    Alas! the road to Anywhere is pitfalled with disaster;
+      There's hunger, want, and weariness, yet O we loved it so!
+    As on we tramped exultantly, and no man was our master,
+      And no man guessed what dreams were ours, as swinging heel and toe,
+    We tramped the road to Anywhere, the magic road to Anywhere,
+      The tragic road to Anywhere, such dear, dim years ago.
+
+
+
+
+_L'ENVOI_
+
+
+    _You who have lived in the Land,
+      You who have trusted the trail;
+    You who are strong to withstand,
+      You who are swift to assail;
+    Songs have I sung to beguile,
+      Vintage of desperate years
+    Hard as a harlot's smile,
+      Bitter as unshed tears._
+
+                      _Little of joy or mirth,
+                        Little of ease I sing;
+                      Sagas of men of earth,
+                        Humanly suffering,
+                      Such as you all have done;
+                        Savagely faring forth,
+                      Sons of the midnight sun,
+                        Argonauts of the North._
+
+    _Far in the land God forgot
+      Glimmers the lure of your trail;
+    Still in your lust are you taught
+      Even to win is to fail.
+    Still must you follow and fight
+      Under the vampire wing;
+    There in the long, long night
+      Hoping and vanquishing._
+
+                      _Husbandmen of the Wild,
+                        Reaping a barren gain;
+                      Scourged by desire, reconciled
+                        Unto disaster and pain;
+                      These my songs are for you,
+                        You who are seared with the brand:
+                      God knows I have tried to be true;
+                        Please God you will understand._
+
+
+
+
+ _Printed in Great Britain by_
+ UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED
+ WOKING AND LONDON.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    Inconsistent hyphenation has been retained. Minor typographical
+    errors have been corrected without note, whilst significant
+    amendments have been listed below.
+
+      P. 22, 'greyling' amended to _grayling_.
+      P. 58, 'trial' amended to _trail_.
+      P. 93, 'sidways' amended to _sideways_.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Songs of a Sourdough, by Robert W. Service
+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of a Sourdough, by Robert W. Service
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Songs of a Sourdough
+
+Author: Robert W. Service
+
+Release Date: May 20, 2008 [EBook #25546]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SOURDOUGH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Clarke, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<h1><i>Songs of a Sourdough</i></h1>
+
+<hr />
+<div class="bk1"><p class="hd1"><i>"Songs from Overseas"</i></p>
+<div class="bk2">
+
+<p>SONGS OF A SOURDOUGH. By
+<span class="smcap">Robert W. Service</span>.</p>
+
+<p>BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO. By
+<span class="smcap">Robert W. Service</span>.</p>
+
+<p>LYRA NIGERI&AElig;. By "<span class="smcap">Adamu</span>" (<span class="smcap">E. C.
+Adams</span>).</p>
+
+<p>SOUTH AFRICA, AND OTHER POEMS.
+By <span class="smcap">A. Vine Hall</span>.</p>
+
+<p>SONGS OUT OF EXILE (RHODESIAN
+RHYMES). By <span class="smcap">Cullen Gouldsbury</span>.</p>
+
+<p>COWBOY SONGS. By <span class="smcap">John A. Lomax</span>.</p>
+
+<p>RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE. By
+<span class="smcap">Robert W. Service</span>.</p>
+
+<p>THE HELL-GATE OF SOISSONS,
+AND OTHER POEMS. By <span class="smcap">Herbert
+Kaufman</span>.</p>
+
+<p>THE WAITING WOMAN. By <span class="smcap">Herbert
+Kaufman</span>.</p>
+
+<p>FROM THE OUTPOSTS. By <span class="smcap">Cullen
+Gouldsbury</span>.</p>
+
+<p>RHYMES OF A RED CROSS MAN. By
+<span class="smcap">Robert W. Service</span>.</p>
+</div>
+<p class="center">LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, LTD.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h1><i>Songs of a Sourdough</i></h1>
+
+<h2 class="hd2"><i><small>By</small><br />
+Robert W. Service</i></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><b><i>London<br />
+T. Fisher Unwin, Ltd.<br />
+Adelphi Terrace</i></b></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table class="tab1" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td class="center" colspan="2">First Fifteen Impressions published in Canada</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Sixteenth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1907</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="center" colspan="2">(First English Edition)</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Seventeenth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1908</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Eighteenth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1908</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Nineteenth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1909</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twentieth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1909</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-first Impression,</td><td class="td2">1909</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-second Impression,</td><td class="td2">1910</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-third Impression,</td><td class="td2">1910</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-fourth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1911</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-fifth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1912</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-sixth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1913</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-seventh Impression,</td><td class="td2">1913</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-eighth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1914</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Twenty-ninth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1915</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Thirtieth Impression,</td><td class="td2">1915</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Thirty-first Impression,</td><td class="td2">1916</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Thirty-second Impression,</td><td class="td2">1916</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td1">Thirty-third Impression,</td><td class="td2">1916</td></tr></table></div>
+
+<p class="center">(<i>All rights reserved</i>)</p>
+
+<hr />
+<p class="center"><b>To</b></p>
+
+<p class="center"><b>C. M.</b></p>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0">The lonely sunsets flare forlorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Down valleys dreadly desolate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lordly mountains soar in scorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As still as death, as stern as fate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i4">The lonely sunsets flame and die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">The giant valleys gulp the night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The monster mountains scrape the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Where eager stars are diamond-bright.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0">So gaunt against the gibbous moon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Piercing the silence velvet-piled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lone wolf howls his ancient rune,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fell arch-spirit of the Wild.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i4">O outcast land! O leper land!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Let the lone wolf-cry all express&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The hate insensate of thy hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Thy heart's abysmal loneliness.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td class="td4" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE LAW OF THE YUKON</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE PARSON'S SON</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE SPELL OF THE YUKON</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE CALL OF THE WILD</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE LONE TRAIL</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE THREE VOICES</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE PINES</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE HARPY</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE LURE OF LITTLE VOICES</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE SONG OF THE WAGE-SLAVE</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">GRIN</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3"><span class="smcap">THE SHOOTING OF DAN McGREW</span></td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3"><span class="smcap">THE CREMATION OF SAM McGEE</span></td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">MY MADONNA</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">UNFORGOTTEN</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE RECKONING</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">QUATRAINS</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE MEN THAT DON'T FIT IN</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">MUSIC IN THE BUSH</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_70">70</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE RHYME OF THE REMITTANCE MAN</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE LOW-DOWN WHITE</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE LITTLE OLD LOG CABIN</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE YOUNGER SON</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE MARCH OF THE DEAD</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">"FIGHTING MAC"</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE RHYME OF THE RESTLESS ONES</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">NEW YEAR'S EVE</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">COMFORT</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">PREMONITION</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">THE TRAMPS</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="td3">L'ENVOI</td><td class="td4"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+<h1>Songs of a Sourdough</h1>
+
+<h2>THE LAW OF THE YUKON</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 33em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span> is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strong for the red rage of battle; sane, for I harry them sore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the others&mdash;the misfits, the failures&mdash;I trample under my feet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dissolute, damned, and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ye would send me the spawn of your gutters&mdash;Go! take back your spawn again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From my ruthless throne I have ruled alone for a million years and a day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hugging my mighty treasure, waiting for man to come:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till he swept like a turbid torrent, and after him swept&mdash;the scum.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pallid pimp of the dead-line, the enervate of the pen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One by one I weeded them out, for all that I sought was&mdash;Men.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One by one I dismayed them, frighting them sore with my glooms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One by one I betrayed them unto my manifold dooms.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drowned them like rats in my rivers, starved them like curs on my plains,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Rotted the flesh that was left them, poisoned the blood in their veins;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burst with my winter upon them, searing forever their sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lashed them with fungus-white faces, whimpering wild in the night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Staggering blind through the storm-whirl, stumbling mad through the snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Frozen stiff in the ice pack, brittle and bent like a bow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Featureless, formless, forsaken, scented by wolves in their flight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Left for the wind to make music through ribs that are glittering white;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gnawing the black crust of failure, searching the pit of despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crooking the toe in the trigger, trying to patter a prayer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Going outside with an escort, raving with lips all afoam;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Writing a cheque for a million, drivelling feebly of home;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost like a louse in the burning ... or else in tented town<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeking a drunkard's solace, sinking and sinking down;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Steeped in the slime at the bottom, dead to a decent world,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost 'mid the human flotsam, far on the frontier hurled;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the camp at the bend of the river, with its dozen saloons aglare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its gambling dens a-riot, its gramophones all a-blare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crimped with the crimes of a city, sin-ridden and bridled with lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the hush of my mountained vastness, in the flush of my midnight skies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Plague-spots, yet tools of my purpose, so natheless I suffer them thrive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crushing my Weak in their clutches, that only my Strong may survive.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But the others, the men of my mettle, the men who would 'stablish my fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unto its ultimate issue, winning me honour, not shame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Searching my uttermost valleys, fighting each step as they go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shooting the wrath of my rapids, scaling my ramparts of snow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ripping the guts of my mountains, looting the beds of my creeks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Them will I take to my bosom, and speak as a mother speaks.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I am the land that listens, I am the land that broods;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Steeped in eternal beauty, crystalline waters and woods.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long have I waited lonely, shunned as a thing accurst,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Monstrous, moody, pathetic, the last of the lands and the first;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Visioning camp-fires at twilight, sad with a longing forlorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feeling my womb o'er-pregnant with the seed of cities unborn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I wait for the men who will win me&mdash;and I will not be won in a day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I will not be won by weaklings, subtile, suave, and mild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But by men with the hearts of vikings, and the simple faith of a child;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Desperate, strong, and resistless, unthrottled by fear or defeat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Lofty I stand from each sister land, patient and wearily wise,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">With the weight of a world of sadness in my quiet, passionless eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dreaming alone of a people, dreaming alone of a day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When men shall not rape my riches, and curse me and go away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making a bawd of my bounty, fouling the hand that gave&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I rise in my wrath and I sweep on their path and I stamp them into a grave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dreaming of men who will bless me, of women esteeming me good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of children born in my borders, of radiant motherhood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of cities leaping to stature, of fame like a flag unfurled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I pour the tide of my riches in the eager lap of the world."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is the Law of the Yukon, that only the Strong shall thrive;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That surely the Weak shall perish, and only the Fit survive.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dissolute, damned, and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is the Will of the Yukon,&mdash;Lo! how she makes it plain!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE PARSON'S SON</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span> is the song of the parson's son, as he squats in his shack alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the wild, weird nights when the Northern Lights shoot up from the frozen zone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it's sixty below, and couched in the snow the hungry huskies moan.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I'm one of the Arctic brotherhood, I'm an old-time pioneer.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I came with the first&mdash;O God! how I've cursed this Yukon&mdash;but still I'm here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've sweated athirst in its summer heat, I've frozen and starved in its cold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've followed my dreams by its thousand streams, I've toiled and moiled for its gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Look at my eyes&mdash;been snow-blind twice; look where my foot's half gone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that gruesome scar on my left cheek where the frost-fiend bit to the bone.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Each one a brand of this devil's land, where I've played and I've lost the game,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A broken wreck with a craze for 'hooch,' and never a cent to my name.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"This mining is only a gamble, the worst is as good as the best;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was in with the bunch and I might have come out right on top with the rest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Cormack, Ladue and Macdonald&mdash;O God! but it's hell to think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the thousands and thousands I've squandered on cards and women and drink.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"In the early days we were just a few, and we hunted and fished around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor dreamt by our lonely camp-fires of the wealth that lay under the ground.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We traded in skins and whiskey, and I've often slept under the shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of that lone birch-tree on Bonanza, where the first big find was made.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"We were just like a great big family, and every man had his squaw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we lived such a wild, free, fearless life beyond the pale of the law;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Till sudden there came a whisper, and it maddened us every man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I got in on Bonanza before the big rush began.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh, those Dawson days, and the sin and the blaze, and the town all open wide!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(If God made me in His likeness, sure He let the devil inside.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we all were mad, both the good and the bad, and as for the women, well&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No spot on the map in so short a space has hustled more souls to hell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Money was just like dirt there, easy to get and to spend.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was all caked in on a dance-hall jade, but she shook me in the end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It put me queer, and for near a year I never drew sober breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I found myself in the bughouse ward with a claim staked out on death.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Twenty years in the Yukon, struggling along its creeks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roaming its giant valleys, scaling its god-like peaks;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Bathed in its fiery sunsets, fighting its fiendish cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Twenty years in the Yukon ... twenty years&mdash;and I'm old.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Old and weak, but no matter, there's 'hooch' in the bottle still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll hitch up the dogs to-morrow, and mush down the trail to Bill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's so long dark, and I'm lonesome&mdash;I'll just lay down on the bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-morrow I'll go ... to-morrow ... I guess I'll play on the red.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"... Come, Kit, your pony is saddled. I'm waiting, dear, in the court ...<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">... Minnie, you devil, I'll kill you if you skip with that flossy sport ...<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">... How much does it go to the pan, Bill?... play up, School, and play the game ...<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">... Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name ..."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0">This was the song of the parson's son, as he lay in his bunk alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere the fire went out and the cold crept in, and his blue lips ceased to moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the hunger-maddened malamutes had torn him flesh from bone.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SPELL OF THE YUKON</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 21em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I wanted</span> the gold, and I sought it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was it famine or scurvy&mdash;I fought it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I hurled my youth into the grave.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wanted the gold and I got it&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Came out with a fortune last fall,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And somehow the gold isn't all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No! There's the land. (Have you seen it?)<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It's the cussedest land that I know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the deep, deathlike valleys below.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some say God was tired when He made it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some say it's a fine land to shun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maybe: but there's some as would trade it<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For no land on earth&mdash;and I'm one.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You come to get rich (damned good reason),<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You feel like an exile at first;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You hate it like hell for a season,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And then you are worse than the worst.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It grips you like some kinds of sinning;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It twists you from foe to a friend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seems it's been since the beginning;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It seems it will be to the end.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I've stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That's plumb-full of hush to the brim;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've watched the big, husky sun wallow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In crimson and gold, and grow dim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I've thought that I surely was dreaming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With the peace o' the world piled on top.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The summer&mdash;no sweeter was ever;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sunshiny woods all athrill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grayling aleap in the river,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bighorn asleep on the hill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The strong life that never knows harness;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The wilds where the caribou call;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The freshness, the freedom, the farness&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O God! how I'm stuck on it all.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The winter! the brightness that blinds you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The white land locked tight as a drum,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cold fear that follows and finds you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The silence that bludgeons you dumb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The snows that are older than history,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The woods where the weird shadows slant;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I've bade 'em good-bye&mdash;but I can't.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's a land where the mountains are nameless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the rivers all run God knows where;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are lives that are erring and aimless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And deaths that just hang by a hair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are hardships that nobody reckons;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There are valleys unpeopled and still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a land&mdash;oh, it beckons and beckons,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I want to go back&mdash;and I will.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They're making my money diminish;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'm sick of the taste of champagne.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thank God! when I'm skinned to a finish<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'll pike to the Yukon again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll fight&mdash;and you bet it's no sham-fight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It's hell!&mdash;but I've been there before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it's better than this by a damsite&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So me for the Yukon once more.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's gold, and it's haunting and haunting;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It's luring me on as of old;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So much as just finding the gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It's the forests where silence has lease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It's the stillness that fills me with peace.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE CALL OF THE WILD</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 33em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Have</span> you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sage-brush desolation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And learned to know the desert's little ways?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then listen to the wild&mdash;it's calling you.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig a-quiver?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you marked the map's void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then hearken to the wild&mdash;it's wanting you.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Have you suffered, starved, and triumphed grovelled, down, yet grasped at glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">"Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have you seen God in His splendours, heard the text that nature renders?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(You'll never hear it in the family pew.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then listen to the wild&mdash;it's calling you.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They have soaked you in convention through and through;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But can't you hear the wild?&mdash;it's calling you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let us journey to a lonely land I know.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the wild is calling, calling ... let us go.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE LONE TRAIL</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 34em;"><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-bye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways divide;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And somehow you're sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy needs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the tongue swells out of the mouth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone camp-fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of hunger-goaded desire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes it leads to the Southland, to the swamp where the orchid glows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you rave to your grave with the fever, and they rob the corpse for its clothes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes it leads to the Northland, and the scurvy softens your bones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And your flesh dints in like putty, and you spit out your teeth like stones.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes it leads to a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you sit and stare at the empty glare where the gulls wait greedily.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sometimes it leads to an Arctic trail, and the snows where your torn feet freeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you whittle away the useless clay, and crawl on your hands and knees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Often it leads to the dead-pit; always it leads to pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the bones of your brothers ye know it, but oh, to follow you're fain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By your bones they will follow behind you, till the ways of the world are made plain.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0">Bid good-bye to sweetheart, bid good-bye to friend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tarry not, and fear not, chosen of the true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 34em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> where the mighty mountains bare their fangs unto the moon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There where the sullen sun-dogs glare in the snow-bright, bitter noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the glacier-gutted streams sweep down at the clarion call of June:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There where the livid tundras keep their tryst with the tranquil snows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There where the Silences are spawned, and the light of hell-fire flows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the bowl of the midnight sky, violet, amber, and rose:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There where the rapids churn and roar, and the ice-floes bellowing run;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the tortured, twisted rivers of blood rush to the setting sun&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've packed my kit and I'm going, boys, ere another day is done.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr class="tb" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
+<div class="poem" style="width: 34em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I knew it would call, or soon or late, as it calls the whirring wings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's the olden lure, it's the golden lure, it's the lure of the timeless things;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to-night, O God of the trails untrod, how it whines in my heart-strings!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'm sick to death of your well-groomed gods, your make-believe and your show;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I long for a whiff of bacon and beans, a snug shake-down in the snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A trail to break, and a life at stake, and another bout with the foe;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With the raw-ribbed Wild that abhors all life, the wild that would crush and rend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have clinched and closed with the naked North, I have learned to defy and defend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shoulder to shoulder we've fought it out&mdash;yet the Wild must win in the end.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I have flouted the Wild. I have followed its lure, fearless, familiar, alone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By all that the battle means and makes I claim that land for mine own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet the Wild must win, and a day will come when I shall be overthrown.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then when as wolf-dogs fight we've fought, the lean wolf-land and I;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fought and bled till the snows are red under the reeling sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even as lean wolf-dog goes down will I go down and die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE THREE VOICES</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 19em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> waves have a story to tell me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I lie on the lonely beach;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chanting aloft in the pine-tops,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The wind has a lesson to teach;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the stars sing an anthem of glory<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I cannot put into speech.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The waves tell of ocean spaces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of hearts that are wild and brave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of populous city places,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of desolate shores they lave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of men who sally in quest of gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To sink in an ocean grave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The wind is a mighty roamer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He bids me keep me free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clean from the taint of the gold-lust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hardy and pure as he;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cling with my love to nature<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As a child to the mother-knee.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the stars throng out in their glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And they sing of the God in man;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They sing of the mighty Master,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the loom His fingers span;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where a star or a soul is a part of the whole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And weft in the wondrous plan.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here by the camp-fire's flicker,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deep in my blanket curled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I long for the peace of the pine-gloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When the scroll of the Lord is unfurled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the wind and the wave are silent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And world is singing to world.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE PINES</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 34em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> sleep in the sleep of ages, the bleak, barbarian pines;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grey moss drapes us like sages, and closer we lock our lines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deeper we clutch through the gelid gloom where never a sunbeam shines.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On the flanks of the storm-gored ridges are our black battalions massed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We surge in a host to the sullen coast, and we sing in the ocean blast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From empire of sea to empire of snow we grip our empire fast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To the niggard lands were we driven; 'twixt desert and foe are we penned.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To us was the Northland given, ours to stronghold and defend;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ours till the world be riven in the crash of the utter end.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ours from the bleak beginning, through the &aelig;ons of death-like sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ours from the shock when the naked rock was hurled from the hissing deep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ours through the twilight ages of weary glacier-creep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wind of the East, wind of the West, wandering to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chant your songs in our topmost boughs, that the sons of men may know<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The peerless pine was the first to come, and the pine will be last to go!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We pillar the halls of perfumed gloom; we plume where the eagles soar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The North-wind swoops from the brooding Pole, and our ancients crash and roar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But where one falls from the crumbling walls shoots up a hardy score.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We spring from the gloom of the canyon's womb; in the valley's lap we lie;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the white foam-fringe where the breakers cringe to the peaks that tusk the sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We climb, and we peer in the crag-locked mere that gleams like a golden eye,&mdash;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Gain to the verge of the hog-back ridge where the vision ranges free:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pines and pines and the shadow of pines as far as the eye can see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A steadfast legion of stalwart knights in dominant empery.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sun, moon and stars, give answer; shall we not staunchly stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even as now, forever, wards of the wilder strand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sentinels of the stillness, lords of the last lone land!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HARPY</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 30em;"><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is no hope for such as I, on earth nor yet in Heaven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unloved I live, unloved I die, unpitied, unforgiven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A loath&egrave;d jade I ply my trade, unhallowed and unshriven.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I paint my cheeks, for they are white, and cheeks of chalk men hate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine eyes with wine I make to shine, that men may seek and sate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Until they come, the nightly scum, with drunken eyes aflame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones&mdash;'tis I who know their shame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gods ye see are brutes to me&mdash;and so I play my game.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For life is not the thing we thought, and not the thing we plan;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And woman in a bitter world must do the best she can;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke, and serve the will of man;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Must serve his need and ever feed the flame of his desire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though be she loved for love alone, or be she loved for hire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For every man since life began is tainted with the mire.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And though you know he love you so, and set you on love's throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs, and let your heart be stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From love's close kiss to hell's abyss is one sheer flight, I trow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wedding-ring and bridal bell are will-o'-wisps of woe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And 'tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged upon the lamb, their prey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With siren smile and serpent guile I make the wolf-pack pay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With velvet paws and flensing claws, a tigress roused to slay.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One who in youth sought truest truth, and found a devil's lies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A symbol of the sin of man, a human sacrifice:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet shall I blame on man the shame? Could it be otherwise?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Was I not born to walk in scorn where others walk in pride?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Maker marred, and evil-starred I drift upon His tide;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And He alone shall judge His own, so I His judgment bide.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0">Fate has written a tragedy; its name is "The Human Heart."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer's part:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Devil enters the prompter's box and the play is ready to start.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE LURE OF LITTLE VOICES</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 32em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There's</span> a cry from out the Loneliness&mdash;Oh, listen, Honey, listen!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Do you hear it, do you fear it, you're a-holding of me so?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You're a-sobbing in your sleep, dear, and your lashes, how they glisten&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Do you hear the Little Voices all a-begging me to go?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All a-begging me to leave you. Day and night they're pleading, praying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the North-wind, on the West-wind, from the peak and from the plain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Night and day they never leave me&mdash;do you know what they are saying?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"He was ours before you got him, and we want him once again."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, they're wanting me, they're haunting me, the awful lonely places;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They're whining and they're whimpering as if each had a soul;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They're calling from the wilderness, the vast and god-like spaces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The stark and sullen solitudes that sentinel the Pole.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They miss my little camp-fires, ever brightly, bravely gleaming<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the womb of desolation where was never man before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As comradeless I sought them, lion-hearted, loving, dreaming;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And they hailed me as a comrade, and they loved me evermore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now they're all a-crying, and it's no use me denying:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The spell of them is on me and I'm helpless as a child;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart is aching, aching, but I hear them sleeping, waking;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It's the Lure of Little Voices, it's the mandate of the Wild.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'm afraid to tell you, Honey, I can take no bitter leaving;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But softly in the sleep-time from your love I'll steal away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, it's cruel, dearie, cruel, and it's God knows how I'm grieving;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But His Loneliness is calling and He knows I must obey.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE SONG OF THE WAGE-SLAVE</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 31em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hope that it won't be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I hope that it won't be heaven, with some of the parsons I've met&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All I want is just quiet, just to rest and forget.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look at my face, toil-furrowed; look at my calloused hands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Master, I've done Thy bidding, wrought in Thy many lands&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wrought for the little masters, big-bellied they be, and rich;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've done their desire for a daily hire, and I die like a dog in a ditch.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have used the strength Thou hast given, Thou knowest I did not shirk;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Threescore years of labour&mdash;Thine be the long day's work.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And now, Big Master, I'm broken and bent and twisted and scarred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I've held my job, and Thou knowest, and Thou wilt not judge me hard.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou knowest my sins are many, and often I've played the fool&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whiskey and cards and women, they made me the devil's tool.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was just like a child with money: I flung it away with a curse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feasting a fawning parasite, or glutting a harlot's purse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then back to the woods repentant, back to the mill or the mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, the worker of workers, everything in my line.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Everything hard but headwork (I'd no more brains than a kid),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A brute with brute strength to labour, doing as I was bid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Living in camps with men-folk, a lonely and loveless life;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never knew kiss of sweetheart, never caress of wife.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A brute with brute strength to labour, and they were so far above&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet I'd gladly have gone to the gallows for one little look of Love.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I with the strength of two men, savage and shy and wild&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet how I'd ha' treasured a woman, and the sweet, warm kiss of a child.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well, 'tis Thy world, and Thou knowest. I blaspheme and my ways be rude;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I've lived my life as I found it, and I've done my best to be good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, the primitive toiler, half naked, and grimed to the eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweating it deep in their ditches, swining it stark in their styes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hulling down forests before me, spanning tumultuous streams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down in the ditch building o'er me palaces fairer than dreams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Boring the rock to the ore-bed, driving the road through the fen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resolute, dumb, uncomplaining, a man in a world of men.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the long, long shift is over ... Master, I've earned it&mdash;Rest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+<h2>GRIN</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 29em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> you're up against a bruiser and you're getting knocked about&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Grin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you're feeling pretty groggy, and you're licked beyond a doubt&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Grin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Don't let him see you're funking, let him know with every clout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though your face is battered to a pulp, your blooming heart is stout;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just stand upon your pins until the beggar knocks you out&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">And grin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This life's a bally battle, and the same advice holds true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Of grin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you're up against it badly, then it's only one on you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">So grin.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">If the future's black as thunder, don't let people see you're blue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just cultivate a cast-iron smile of joy the whole day through;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If they call you "Little Sunshine," wish that <i>they'd</i> no troubles, too&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">You may&mdash;grin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rise up in the morning with the will that, smooth or rough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">You'll grin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sink to sleep at midnight, and although you're feeling tough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Yet grin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's nothing gained by whining, and you're not that kind of stuff;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You're a fighter from away back, and you <i>won't</i> take a rebuff;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your trouble is that you don't know when you have had enough&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Don't give in.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Fate should down you, just get up and take another cuff;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You may bank on it that there is no philosophy like bluff<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">And grin.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+<h2><span class="smcap">THE SHOOTING OF DAN McGREW</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A bunch</span> of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty and loaded for bear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He looked like a man with a foot in the grave, and scarcely the strength of a louse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard like a spell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one by one.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then I got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he'd do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I turned my head&mdash;and there watching him was the lady that's known as Lou.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of daze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the stool,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like a fool.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands&mdash;my God! but that man could play!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could <i>hear</i>;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While high overhead, green, yellow, and red, the North Lights swept in bars&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then you've a haunch what the music meant ... hunger and night and the stars.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And hunger not of the belly kind, that's banished with bacon and beans;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the gnawing hunger of lonely men for a home and all that it means;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a fireside far from the cares that are, four walls and a roof above;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oh! so cramful of cosy joy, and crowned with a woman's love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A woman dearer than all the world, and true as Heaven is true&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge,&mdash;the lady that's known as Lou.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then on a sudden the music changed, so soft that you scarce could hear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you felt that your life had been looted clean of all that it once held dear;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">That some one had stolen the woman you loved; that her love was a devil's lie;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That your guts were gone, and the best for you was to crawl away and die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas the crowning cry of a heart's despair, and it thrilled you through and through&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I guess I'll make it a spread misere," said Dangerous Dan McGrew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The music almost died away ... then it burst like a pent-up flood;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it seemed to say, "Repay, repay," and my eyes were blind with blood.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thought came back of an ancient wrong, and it stung like a frozen lash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the lust awoke to kill, to kill ... then the music stopped with a crash,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the stranger turned, and his eyes they burned in a most peculiar way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then his lips went in in a kind of grin, and he spoke, and his voice was calm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, "Boys," says he, "you don't know me, and none of you care a damn;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But I want to state, and my words are straight, and I'll bet my poke they're true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That one of you is a hound of hell ... and that one is Dan McGrew."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then I ducked my head, and the lights went out, and two guns blazed in the dark;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a woman screamed, and the lights went up, and two men lay stiff and stark;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pitched on his head, and pumped full of lead, was Dangerous Dan McGrew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the man from the creeks lay clutched to the breast of the lady that's known as Lou.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These are the simple facts of the case, and I guess I ought to know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They say that the stranger was crazed with "hooch," and I'm not denying it's so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm not so wise as the lawyer guys, but strictly between us two&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The woman that kissed him and&mdash;pinched his poke&mdash;was the lady that's known as Lou.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
+<h2><span class="smcap">THE CREMATION OF SAM McGEE</span></h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 35em;"><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> are strange things done in the midnight sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the men who moil for gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Arctic trails have their secret tales<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That would make your blood run cold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But the queerest they ever did see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I cremated Sam McGee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why he left his home in the South to roam round the Pole God only knows.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze, till sometimes we couldn't see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And that very night as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He turned to me, and, "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no: then he says with a sort of moan:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"It's the curs&egrave;d cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet 'taint being dead, it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we started on at the streak of dawn, but God! he looked ghastly pale.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror driven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a corpse half-hid that I couldn't get rid because of a promise given;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Howled out their woes to the homeless snows&mdash;O God! how I loathed the thing!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The flames just soared, and the furnace roared&mdash;such a blaze you seldom see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked," ... then the door I opened wide.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0">There are strange things done in the midnight sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the men who moil for gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Arctic trails have their secret tales<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That would make your blood run cold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But the queerest they ever did see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I cremated Sam McGee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MY MADONNA</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I haled</span> me a woman from the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shameless, but, oh, so fair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bade her sit in the model's seat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I painted her sitting there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">I hid all trace of her heart unclean;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">I painted a babe at her breast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I painted her as she might have been<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">If the Worst had been the Best.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She laughed at my picture, and went away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then came, with a knowing nod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A connoisseur, and I heard him say:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"'Tis Mary, the Mother of God."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">So I painted a halo round her hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And I sold her, and took my fee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And she hangs in the church of Saint Hilaire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Where you and all may see.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+<h2>UNFORGOTTEN</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I know</span> a garden where the lilies gleam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And one who lingers in the sunshine there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary&mdash;then<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And ah, it's strange, for desolate and dim<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet he is in the garden by her side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she is in the garret there with him.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE RECKONING</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It's</span> fine to have a blow-out in a fancy restaurant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With terrapin and canvas-back and all the wine you want;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To enjoy the flowers and music, watch the pretty women pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smoke a choice cigar, and sip the wealthy water in your glass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's bully in a high-toned joint to eat and drink your fill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it's quite another matter when you<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Pay the bill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It's great to go out every night on fun or pleasure bent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wear your glad rags always, and to never save a cent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To drift along regardless, have a good time every trip;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To hit the high spots sometimes, and to let your chances slip;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know you're acting foolish, yet to go on fooling still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till Nature calls a show-down, and you<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Pay the bill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Time has got a little bill&mdash;get wise while yet you may,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the debit side's increasing in a most alarming way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The things you had no right to do, the things you should have done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They're all put down: it's up to you to pay for every one.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So eat, drink, and be merry, have a good time if you will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But God help you when the time comes, and you<br /></span>
+<span class="i20">Foot the bill.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
+<h2>QUATRAINS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 22em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">One</span> said: Thy life is thine to make or mar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To flicker feebly, or to soar, a star;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It lies with thee&mdash;the choice is thine, is thine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hit the ties or drive thy auto-car.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I answer Her: The choice is mine&mdash;ah, no!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We all were made or marred long, long ago.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The parts are written: hear the super wail:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Who is stage-managing this cosmic show?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Blind fools of fate, and slaves of circumstance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Life is a fiddler, and we all must dance.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From gloom where mocks that will-o'-wisp, Freewill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I heard a voice cry: "Say, give us a chance."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Chance! Oh, there is no chance. The scene is set.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up with the curtain! Man, the marionette,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resumes his part. The gods will work the wires.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They've got it all down fine, you bet, you bet!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It's all decreed: the mighty earthquake crash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The countless constellations' wheel and flash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rise and fall of empires, war's red tide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The composition of your dinner hash.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's no haphazard in this world of ours:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cause and effect are grim, relentless powers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They rule the world. (A king was shot last night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Last night I held the joker and both bowers.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From out the mesh of fate our heads we thrust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We can't do what we would, but what we must.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heredity has got us in a cinch.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Consoling thought, when you've been on a "bust.")<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hark to the song where spheral voices blend:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"There's no beginning, never will be end."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It makes us nutty; hang the astral chimes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The table's spread; come, let us dine, my friend.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE MEN THAT DON'T FIT IN</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 27em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There's</span> a race of men that don't fit in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A race that can't stay still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So they break the hearts of kith and kin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And they roam the world at will.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They range the field and they rove the flood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And they climb the mountain's crest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Theirs is the curse of the gipsy blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And they don't know how to rest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">If they just went straight they might go far;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">They are strong and brave and true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">But they're always tired of the things that are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And they want the strange and new.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">They say: "Could I find my proper groove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What a deep mark I would make!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So they chop and change, and each fresh move<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Is only a fresh mistake.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And each forgets, as he strips and runs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a brilliant, fitful pace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who win in the lifelong race.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And each forgets that his youth has fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forgets that his prime is past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till he stands one day with a hope that's dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the glare of the truth at last.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">He has just done things by half.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Life's been a jolly good joke on him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And now is the time to laugh.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">He was never meant to win;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">He's a man who won't fit in.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
+<h2>MUSIC IN THE BUSH</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 23em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O'er</span> the dark pines she sees the silver moon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in the west, all tremulous, a star;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of cow-bells jangled in the fields afar.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Quite listless, for her daily stent is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She stands, sad exile, at her rose-wreathed door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sends her love eternal with the sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That goes to gild the land she'll see no more.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The grave, gaunt pines imprison her sad gaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All still the sky and darkling drearily;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She feels the chilly breath of dear, dead days<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Come sifting through the alders eerily.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, how the roses riot in their bloom!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The curtains stir as with an ancient pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her old piano gleams from out the gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And waits and waits her tender touch in vain.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But now her hands like moonlight brush the keys<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With velvet grace, melodious delight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now a sad refrain from overseas<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Goes sobbing on the bosom of the night.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now she sings. (O singer in the gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Voicing a sorrow we can ne'er express,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here in the Farness where we few have room<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Unshamed to show our love and tenderness,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our hearts will echo, till they beat no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That song of sadness and of motherland;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stretched in deathless love to England's shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some day she'll hearken and she'll understand.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A prima-donna in the shining past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But now a mother growing old and grey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She thinks of how she held a people fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In thrall, and gleaned the triumphs of a day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She sees a sea of faces like a dream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She sees herself a queen of song once more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She sees lips part in rapture, eyes agleam;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She sings as never once she sang before.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She sings a wild, sweet song that throbs with pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The added pain of life that transcends art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A song of home, a deep, celestial strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The glorious swan-song of a dying heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A lame tramp comes along the railway track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A grizzled dog whose day is nearly done:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He passes, pauses, then comes slowly back<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And listens there&mdash;an audience of one.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She sings&mdash;her golden voice is passion-fraught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As when she charmed a thousand eager ears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He listens trembling, and she knows it not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And down his hollow cheeks roll bitter tears.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She ceases and is still, as if to pray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There is no sound, the stars are all alight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only a wretch who stumbles on his way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Only a vagrant sobbing in the night.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE RHYME OF THE REMITTANCE MAN</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 32em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There's</span> a four-pronged buck a-swinging in the shadow of my cabin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And it roamed the velvet valley till to-day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I tracked it by the river, and I trailed it in the cover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I killed it on the mountain miles away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now I've had my lazy supper, and the level sun is gleaming<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the water where the silver salmon play;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I light my little corn-cob, and I linger softly dreaming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the twilight, of a land that's far away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Far away, so faint and far, is flaming London, fevered Paris,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I fancy I have gained another star;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far away the din and hurry, far away the sin and worry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Far away&mdash;God knows they cannot be too far.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Gilded galley-slaves of Mammon&mdash;how my purse-proud brothers taunt me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I might have been as well-to-do as they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had I clutched like them my chances, learned their wisdom, crushed my fancies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Starved my soul and gone to business every day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well, the cherry bends with blossom, and the vivid grass is springing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the star-like lily nestles in the green;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the frogs their joys are singing, and my heart in tune is ringing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And it doesn't matter what I might have been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While above the scented pine-gloom, piling heights of golden glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sun-god paints his canvas in the west;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can couch me deep in clover, I can listen to the story<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the lazy, lapping water&mdash;it is best.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the trout leaps in the river, and the blue grouse thrills the cover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the frozen snow betrays the panther's track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the robin greets the dayspring with the rapture of a lover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I am happy, and I'll nevermore go back.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">For I know I'd just be longing for the little old log cabin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With the morning-glory clinging to the door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I loathed the city places, cursed the care on all the faces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Turned my back on lazar London evermore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So send me far from Lombard Street, and write me down a failure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Put a little in my purse and leave me free.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say: "He turned from Fortune's offering to follow up a pale lure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He is one of us no longer&mdash;let him be."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am one of you no longer: by the trails my feet have broken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The dizzy peaks I've scaled, the camp-fire's glow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the lonely seas I've sailed in&mdash;yea, the final word is spoken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I am signed and sealed to nature. Be it so.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE LOW-DOWN WHITE</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 33em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span> is the pay-day up at the mines, when the bearded brutes come down;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's money to burn in the streets to-night, so I've sent my klooch to town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a haggard face and a ribband of red entwined in her hair of brown.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I know at the dawn she'll come reeling home with the bottles, one, two, three;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One for herself to drown her shame, and two big bottles for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make me forget the thing I am and the man I used to be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To make me forget the brand of the dog, as I crouch in this hideous place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make me forget once I kindled the light of love in a lady's face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where even the squalid Siwash now holds me a black disgrace.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, I have guarded my secret well! And who would dream as I speak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a tribal tongue like a rogue unhung, 'mid the ranch-house filth and reek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could roll to bed with a Latin phrase, and rise with a verse of Greek?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet I was a senior prizeman once, and the pride of a college eight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Called to the bar&mdash;my friends were true! but they could not keep me straight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then came the divorce, and I went abroad and "died" on the River Plate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But I'm not dead yet; though with half a lung there isn't time to spare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I hope that the year will see me out, and, thank God, no one will care&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Save maybe the little slim Siwash girl with the rose of shame in her hair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She will come with the dawn, and the dawn is near; I can see its evil glow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a corpse-light seen through a frosty pane in a night of want and woe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yonder she comes, by the bleak bull-pines, swift staggering through the snow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE LITTLE OLD LOG CABIN</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 31em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' he ain't got nothin' comin', an' he can't afford ter eat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' he's in a fix fer lodgin', an' he wanders up an' down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' you'd fancy he'd been boozin', he's so locoed 'bout the feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he's feelin' sneakin' sorry, an' his belt is hangin' slack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' his face is peaked an' grey-like, an' his heart gits down an' whines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then he's apt ter git a-thinkin' an' a-wishin' he was back<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the little ol' log cabin in the shadder of the pines.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When he's on the blazin' desert, an' his canteen's sprung a leak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' he's all alone an' crazy, an' he's crawlin' like a snail,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">An' his tongue's so black an' swollen that it hurts him fer to speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' he gouges down fer water, an' the raven's on his trail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he's done with care and cursin', an' he feels more like to cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' he sees ol' Death a-grinnin', an' he thinks upon his crimes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then he's like ter hev' a vision, as he settles down ter die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the little ol' log cabin an' the roses an' the vines.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, the little ol' log cabin, it's a solemn shinin' mark<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When a feller gits ter sinnin', an' a-goin' ter the wall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' folks don't understand him, an' he's gropin' in the dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' he's sick of bein' cursed at, an' he's longin' fer his call:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the sun of life's a-sinkin' you can see it 'way above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the hill from out the shadder in a glory 'gin the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' your mother's voice is callin', an' her arms are stretched in love,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+<span class="i2">An' somehow you're glad you're goin', an' you ain't a-scared to die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you'll be like a kid again, an' nestle to her breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">An' never leave its shelter, an' forget, an' love, an' rest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE YOUNGER SON</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 29em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> you leave the gloom of London and you seek a glowing land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where all except the flag is strange and new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a bronzed and stalwart fellow who will grip you by the hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And greet you with a welcome warm and true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he's your younger brother, the one you sent away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Because there wasn't room for him at home;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now he's quite contented, and he's glad he didn't stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And he's building Britain's greatness o'er the foam.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the giant herd is moving at the rising of the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the prairie is lit with rose and gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the camp is all a-bustle, and the busy day's begun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He leaps into the saddle sure and bold.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Through the round of heat and hurry, through the racket and the rout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He rattles at a pace that nothing mars;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the night-winds whisper, and camp-fires flicker out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He is sleeping like a child beneath the stars.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the wattle-blooms are drooping in the sombre she-oak glade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the breathless land is lying in a swoon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He leaves his work a moment, leaning lightly on his spade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And he hears the bell-bird chime the Austral noon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The parakeets are silent in the gum-tree by the creek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The ferny grove is sunshine-steeped and still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the dew will gem the myrtle in the twilight ere he seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His little lonely cabin on the hill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Around the purple, vine-clad slope the argent river dreams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The roses almost hide the house from view;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A snow-peak of the Winterberg in crimson splendour gleams;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The shadow deepens down on the karroo.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He seeks the lily-scented dusk beneath the orange-tree:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His pipe in silence glows and fades and glows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then two little maids come out and climb upon his knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And one is like the lily, one the rose.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sees his white sheep dapple o'er the green New Zealand plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And where Vancouver's shaggy ramparts frown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the sunlight threads the pine-gloom he is fighting might and main<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To clinch the rivets of an Empire down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You will find him toiling, toiling, in the south or in the west,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A child of nature, fearless, frank and free;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the warmest heart that beats for you is beating in his breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And he sends you loyal greeting o'er the sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You've a brother in the Army, you've another in the Church;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One of you is a diplomatic swell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've had the pick of everything and left him in the lurch;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And yet I think he's doing very well.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm sure his life is happy, and he doesn't envy yours;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I know he loves the land his pluck has won;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I fancy in the years unborn, while England's fame endures,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She will come to bless with pride&mdash;the Younger Son.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE MARCH OF THE DEAD</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 32em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> cruel war was over&mdash;oh, the triumph was so sweet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We watched the troops returning, through our tears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew between,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bells were pealing madly to the sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every one was shouting for the Soldiers of the Queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the glory of an age was passing by.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then there came a shadow, swift and sudden, dark and drear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bells were silent, not an echo stirred.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The flags were drooping sullenly, the men forgot to cheer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We waited, and we never spoke a word.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sky grew darker, darker, till from out the gloomy rack<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There came a voice that checked the heart with dread:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Tear down, tear down your bunting now, and hang up sable black;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They are coming&mdash;it's the Army of the Dead."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They were coming, they were coming, gaunt and ghastly, sad and slow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They were coming, all the crimson wrecks of pride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With faces seared, and cheeks red smeared, and haunting eyes of woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And clotted holes the khaki couldn't hide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, the clammy brow of anguish! the livid, foam-flecked lips!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The reeling ranks of ruin swept along!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The limb that trailed, the hand that failed, the bloody finger-tips!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And oh, the dreary rhythm of their song!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"They left us on the veldt-side, but we felt we couldn't stop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On this, our England's crowning festal day;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">We're the men of Magersfontein, we're the men of Spion Kop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Colenso,&mdash;we're the men who had to pay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We're the men who paid the blood-price. Shall the grave be all our gain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You owe us. Long and heavy is the score.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then cheer us for our glory now, and cheer us for our pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And cheer us as ye never cheered before."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The folks were white and stricken, and each tongue seemed weighed with lead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each heart was clutched in hollow hand of ice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every eye was staring at the horror of the dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The pity of the men who paid the price.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They were come, were come to mock us, in the first flush of our peace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through writhing lips their teeth were all agleam;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They were coming in their thousands&mdash;oh, would they never cease!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I closed my eyes, and then&mdash;it was a dream.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet gleaming street;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The town was mad, a man was like a boy.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A thousand flags were flaming where the sky and city meet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A thousand bells were thundering the joy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was music, mirth and sunshine; but some eyes shone with regret:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And while we stun with cheers our homing braves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O God, in Thy great mercy, let us nevermore forget<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The graves they left behind, the bitter graves.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+<h2>"FIGHTING MAC"
+<small><br /><br />A LIFE TRAGEDY</small></h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A pistol-shot</span> rings round and round the world:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In pitiful defeat a warrior lies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A last defiance to dark Death is hurled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A last wild challenge shocks the sunlit skies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alone he falls with wide, wan, woeful eyes:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eyes that could smile at death&mdash;could not face shame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alone, alone he paced his narrow room,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the bright sunshine of that Paris day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw in his thought the awful hand of doom;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Saw in his dream his glory pass away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tried in his heart, his weary heart, to pray:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"O God! who made me, give me strength to face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spectre of this bitter, black disgrace."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr class="tb" />
+<div class="poem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The burn brawls darkly down the shaggy glen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bee-kissed heather blooms around the door;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He sees himself a barefoot boy again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bending o'er page of legendary lore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He hears the pibroch, grips the red claymore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Runs with the Fiery Cross a clansman true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sworn kinsman of Rob Roy and Roderick Dhu.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Eating his heart out with a wild desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One day, behind his counter trim and neat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hears a sound that sets his brain afire&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Highlanders are marching down the street.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh, how the pipes shrill out, the mad drums beat!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"On to the gates of Hell, my Gordons gay!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He flings his hated yardstick far away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He sees the sullen pass, high-crowned with snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where Afghans cower with eyes of gleaming hate.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hurls himself against the hidden foe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They try to rally&mdash;ah, too late, too late!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Again, defenceless, with fierce eyes that wait<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For death, he stands, like baited bull at bay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And flouts the Boers, that mad Majuba day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He sees again the murderous Soudan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blood-slaked and rapine swept. He seems to stand<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the gory plain of Omdurman.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then Magersfontein, and supreme command<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Over his Highlanders. To shake his hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A King is proud, and princes call him friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glory crowns his life&mdash;and now the end.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The awful end. His eyes are dark with doom;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He hears the shrapnel shrieking overhead:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sees the ravaged ranks, the flame-stabbed gloom.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oh, to have fallen! the battle-field his bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With Wauchope and his glorious brother-dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why was he saved for this, for this? And now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He raises the revolver to his brow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr class="tb" />
+<div class="poem" style="width: 24em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In many a Highland home, framed with rude art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You'll find his portrait, rough-hewn, stern and square:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's graven in the Fuyam fellah's heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Ghurka reads it at his evening prayer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The raw lands know it, where the fierce suns glare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Dervish fears it. Honour to his name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who holds aloft the shield of England's fame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mourn for our hero, men of Northern race!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We do not know his sin; we only know<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">His sword was keen. He laughed death in the face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And struck, for Empire's sake, a giant blow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His arm was strong. Ah! well they learnt, the foe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The echo of his deeds is ringing yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will ring for aye. All else ... let us forget.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 34em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">An</span> angel was tired of heaven, as he lounged in the golden street;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His halo was tilted sideways, and his harp lay mute at his feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So the Master stooped in His pity, and gave him a pass to go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the space of a moon, to the earth-world, to mix with the men below.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He doffed his celestial garments, scarce waiting to lay them straight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He bade goodbye to Peter, who stood by the golden gate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sexless singers of heaven chanted a fond farewell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the imps looked up as they pattered on the red-hot flags of hell.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Never was seen such an angel: eyes of a heavenly blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Features that shamed Apollo, hair of a golden hue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The women simply adored him, his lips were like Cupid's bow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he never ventured to use them&mdash;and so they voted him slow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Till at last there came One Woman, a marvel of loveliness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she whispered to him: "Do you love me?" And he answered that woman, "Yes."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she said: "Put your arms around me, and kiss me, and hold me&mdash;so&mdash;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fiercely he drew back, saying: "This thing is wrong, and I know."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then sweetly she mocked his scruples, and softly she him beguiled:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"You, who are verily man among men, speak with the tongue of a child.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We have outlived the old standards; we have burst, like an over-tight thong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ancient, outworn, puritanic traditions of Right and Wrong."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then the Master feared for His angel, and called him again to His side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For oh, the woman was wondrous, and oh, the angel was tried.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And deep in his hell sang the Devil, and this was the strain of his song:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The ancient, outworn, puritanic traditions of Right and Wrong."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE RHYME OF THE RESTLESS ONES</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> couldn't sit and study for the law;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The stagnation of a bank we couldn't stand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For our riot blood was surging, and we didn't need much urging<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To excitements and excesses that are banned.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So we took to wine and drink and other things,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the devil in us struggled to be free;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till our friends rose up in wrath, and they pointed out the path,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they paid our debts and packed us o'er the sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, they shook us off and shipped us o'er the foam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the larger lands that lure a man to roam;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And we took the chance they gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of a far and foreign grave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we bade goodbye for evermore to home.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And some of us are climbing on the peak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And some of us are camping on the plain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By pine and palm you'll find us, with never claim to bind us,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By track and trail you'll meet us once again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We are fated serfs to freedom&mdash;sky and sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We have failed where slummy cities overflow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the stranger ways of earth know our pride and know our worth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we go into the dark as fighters go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, we go into the night as brave men go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though our faces they be often streaked with woe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Yet we're hard as cats to kill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And our hearts are reckless still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we've danced with death a dozen times or so.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And you'll find us in Alaska after gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And you'll find us herding cattle in the South.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We like strong drink and fun; and when the race is run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We often die with curses in our mouth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We are wild as colts unbroke, but never mean;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of our sins we've shoulders broad to bear the blame;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But we'll never stay in town, and we'll never settle down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And we'll never have an object or an aim.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No, there's that in us that time can never tame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And life will always seem a careless game;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And they'd better far forget&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Those who say they love us yet&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forget, blot out with bitterness our name.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
+<h2>NEW YEAR'S EVE</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It's</span> cruel cold on the water-front, silent and dark and drear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Only the black tide weltering, only the hissing snow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I, alone, like a storm-tossed wreck, on this night of the glad New Year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shuffling along in the icy wind, ghastly and gaunt and slow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They're playing a tune in McGuffy's saloon, and it's cheery and bright in there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(God! but I'm weak&mdash;since the bitter dawn, and never a bite of food);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll just go over and slip inside&mdash;I mustn't give way to despair&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Perhaps I can bum a little booze if the boys are feeling good.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They'll jeer at me, and they'll sneer at me, and they'll call me a whiskey soak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">("Have a drink? Well, thankee kindly, sir, I don't mind if I do.")<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A drivelling, dirty gin-joint fiend, the butt of the bar-room joke;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sunk and sodden and hopeless&mdash;"Another? Well, here's to you!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">McGuffy is showing a bunch of the boys how Bob Fitzsimmons hit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The barman is talking of Tammany Hall, and why the ward boss got fired;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll just sneak into a corner, and they'll let me alone a bit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The room is reeling round and round ... O God, but I'm tired, I'm tired....<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr class="tb" />
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Roses she wore on her breast that night. Oh, but their scent was sweet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alone we sat on the balcony, and the fan-palms arched above;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The witching strain of a waltz by Strauss came up to our cool retreat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I prisoned her little hand in mine, and I whispered my plea of love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then sudden the laughter died on her lips, and lowly she bent her head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And oh, there came in the deep, dark eyes a look that was heaven to see<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And the moments went, and I waited there, and never a word was said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And she plucked from her bosom a rose of red, and shyly gave it to me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then the music swelled to a crash of joy, and the lights blazed up like day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I held her fast to my throbbing heart, and I kissed her bonny brow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"She is mine, she is mine for evermore!" the violins seemed to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the bells were ringing the New Year in&mdash;O God! I can hear them now.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Don't you remember that long, last waltz, with its sobbing, sad refrain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Don't you remember that last goodbye, and the dear eyes dim with tears?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Don't you remember that golden dream, with never a hint of pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of lives that would blend like an angel-song in the bliss of the coming year?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, what have I lost! What have I lost! Ethel, forgive, forgive!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The red, red rose is faded now, and it's fifty years ago.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twere better to die a thousand deaths than live each day as I live!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I have sinned, I have sunk to the lowest depths&mdash;but oh, I have suffered so!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hark! Oh hark! I can hear the bells!... Look! I can see her there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair as a dream ... but it fades ... And now&mdash;I can hear the dreadful hum<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the crowded court ... See! the Judge looks down ... <span class="smcap">Not Guilty</span>, my Lord, I swear ...<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bells, I can hear the bells again ... Ethel, I come, I come!...<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr class="tb" />
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Rouse up, old man, it's twelve o'clock. You can't sleep here, you know.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Say! ain't you got no sentiment? Lift up your muddled head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have a drink to the glad New Year, a drop before you go&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You darned old dirty hobo ... My God! Here, boys! He's <span class="smcapl">DEAD</span>!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+<h2>COMFORT</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 25em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Say</span>! You've struck a heap of trouble&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bust in business, lost your wife;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No one cares a cent about you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You don't care a cent for life;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hard luck has of hope bereft you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Health is failing, wish you'd die&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, you've still the sunshine left you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the big, blue sky.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Sky so blue it makes you wonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">If it's heaven shining through;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Earth so smiling 'way out yonder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Sun so bright it dazzles you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Birds a-singing, flowers a-flinging<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">All their fragrance on the breeze;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Dancing shadows, green, still meadows&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Don't you mope, you've still got these.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These, and none can take them from you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These, and none can weigh their worth.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">What! you're tired and broke and beaten?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why, you're rich&mdash;you've got the earth!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes, if you're a tramp in tatters,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While the blue sky bends above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've got nearly all that matters,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You've got God, and God is love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PREMONITION</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 27em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'<span class="smcap">Twas</span> a year ago and the moon was bright<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(Oh, I remember so well, so well),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I walked with my love in a sea of light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the voice of my sweet was a silver bell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">And sudden the moon grew strangely dull,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And sudden my love had taken wing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I looked on the face of a grinning skull,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">I strained to my heart a ghastly thing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas but fantasy, for my love lay still<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In my arms with her tender eyes aglow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she wondered why my lips were chill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Why I was silent and kissed her so.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">A year has gone and the moon is bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">A gibbous moon like a ghost of woe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I sit by a new-made grave to-night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And my heart is broken&mdash;it's strange, you know.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE TRAMPS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 31em;"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Can</span> you recall, dear comrade, when we tramped God's land together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And we sang the old, old Earth-song, for our youth was very sweet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we drank and fought and lusted, as we mocked at tie and tether,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Along the road to Anywhere, the wide world at our feet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Along the road to Anywhere, when each day had its story;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When time was yet our vassal, and life's jest was still unstale;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When peace unfathomed filled our hearts as, bathed in amber glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Along the road to Anywhere we watched the sunsets pale.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas! the road to Anywhere is pitfalled with disaster;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There's hunger, want, and weariness, yet O we loved it so!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As on we tramped exultantly, and no man was our master,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And no man guessed what dreams were ours, as swinging heel and toe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We tramped the road to Anywhere, the magic road to Anywhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The tragic road to Anywhere, such dear, dim years ago.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
+<h2><i>L'ENVOI</i></h2>
+
+<div class="poem" style="width: 27em;"><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> who have lived in the Land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You who have trusted the trail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You who are strong to withstand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You who are swift to assail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Songs have I sung to beguile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Vintage of desperate years<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hard as a harlot's smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bitter as unshed tears.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i8">Little of joy or mirth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Little of ease I sing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Sagas of men of earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Humanly suffering,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Such as you all have done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Savagely faring forth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Sons of the midnight sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Argonauts of the North.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i0">Far in the land God forgot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Glimmers the lure of your trail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still in your lust are you taught<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Even to win is to fail.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still must you follow and fight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under the vampire wing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There in the long, long night<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hoping and vanquishing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="istanza">
+<span class="i8">Husbandmen of the Wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Reaping a barren gain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Scourged by desire, reconciled<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Unto disaster and pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">These my songs are for you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">You who are seared with the brand:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">God knows I have tried to be true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Please God you will understand.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="hd3"><i>Printed in Great Britain by</i><br />
+UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED<br />
+WOKING AND LONDON.</p>
+
+<div class="trn"><p><b>Transcriber's Note:</b>
+Inconsistent hyphenation has been retained.
+Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note, whilst
+significant amendments have been listed below.</p>
+
+<ul><li>P. <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, 'greyling' amended to <i>grayling</i>.</li>
+
+<li>P. <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, 'trial' amended to <i>trail</i>.</li>
+
+<li>P. <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, 'sidways' amended to <i>sideways</i>.</li></ul></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Songs of a Sourdough, by Robert W. Service
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of a Sourdough, by Robert W. Service
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Songs of a Sourdough
+
+Author: Robert W. Service
+
+Release Date: May 20, 2008 [EBook #25546]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF A SOURDOUGH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Clarke, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+_Songs of a Sourdough_
+
+
+
+
+_"Songs from Overseas"_
+
+
+SONGS OF A SOURDOUGH. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
+
+BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
+
+LYRA NIGERIAE. By "ADAMU" (E. C. ADAMS).
+
+SOUTH AFRICA, AND OTHER POEMS. By A. VINE HALL.
+
+SONGS OUT OF EXILE (RHODESIAN RHYMES). By CULLEN GOULDSBURY.
+
+COWBOY SONGS. By JOHN A. LOMAX.
+
+RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
+
+THE HELL-GATE OF SOISSONS, AND OTHER POEMS. By HERBERT KAUFMAN.
+
+THE WAITING WOMAN. By HERBERT KAUFMAN.
+
+FROM THE OUTPOSTS. By CULLEN GOULDSBURY.
+
+RHYMES OF A RED CROSS MAN. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
+
+
+LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, LTD.
+
+
+
+
+ _Songs of a Sourdough_
+
+
+          _By
+   Robert W. Service_
+
+
+        _London
+  T. Fisher Unwin, Ltd.
+    Adelphi Terrace_
+
+
+
+
+ _First Fifteen Impressions published in Canada
+        Sixteenth Impression,      1907
+            (First English Edition)
+        Seventeenth Impression,    1908
+        Eighteenth Impression,     1908
+        Nineteenth Impression,     1909
+        Twentieth Impression,      1909
+        Twenty-first Impression,   1909
+        Twenty-second Impression,  1910
+        Twenty-third Impression,   1910
+        Twenty-fourth Impression,  1911
+        Twenty-fifth Impression,   1912
+        Twenty-sixth Impression,   1913
+        Twenty-seventh Impression, 1913
+        Twenty-eighth Impression,  1914
+        Twenty-ninth Impression,   1915
+        Thirtieth Impression,      1915
+        Thirty-first Impression,   1916
+        Thirty-second Impression,  1916
+        Thirty-third Impression,   1916_
+
+
+(_All rights reserved_)
+
+
+
+
+To
+
+C. M.
+
+
+
+
+    _The lonely sunsets flare forlorn
+      Down valleys dreadly desolate;
+    The lordly mountains soar in scorn,
+      As still as death, as stern as fate._
+
+          _The lonely sunsets flame and die;
+            The giant valleys gulp the night;
+          The monster mountains scrape the sky,
+            Where eager stars are diamond-bright._
+
+    _So gaunt against the gibbous moon,
+      Piercing the silence velvet-piled,
+    A lone wolf howls his ancient rune,
+      The fell arch-spirit of the Wild._
+
+          _O outcast land! O leper land!
+            Let the lone wolf-cry all express--
+          The hate insensate of thy hand,
+            Thy heart's abysmal loneliness._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                     PAGE
+ THE LAW OF THE YUKON                  11
+ THE PARSON'S SON                      17
+ THE SPELL OF THE YUKON                21
+ THE CALL OF THE WILD                  25
+ THE LONE TRAIL                        28
+ THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH            31
+ THE THREE VOICES                      34
+ THE PINES                             36
+ THE HARPY                             39
+ THE LURE OF LITTLE VOICES             43
+ THE SONG OF THE WAGE-SLAVE            46
+ GRIN                                  49
+ THE SHOOTING OF DAN MCGREW            51
+ THE CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE            56
+ MY MADONNA                            62
+ UNFORGOTTEN                           63
+ THE RECKONING                         64
+ QUATRAINS                             66
+ THE MEN THAT DON'T FIT IN             68
+ MUSIC IN THE BUSH                     70
+ THE RHYME OF THE REMITTANCE MAN       73
+ THE LOW-DOWN WHITE                    76
+ THE LITTLE OLD LOG CABIN              78
+ THE YOUNGER SON                       81
+ THE MARCH OF THE DEAD                 85
+ "FIGHTING MAC"                        89
+ THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL               93
+ THE RHYME OF THE RESTLESS ONES        96
+ NEW YEAR'S EVE                        99
+ COMFORT                              103
+ PREMONITION                          105
+ THE TRAMPS                           106
+ L'ENVOI                              108
+
+
+
+
+Songs of a Sourdough
+
+
+
+
+THE LAW OF THE YUKON
+
+
+    This is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain:
+    "Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane.
+    Strong for the red rage of battle; sane, for I harry them sore;
+    Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core;
+    Swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat,
+    Sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat.
+    Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones;
+    Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons;
+    Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat;
+    But the others--the misfits, the failures--I trample under my feet.
+    Dissolute, damned, and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,
+    Ye would send me the spawn of your gutters--Go! take back your spawn
+          again.
+
+    "Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway;
+    From my ruthless throne I have ruled alone for a million years and a
+          day;
+    Hugging my mighty treasure, waiting for man to come:
+    Till he swept like a turbid torrent, and after him swept--the scum.
+    The pallid pimp of the dead-line, the enervate of the pen,
+    One by one I weeded them out, for all that I sought was--Men.
+    One by one I dismayed them, frighting them sore with my glooms;
+    One by one I betrayed them unto my manifold dooms.
+    Drowned them like rats in my rivers, starved them like curs on my
+          plains,
+    Rotted the flesh that was left them, poisoned the blood in their veins;
+    Burst with my winter upon them, searing forever their sight,
+    Lashed them with fungus-white faces, whimpering wild in the night;
+    Staggering blind through the storm-whirl, stumbling mad through the
+          snow,
+    Frozen stiff in the ice pack, brittle and bent like a bow;
+    Featureless, formless, forsaken, scented by wolves in their flight,
+    Left for the wind to make music through ribs that are glittering white;
+    Gnawing the black crust of failure, searching the pit of despair,
+    Crooking the toe in the trigger, trying to patter a prayer;
+    Going outside with an escort, raving with lips all afoam;
+    Writing a cheque for a million, drivelling feebly of home;
+    Lost like a louse in the burning ... or else in tented town
+    Seeking a drunkard's solace, sinking and sinking down;
+    Steeped in the slime at the bottom, dead to a decent world,
+    Lost 'mid the human flotsam, far on the frontier hurled;
+    In the camp at the bend of the river, with its dozen saloons aglare,
+    Its gambling dens a-riot, its gramophones all a-blare;
+    Crimped with the crimes of a city, sin-ridden and bridled with lies,
+    In the hush of my mountained vastness, in the flush of my midnight
+          skies.
+    Plague-spots, yet tools of my purpose, so natheless I suffer them
+          thrive,
+    Crushing my Weak in their clutches, that only my Strong may survive.
+
+    "But the others, the men of my mettle, the men who would 'stablish
+          my fame,
+    Unto its ultimate issue, winning me honour, not shame;
+    Searching my uttermost valleys, fighting each step as they go,
+    Shooting the wrath of my rapids, scaling my ramparts of snow;
+    Ripping the guts of my mountains, looting the beds of my creeks,
+    Them will I take to my bosom, and speak as a mother speaks.
+    I am the land that listens, I am the land that broods;
+    Steeped in eternal beauty, crystalline waters and woods.
+    Long have I waited lonely, shunned as a thing accurst,
+    Monstrous, moody, pathetic, the last of the lands and the first;
+    Visioning camp-fires at twilight, sad with a longing forlorn,
+    Feeling my womb o'er-pregnant with the seed of cities unborn.
+    Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway,
+    And I wait for the men who will win me--and I will not be won in a day;
+    And I will not be won by weaklings, subtile, suave, and mild,
+    But by men with the hearts of vikings, and the simple faith of a child;
+    Desperate, strong, and resistless, unthrottled by fear or defeat,
+    Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat.
+
+    "Lofty I stand from each sister land, patient and wearily wise,
+    With the weight of a world of sadness in my quiet, passionless eyes;
+    Dreaming alone of a people, dreaming alone of a day,
+    When men shall not rape my riches, and curse me and go away;
+    Making a bawd of my bounty, fouling the hand that gave--
+    Till I rise in my wrath and I sweep on their path and I stamp them
+          into a grave.
+    Dreaming of men who will bless me, of women esteeming me good,
+    Of children born in my borders, of radiant motherhood;
+    Of cities leaping to stature, of fame like a flag unfurled,
+    As I pour the tide of my riches in the eager lap of the world."
+
+    This is the Law of the Yukon, that only the Strong shall thrive;
+    That surely the Weak shall perish, and only the Fit survive.
+    Dissolute, damned, and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,
+    This is the Will of the Yukon,--Lo! how she makes it plain!
+
+
+
+
+THE PARSON'S SON
+
+
+    _This is the song of the parson's son, as he squats in his shack alone,
+    On the wild, weird nights when the Northern Lights shoot up from the
+          frozen zone,
+    And it's sixty below, and couched in the snow the hungry huskies moan._
+
+    "I'm one of the Arctic brotherhood, I'm an old-time pioneer.
+    I came with the first--O God! how I've cursed this Yukon--but still
+          I'm here.
+    I've sweated athirst in its summer heat, I've frozen and starved in
+          its cold;
+    I've followed my dreams by its thousand streams, I've toiled and
+          moiled for its gold.
+
+    "Look at my eyes--been snow-blind twice; look where my foot's half
+          gone;
+    And that gruesome scar on my left cheek where the frost-fiend bit to
+          the bone.
+    Each one a brand of this devil's land, where I've played and I've
+          lost the game,
+    A broken wreck with a craze for 'hooch,' and never a cent to my name.
+
+    "This mining is only a gamble, the worst is as good as the best;
+    I was in with the bunch and I might have come out right on top with
+          the rest;
+    With Cormack, Ladue and Macdonald--O God! but it's hell to think
+    Of the thousands and thousands I've squandered on cards and women
+          and drink.
+
+    "In the early days we were just a few, and we hunted and fished around,
+    Nor dreamt by our lonely camp-fires of the wealth that lay under the
+          ground.
+    We traded in skins and whiskey, and I've often slept under the shade
+    Of that lone birch-tree on Bonanza, where the first big find was made.
+
+    "We were just like a great big family, and every man had his squaw,
+    And we lived such a wild, free, fearless life beyond the pale of the
+          law;
+    Till sudden there came a whisper, and it maddened us every man,
+    And I got in on Bonanza before the big rush began.
+
+    "Oh, those Dawson days, and the sin and the blaze, and the town all
+          open wide!
+    (If God made me in His likeness, sure He let the devil inside.)
+    But we all were mad, both the good and the bad, and as for the
+          women, well--
+    No spot on the map in so short a space has hustled more souls to hell.
+
+    "Money was just like dirt there, easy to get and to spend.
+    I was all caked in on a dance-hall jade, but she shook me in the end.
+    It put me queer, and for near a year I never drew sober breath,
+    Till I found myself in the bughouse ward with a claim staked out on
+          death.
+
+    "Twenty years in the Yukon, struggling along its creeks;
+    Roaming its giant valleys, scaling its god-like peaks;
+    Bathed in its fiery sunsets, fighting its fiendish cold,
+    Twenty years in the Yukon ... twenty years--and I'm old.
+
+    "Old and weak, but no matter, there's 'hooch' in the bottle still.
+    I'll hitch up the dogs to-morrow, and mush down the trail to Bill.
+    It's so long dark, and I'm lonesome--I'll just lay down on the bed,
+    To-morrow I'll go ... to-morrow ... I guess I'll play on the red.
+
+    "... Come, Kit, your pony is saddled. I'm waiting, dear, in the
+          court ...
+    ... Minnie, you devil, I'll kill you if you skip with that flossy
+          sport ...
+    ... How much does it go to the pan, Bill?... play up, School, and
+          play the game ...
+    ... Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name ..."
+
+    _This was the song of the parson's son, as he lay in his bunk alone,
+    Ere the fire went out and the cold crept in, and his blue lips
+          ceased to moan,
+    And the hunger-maddened malamutes had torn him flesh from bone._
+
+
+
+
+THE SPELL OF THE YUKON
+
+
+    I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
+      I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
+    Was it famine or scurvy--I fought it,
+      I hurled my youth into the grave.
+    I wanted the gold and I got it--
+      Came out with a fortune last fall,--
+    Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,
+      And somehow the gold isn't all.
+
+    No! There's the land. (Have you seen it?)
+      It's the cussedest land that I know,
+    From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it,
+      To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
+    Some say God was tired when He made it;
+      Some say it's a fine land to shun;
+    Maybe: but there's some as would trade it
+      For no land on earth--and I'm one.
+
+    You come to get rich (damned good reason),
+      You feel like an exile at first;
+    You hate it like hell for a season,
+      And then you are worse than the worst.
+    It grips you like some kinds of sinning;
+      It twists you from foe to a friend;
+    It seems it's been since the beginning;
+      It seems it will be to the end.
+
+    I've stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow
+      That's plumb-full of hush to the brim;
+    I've watched the big, husky sun wallow
+      In crimson and gold, and grow dim,
+    Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,
+      And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;
+    And I've thought that I surely was dreaming,
+      With the peace o' the world piled on top.
+
+    The summer--no sweeter was ever;
+      The sunshiny woods all athrill;
+    The grayling aleap in the river,
+      The bighorn asleep on the hill.
+    The strong life that never knows harness;
+      The wilds where the caribou call;
+    The freshness, the freedom, the farness--
+      O God! how I'm stuck on it all.
+
+    The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
+      The white land locked tight as a drum,
+    The cold fear that follows and finds you,
+      The silence that bludgeons you dumb.
+    The snows that are older than history,
+      The woods where the weird shadows slant;
+    The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,
+      I've bade 'em good-bye--but I can't.
+
+    There's a land where the mountains are nameless,
+      And the rivers all run God knows where;
+    There are lives that are erring and aimless,
+      And deaths that just hang by a hair;
+    There are hardships that nobody reckons;
+      There are valleys unpeopled and still;
+    There's a land--oh, it beckons and beckons,
+      And I want to go back--and I will.
+
+    They're making my money diminish;
+      I'm sick of the taste of champagne.
+    Thank God! when I'm skinned to a finish
+      I'll pike to the Yukon again.
+    I'll fight--and you bet it's no sham-fight;
+      It's hell!--but I've been there before;
+    And it's better than this by a damsite--
+      So me for the Yukon once more.
+
+    There's gold, and it's haunting and haunting;
+      It's luring me on as of old;
+    Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting,
+      So much as just finding the gold.
+    It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder,
+      It's the forests where silence has lease;
+    It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
+      It's the stillness that fills me with peace.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALL OF THE WILD
+
+
+    Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
+      Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
+    Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
+      Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
+    Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking
+          through it,
+      Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
+    Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;
+      Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.
+
+    Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sage-brush desolation,
+      The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
+    Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
+      And learned to know the desert's little ways?
+    Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges,
+      Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
+    Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes?
+      Then listen to the wild--it's calling you.
+
+    Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig
+          a-quiver?
+      (Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies.)
+    Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
+      Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
+    Have you marked the map's void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
+      Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
+    And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses?
+      Then hearken to the wild--it's wanting you.
+
+    Have you suffered, starved, and triumphed grovelled, down, yet
+          grasped at glory,
+      Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
+    "Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
+      Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
+    Have you seen God in His splendours, heard the text that nature
+          renders?
+      (You'll never hear it in the family pew.)
+    The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things--
+      Then listen to the wild--it's calling you.
+
+    They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their
+          preaching,
+      They have soaked you in convention through and through;
+    They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching--
+      But can't you hear the wild?--it's calling you.
+    Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
+      Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
+    There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
+      And the wild is calling, calling ... let us go.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE TRAIL
+
+
+    _Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
+    Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.
+    Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-bye;
+    The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die._
+
+    The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;
+    You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways
+          divide;
+    And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,
+    Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.
+    And somehow you're sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy
+          needs,
+    And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.
+    And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the tongue swells out of
+          the mouth,
+    And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.
+    And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone
+          camp-fire,
+    And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of hunger-goaded desire.
+    And sometimes it leads to the Southland, to the swamp where the
+          orchid glows,
+    And you rave to your grave with the fever, and they rob the corpse
+          for its clothes.
+    And sometimes it leads to the Northland, and the scurvy softens your
+          bones,
+    And your flesh dints in like putty, and you spit out your teeth like
+          stones.
+    And sometimes it leads to a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea,
+    And you sit and stare at the empty glare where the gulls wait greedily.
+    And sometimes it leads to an Arctic trail, and the snows where your
+          torn feet freeze,
+    And you whittle away the useless clay, and crawl on your hands and
+          knees.
+    Often it leads to the dead-pit; always it leads to pain;
+    By the bones of your brothers ye know it, but oh, to follow you're
+          fain.
+    By your bones they will follow behind you, till the ways of the
+          world are made plain.
+
+    _Bid good-bye to sweetheart, bid good-bye to friend;
+    The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end.
+    Tarry not, and fear not, chosen of the true;
+    Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you._
+
+
+
+
+THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH
+
+
+    There where the mighty mountains bare their fangs unto the moon;
+    There where the sullen sun-dogs glare in the snow-bright, bitter noon,
+    And the glacier-gutted streams sweep down at the clarion call of June:
+
+    There where the livid tundras keep their tryst with the tranquil snows;
+    There where the Silences are spawned, and the light of hell-fire flows
+    Into the bowl of the midnight sky, violet, amber, and rose:
+
+    There where the rapids churn and roar, and the ice-floes bellowing run;
+    Where the tortured, twisted rivers of blood rush to the setting sun--
+    I've packed my kit and I'm going, boys, ere another day is done.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I knew it would call, or soon or late, as it calls the whirring wings;
+    It's the olden lure, it's the golden lure, it's the lure of the
+          timeless things;
+    And to-night, O God of the trails untrod, how it whines in my
+          heart-strings!
+
+    I'm sick to death of your well-groomed gods, your make-believe and
+          your show;
+    I long for a whiff of bacon and beans, a snug shake-down in the snow,
+    A trail to break, and a life at stake, and another bout with the foe;
+
+    With the raw-ribbed Wild that abhors all life, the wild that would
+          crush and rend;
+    I have clinched and closed with the naked North, I have learned to
+          defy and defend;
+    Shoulder to shoulder we've fought it out--yet the Wild must win in
+          the end.
+
+    I have flouted the Wild. I have followed its lure, fearless,
+          familiar, alone;
+    By all that the battle means and makes I claim that land for mine own;
+    Yet the Wild must win, and a day will come when I shall be overthrown.
+
+    Then when as wolf-dogs fight we've fought, the lean wolf-land and I;
+    Fought and bled till the snows are red under the reeling sky;
+    Even as lean wolf-dog goes down will I go down and die.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE VOICES
+
+
+    The waves have a story to tell me,
+      As I lie on the lonely beach;
+    Chanting aloft in the pine-tops,
+      The wind has a lesson to teach;
+    But the stars sing an anthem of glory
+      I cannot put into speech.
+
+    The waves tell of ocean spaces,
+      Of hearts that are wild and brave,
+    Of populous city places,
+      Of desolate shores they lave;
+    Of men who sally in quest of gold
+      To sink in an ocean grave.
+
+    The wind is a mighty roamer;
+      He bids me keep me free,
+    Clean from the taint of the gold-lust,
+      Hardy and pure as he;
+    Cling with my love to nature
+      As a child to the mother-knee.
+
+    But the stars throng out in their glory,
+      And they sing of the God in man;
+    They sing of the mighty Master,
+      Of the loom His fingers span;
+    Where a star or a soul is a part of the whole,
+      And weft in the wondrous plan.
+
+    Here by the camp-fire's flicker,
+      Deep in my blanket curled,
+    I long for the peace of the pine-gloom
+      When the scroll of the Lord is unfurled,
+    And the wind and the wave are silent,
+      And world is singing to world.
+
+
+
+
+THE PINES
+
+
+    We sleep in the sleep of ages, the bleak, barbarian pines;
+    The grey moss drapes us like sages, and closer we lock our lines,
+    And deeper we clutch through the gelid gloom where never a sunbeam
+          shines.
+
+    On the flanks of the storm-gored ridges are our black battalions
+          massed;
+    We surge in a host to the sullen coast, and we sing in the ocean blast;
+    From empire of sea to empire of snow we grip our empire fast.
+
+    To the niggard lands were we driven; 'twixt desert and foe are we
+          penned.
+    To us was the Northland given, ours to stronghold and defend;
+    Ours till the world be riven in the crash of the utter end.
+
+    Ours from the bleak beginning, through the aeons of death-like sleep;
+    Ours from the shock when the naked rock was hurled from the hissing
+          deep;
+    Ours through the twilight ages of weary glacier-creep.
+
+    Wind of the East, wind of the West, wandering to and fro,
+    Chant your songs in our topmost boughs, that the sons of men may know
+    The peerless pine was the first to come, and the pine will be last
+          to go!
+
+    We pillar the halls of perfumed gloom; we plume where the eagles soar;
+    The North-wind swoops from the brooding Pole, and our ancients crash
+          and roar;
+    But where one falls from the crumbling walls shoots up a hardy score.
+
+    We spring from the gloom of the canyon's womb; in the valley's lap
+          we lie;
+    From the white foam-fringe where the breakers cringe to the peaks
+          that tusk the sky
+    We climb, and we peer in the crag-locked mere that gleams like a
+          golden eye,--
+
+    Gain to the verge of the hog-back ridge where the vision ranges free:
+    Pines and pines and the shadow of pines as far as the eye can see;
+    A steadfast legion of stalwart knights in dominant empery.
+
+    Sun, moon and stars, give answer; shall we not staunchly stand
+    Even as now, forever, wards of the wilder strand,
+    Sentinels of the stillness, lords of the last lone land!
+
+
+
+
+THE HARPY
+
+
+    _There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she;
+    She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three;
+    And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity._
+
+    There is no hope for such as I, on earth nor yet in Heaven;
+    Unloved I live, unloved I die, unpitied, unforgiven;
+    A loathed jade I ply my trade, unhallowed and unshriven.
+
+    I paint my cheeks, for they are white, and cheeks of chalk men hate;
+    Mine eyes with wine I make to shine, that men may seek and sate;
+    With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait.
+
+    Until they come, the nightly scum, with drunken eyes aflame;
+    Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones--'tis I who know their shame;
+    The gods ye see are brutes to me--and so I play my game.
+
+    For life is not the thing we thought, and not the thing we plan;
+    And woman in a bitter world must do the best she can;
+    Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke, and serve the will of man;
+
+    Must serve his need and ever feed the flame of his desire;
+    Though be she loved for love alone, or be she loved for hire;
+    For every man since life began is tainted with the mire.
+
+    And though you know he love you so, and set you on love's throne,
+    Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs, and let your heart be stone,
+    Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.
+
+    From love's close kiss to hell's abyss is one sheer flight, I trow;
+    And wedding-ring and bridal bell are will-o'-wisps of woe;
+    And 'tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.
+
+    Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged upon the lamb, their prey,
+    With siren smile and serpent guile I make the wolf-pack pay;
+    With velvet paws and flensing claws, a tigress roused to slay.
+
+    One who in youth sought truest truth, and found a devil's lies;
+    A symbol of the sin of man, a human sacrifice:
+    Yet shall I blame on man the shame? Could it be otherwise?
+
+    Was I not born to walk in scorn where others walk in pride?
+    The Maker marred, and evil-starred I drift upon His tide;
+    And He alone shall judge His own, so I His judgment bide.
+
+    _Fate has written a tragedy; its name is "The Human Heart."
+    The theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer's part:
+    The Devil enters the prompter's box and the play is ready to start._
+
+
+
+
+THE LURE OF LITTLE VOICES
+
+
+    There's a cry from out the Loneliness--Oh, listen, Honey, listen!
+      Do you hear it, do you fear it, you're a-holding of me so?
+    You're a-sobbing in your sleep, dear, and your lashes, how they
+          glisten--
+      Do you hear the Little Voices all a-begging me to go?
+
+    All a-begging me to leave you. Day and night they're pleading, praying,
+      On the North-wind, on the West-wind, from the peak and from the
+          plain;
+    Night and day they never leave me--do you know what they are saying?
+      "He was ours before you got him, and we want him once again."
+
+    Yes, they're wanting me, they're haunting me, the awful lonely places;
+      They're whining and they're whimpering as if each had a soul;
+    They're calling from the wilderness, the vast and god-like spaces,
+      The stark and sullen solitudes that sentinel the Pole.
+
+    They miss my little camp-fires, ever brightly, bravely gleaming
+      In the womb of desolation where was never man before;
+    As comradeless I sought them, lion-hearted, loving, dreaming;
+      And they hailed me as a comrade, and they loved me evermore.
+
+    And now they're all a-crying, and it's no use me denying:
+      The spell of them is on me and I'm helpless as a child;
+    My heart is aching, aching, but I hear them sleeping, waking;
+      It's the Lure of Little Voices, it's the mandate of the Wild.
+
+    I'm afraid to tell you, Honey, I can take no bitter leaving;
+      But softly in the sleep-time from your love I'll steal away.
+    Oh, it's cruel, dearie, cruel, and it's God knows how I'm grieving;
+      But His Loneliness is calling and He knows I must obey.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE WAGE-SLAVE
+
+
+    When the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay,
+    I hope that it won't be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say.
+    And I hope that it won't be heaven, with some of the parsons I've met--
+    All I want is just quiet, just to rest and forget.
+    Look at my face, toil-furrowed; look at my calloused hands;
+    Master, I've done Thy bidding, wrought in Thy many lands--
+    Wrought for the little masters, big-bellied they be, and rich;
+    I've done their desire for a daily hire, and I die like a dog in a
+          ditch.
+    I have used the strength Thou hast given, Thou knowest I did not shirk;
+    Threescore years of labour--Thine be the long day's work.
+    And now, Big Master, I'm broken and bent and twisted and scarred,
+    But I've held my job, and Thou knowest, and Thou wilt not judge me
+          hard.
+    Thou knowest my sins are many, and often I've played the fool--
+    Whiskey and cards and women, they made me the devil's tool.
+    I was just like a child with money: I flung it away with a curse,
+    Feasting a fawning parasite, or glutting a harlot's purse,
+    Then back to the woods repentant, back to the mill or the mine,
+    I, the worker of workers, everything in my line.
+    Everything hard but headwork (I'd no more brains than a kid),
+    A brute with brute strength to labour, doing as I was bid;
+    Living in camps with men-folk, a lonely and loveless life;
+    Never knew kiss of sweetheart, never caress of wife.
+    A brute with brute strength to labour, and they were so far above--
+    Yet I'd gladly have gone to the gallows for one little look of Love.
+    I with the strength of two men, savage and shy and wild--
+    Yet how I'd ha' treasured a woman, and the sweet, warm kiss of a child.
+    Well, 'tis Thy world, and Thou knowest. I blaspheme and my ways be
+          rude;
+    But I've lived my life as I found it, and I've done my best to be good;
+    I, the primitive toiler, half naked, and grimed to the eyes,
+    Sweating it deep in their ditches, swining it stark in their styes,
+    Hulling down forests before me, spanning tumultuous streams;
+    Down in the ditch building o'er me palaces fairer than dreams;
+    Boring the rock to the ore-bed, driving the road through the fen,
+    Resolute, dumb, uncomplaining, a man in a world of men.
+    Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands;
+    Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands.
+    Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west,
+    And the long, long shift is over ... Master, I've earned it--Rest.
+
+
+
+
+GRIN
+
+
+    If you're up against a bruiser and you're getting knocked about--
+                                                            Grin.
+    If you're feeling pretty groggy, and you're licked beyond a doubt--
+                                                            Grin.
+    Don't let him see you're funking, let him know with every clout,
+    Though your face is battered to a pulp, your blooming heart is stout;
+    Just stand upon your pins until the beggar knocks you out--
+                                                            And grin.
+
+    This life's a bally battle, and the same advice holds true,
+                                                            Of grin.
+    If you're up against it badly, then it's only one on you,
+                                                            So grin.
+    If the future's black as thunder, don't let people see you're blue;
+    Just cultivate a cast-iron smile of joy the whole day through;
+    If they call you "Little Sunshine," wish that _they'd_ no troubles,
+          too--
+                                                            You may--grin.
+
+    Rise up in the morning with the will that, smooth or rough,
+                                                            You'll grin.
+    Sink to sleep at midnight, and although you're feeling tough,
+                                                            Yet grin.
+    There's nothing gained by whining, and you're not that kind of stuff;
+    You're a fighter from away back, and you _won't_ take a rebuff;
+    Your trouble is that you don't know when you have had enough--
+                                                            Don't give in.
+    If Fate should down you, just get up and take another cuff;
+    You may bank on it that there is no philosophy like bluff
+                                                            And grin.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHOOTING OF DAN MCGREW
+
+
+    A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
+    The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
+    Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
+    And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known
+          as Lou.
+
+    When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and
+          the glare,
+    There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty and loaded
+          for bear.
+    He looked like a man with a foot in the grave, and scarcely the
+          strength of a louse,
+    Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks
+          for the house.
+    There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched
+          ourselves for a clue;
+    But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan
+          McGrew.
+
+    There's men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard
+          like a spell;
+    And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;
+    With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,
+    As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one
+          by one.
+    Then I got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he'd do,
+    And I turned my head--and there watching him was the lady that's
+          known as Lou.
+
+    His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of
+          daze,
+    Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.
+    The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the
+          stool,
+    So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like
+          a fool.
+    In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him
+          sway;
+    Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands--my God! but that man
+          could play!
+
+    Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear,
+    And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could
+          _hear_;
+    With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold,
+    A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck
+          called gold;
+    While high overhead, green, yellow, and red, the North Lights swept
+          in bars--
+    Then you've a haunch what the music meant ... hunger and night and
+          the stars.
+
+    And hunger not of the belly kind, that's banished with bacon and beans;
+    But the gnawing hunger of lonely men for a home and all that it means;
+    For a fireside far from the cares that are, four walls and a roof
+          above;
+    But oh! so cramful of cosy joy, and crowned with a woman's love;
+    A woman dearer than all the world, and true as Heaven is true--
+    (God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge,--the lady that's
+          known as Lou.)
+
+    Then on a sudden the music changed, so soft that you scarce could hear;
+    But you felt that your life had been looted clean of all that it
+          once held dear;
+    That some one had stolen the woman you loved; that her love was a
+          devil's lie;
+    That your guts were gone, and the best for you was to crawl away and
+          die.
+    'Twas the crowning cry of a heart's despair, and it thrilled you
+          through and through--
+    "I guess I'll make it a spread misere," said Dangerous Dan McGrew.
+
+    The music almost died away ... then it burst like a pent-up flood;
+    And it seemed to say, "Repay, repay," and my eyes were blind with
+          blood.
+    The thought came back of an ancient wrong, and it stung like a
+          frozen lash,
+    And the lust awoke to kill, to kill ... then the music stopped with
+          a crash,
+
+    And the stranger turned, and his eyes they burned in a most peculiar
+          way;
+    In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him
+          sway;
+    Then his lips went in in a kind of grin, and he spoke, and his voice
+          was calm;
+    And, "Boys," says he, "you don't know me, and none of you care a damn;
+    But I want to state, and my words are straight, and I'll bet my poke
+          they're true,
+    That one of you is a hound of hell ... and that one is Dan McGrew."
+
+    Then I ducked my head, and the lights went out, and two guns blazed
+          in the dark;
+    And a woman screamed, and the lights went up, and two men lay stiff
+          and stark;
+    Pitched on his head, and pumped full of lead, was Dangerous Dan McGrew,
+    While the man from the creeks lay clutched to the breast of the lady
+          that's known as Lou.
+
+    These are the simple facts of the case, and I guess I ought to know;
+    They say that the stranger was crazed with "hooch," and I'm not
+          denying it's so.
+    I'm not so wise as the lawyer guys, but strictly between us two--
+    The woman that kissed him and--pinched his poke--was the lady that's
+          known as Lou.
+
+
+
+
+THE CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE
+
+
+    _There are strange things done in the midnight sun
+      By the men who moil for gold;
+    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
+      That would make your blood run cold;
+    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
+      But the queerest they ever did see
+    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
+      I cremated Sam McGee._
+
+    Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
+    Why he left his home in the South to roam round the Pole God only
+          knows.
+    He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a
+          spell;
+    Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in
+          hell."
+
+    On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
+    Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven
+          nail.
+    If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze, till sometimes we
+          couldn't see;
+    It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
+
+    And that very night as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the
+          snow,
+    And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and
+          toe,
+    He turned to me, and, "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
+    And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
+
+    Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no: then he says with a
+          sort of moan:
+    "It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled
+          clean through to the bone.
+    Yet 'taint being dead, it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains:
+    So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last
+          remains."
+
+    A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
+    And we started on at the streak of dawn, but God! he looked ghastly
+          pale.
+    He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in
+          Tennessee;
+    And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
+
+    There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror
+          driven,
+    With a corpse half-hid that I couldn't get rid because of a promise
+          given;
+    It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your
+          brawn and brains,
+    But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last
+          remains."
+
+    Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern
+          code.
+    In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I
+          cursed that load.
+    In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies,
+          round in a ring,
+    Howled out their woes to the homeless snows--O God! how I loathed
+          the thing!
+
+    And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
+    And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
+    The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give
+          in;
+    And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
+
+    Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
+    It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the
+          "Alice May."
+    And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen
+          chum:
+    Then, "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
+
+    Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
+    Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
+    The flames just soared, and the furnace roared--such a blaze you
+          seldom see;
+    And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
+
+    Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
+    And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began
+          to blow.
+    It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I
+          don't know why;
+    And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
+
+    I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
+    But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
+    I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep
+          inside.
+    I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked," ... then the door I
+          opened wide.
+
+    And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the
+          furnace roar;
+    And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close
+          that door.
+    It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and
+          storm--
+    Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've
+          been warm."
+
+    _There are strange things done in the midnight sun
+      By the men who moil for gold;
+    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
+      That would make your blood run cold;
+    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
+      But the queerest they ever did see
+    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
+      I cremated Sam McGee._
+
+
+
+
+MY MADONNA
+
+
+    I haled me a woman from the street,
+      Shameless, but, oh, so fair!
+    I bade her sit in the model's seat,
+      And I painted her sitting there.
+
+        I hid all trace of her heart unclean;
+          I painted a babe at her breast;
+        I painted her as she might have been
+          If the Worst had been the Best.
+
+    She laughed at my picture, and went away.
+      Then came, with a knowing nod,
+    A connoisseur, and I heard him say:
+      "'Tis Mary, the Mother of God."
+
+        So I painted a halo round her hair,
+          And I sold her, and took my fee,
+        And she hangs in the church of Saint Hilaire,
+          Where you and all may see.
+
+
+
+
+UNFORGOTTEN
+
+
+    I know a garden where the lilies gleam,
+      And one who lingers in the sunshine there;
+      She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,
+    And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream.
+
+        I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,
+          And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,
+          Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary--then
+        He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.
+
+    And ah, it's strange, for desolate and dim
+      Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;
+      Yet he is in the garden by her side,
+    And she is in the garret there with him.
+
+
+
+
+THE RECKONING
+
+
+    It's fine to have a blow-out in a fancy restaurant,
+    With terrapin and canvas-back and all the wine you want;
+    To enjoy the flowers and music, watch the pretty women pass,
+    Smoke a choice cigar, and sip the wealthy water in your glass;
+    It's bully in a high-toned joint to eat and drink your fill,
+    But it's quite another matter when you
+                                                  Pay the bill.
+
+    It's great to go out every night on fun or pleasure bent,
+    To wear your glad rags always, and to never save a cent;
+    To drift along regardless, have a good time every trip;
+    To hit the high spots sometimes, and to let your chances slip;
+    To know you're acting foolish, yet to go on fooling still,
+    Till Nature calls a show-down, and you
+                                                  Pay the bill.
+
+    Time has got a little bill--get wise while yet you may,
+    For the debit side's increasing in a most alarming way;
+    The things you had no right to do, the things you should have done,
+    They're all put down: it's up to you to pay for every one.
+    So eat, drink, and be merry, have a good time if you will,
+    But God help you when the time comes, and you
+                                                  Foot the bill.
+
+
+
+
+QUATRAINS
+
+
+    One said: Thy life is thine to make or mar,
+    To flicker feebly, or to soar, a star;
+    It lies with thee--the choice is thine, is thine,
+    To hit the ties or drive thy auto-car.
+
+    I answer Her: The choice is mine--ah, no!
+    We all were made or marred long, long ago.
+    The parts are written: hear the super wail:
+    "Who is stage-managing this cosmic show?"
+
+    Blind fools of fate, and slaves of circumstance,
+    Life is a fiddler, and we all must dance.
+    From gloom where mocks that will-o'-wisp, Freewill,
+    I heard a voice cry: "Say, give us a chance."
+
+    Chance! Oh, there is no chance. The scene is set.
+    Up with the curtain! Man, the marionette,
+    Resumes his part. The gods will work the wires.
+    They've got it all down fine, you bet, you bet!
+
+    It's all decreed: the mighty earthquake crash;
+    The countless constellations' wheel and flash;
+    The rise and fall of empires, war's red tide,
+    The composition of your dinner hash.
+
+    There's no haphazard in this world of ours:
+    Cause and effect are grim, relentless powers.
+    They rule the world. (A king was shot last night.
+    Last night I held the joker and both bowers.)
+
+    From out the mesh of fate our heads we thrust.
+    We can't do what we would, but what we must.
+    Heredity has got us in a cinch.
+    (Consoling thought, when you've been on a "bust.")
+
+    Hark to the song where spheral voices blend:
+    "There's no beginning, never will be end."
+    It makes us nutty; hang the astral chimes!
+    The table's spread; come, let us dine, my friend.
+
+
+
+
+THE MEN THAT DON'T FIT IN
+
+
+    There's a race of men that don't fit in,
+      A race that can't stay still;
+    So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
+      And they roam the world at will.
+    They range the field and they rove the flood,
+      And they climb the mountain's crest;
+    Theirs is the curse of the gipsy blood,
+      And they don't know how to rest.
+
+        If they just went straight they might go far;
+          They are strong and brave and true;
+        But they're always tired of the things that are,
+          And they want the strange and new.
+        They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
+          What a deep mark I would make!"
+        So they chop and change, and each fresh move
+          Is only a fresh mistake.
+
+    And each forgets, as he strips and runs,
+      With a brilliant, fitful pace,
+    It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
+      Who win in the lifelong race.
+    And each forgets that his youth has fled,
+      Forgets that his prime is past,
+    Till he stands one day with a hope that's dead
+      In the glare of the truth at last.
+
+        He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
+          He has just done things by half.
+        Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
+          And now is the time to laugh.
+        Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
+          He was never meant to win;
+        He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
+          He's a man who won't fit in.
+
+
+
+
+MUSIC IN THE BUSH
+
+
+    O'er the dark pines she sees the silver moon,
+      And in the west, all tremulous, a star;
+    And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune
+      Of cow-bells jangled in the fields afar.
+
+    Quite listless, for her daily stent is done,
+      She stands, sad exile, at her rose-wreathed door,
+    And sends her love eternal with the sun
+      That goes to gild the land she'll see no more.
+
+    The grave, gaunt pines imprison her sad gaze,
+      All still the sky and darkling drearily;
+    She feels the chilly breath of dear, dead days
+      Come sifting through the alders eerily.
+
+    Oh, how the roses riot in their bloom!
+      The curtains stir as with an ancient pain;
+    Her old piano gleams from out the gloom,
+      And waits and waits her tender touch in vain.
+
+    But now her hands like moonlight brush the keys
+      With velvet grace, melodious delight;
+    And now a sad refrain from overseas
+      Goes sobbing on the bosom of the night.
+
+    And now she sings. (O singer in the gloom,
+      Voicing a sorrow we can ne'er express,
+    Here in the Farness where we few have room
+      Unshamed to show our love and tenderness,
+
+    Our hearts will echo, till they beat no more,
+      That song of sadness and of motherland;
+    And stretched in deathless love to England's shore,
+      Some day she'll hearken and she'll understand.)
+
+    A prima-donna in the shining past,
+      But now a mother growing old and grey,
+    She thinks of how she held a people fast
+      In thrall, and gleaned the triumphs of a day.
+
+    She sees a sea of faces like a dream;
+      She sees herself a queen of song once more;
+    She sees lips part in rapture, eyes agleam;
+      She sings as never once she sang before.
+
+    She sings a wild, sweet song that throbs with pain,
+      The added pain of life that transcends art,
+    A song of home, a deep, celestial strain,
+      The glorious swan-song of a dying heart.
+
+    A lame tramp comes along the railway track,
+      A grizzled dog whose day is nearly done:
+    He passes, pauses, then comes slowly back
+      And listens there--an audience of one.
+
+    She sings--her golden voice is passion-fraught
+      As when she charmed a thousand eager ears;
+    He listens trembling, and she knows it not,
+      And down his hollow cheeks roll bitter tears.
+
+    She ceases and is still, as if to pray;
+      There is no sound, the stars are all alight--
+    Only a wretch who stumbles on his way,
+      Only a vagrant sobbing in the night.
+
+
+
+
+THE RHYME OF THE REMITTANCE MAN
+
+
+    There's a four-pronged buck a-swinging in the shadow of my cabin,
+      And it roamed the velvet valley till to-day;
+    But I tracked it by the river, and I trailed it in the cover,
+      And I killed it on the mountain miles away.
+    Now I've had my lazy supper, and the level sun is gleaming
+      On the water where the silver salmon play;
+    And I light my little corn-cob, and I linger softly dreaming,
+      In the twilight, of a land that's far away.
+
+    Far away, so faint and far, is flaming London, fevered Paris,
+      That I fancy I have gained another star;
+    Far away the din and hurry, far away the sin and worry,
+      Far away--God knows they cannot be too far.
+    Gilded galley-slaves of Mammon--how my purse-proud brothers taunt me!
+      I might have been as well-to-do as they
+    Had I clutched like them my chances, learned their wisdom, crushed
+          my fancies,
+      Starved my soul and gone to business every day.
+
+    Well, the cherry bends with blossom, and the vivid grass is springing,
+      And the star-like lily nestles in the green;
+    And the frogs their joys are singing, and my heart in tune is ringing,
+      And it doesn't matter what I might have been,
+    While above the scented pine-gloom, piling heights of golden glory,
+      The sun-god paints his canvas in the west;
+    I can couch me deep in clover, I can listen to the story
+      Of the lazy, lapping water--it is best.
+    While the trout leaps in the river, and the blue grouse thrills the
+          cover,
+      And the frozen snow betrays the panther's track,
+    And the robin greets the dayspring with the rapture of a lover,
+      I am happy, and I'll nevermore go back.
+    For I know I'd just be longing for the little old log cabin,
+      With the morning-glory clinging to the door,
+    Till I loathed the city places, cursed the care on all the faces,
+      Turned my back on lazar London evermore.
+
+    So send me far from Lombard Street, and write me down a failure;
+      Put a little in my purse and leave me free.
+    Say: "He turned from Fortune's offering to follow up a pale lure,
+      He is one of us no longer--let him be."
+    I am one of you no longer: by the trails my feet have broken,
+      The dizzy peaks I've scaled, the camp-fire's glow,
+    By the lonely seas I've sailed in--yea, the final word is spoken,
+      I am signed and sealed to nature. Be it so.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOW-DOWN WHITE
+
+
+    This is the pay-day up at the mines, when the bearded brutes come down;
+    There's money to burn in the streets to-night, so I've sent my
+          klooch to town,
+    With a haggard face and a ribband of red entwined in her hair of brown.
+
+    And I know at the dawn she'll come reeling home with the bottles,
+          one, two, three;
+    One for herself to drown her shame, and two big bottles for me,
+    To make me forget the thing I am and the man I used to be.
+
+    To make me forget the brand of the dog, as I crouch in this hideous
+          place;
+    To make me forget once I kindled the light of love in a lady's face,
+    Where even the squalid Siwash now holds me a black disgrace.
+
+    Oh, I have guarded my secret well! And who would dream as I speak
+    In a tribal tongue like a rogue unhung, 'mid the ranch-house filth
+          and reek,
+    I could roll to bed with a Latin phrase, and rise with a verse of
+          Greek?
+
+    Yet I was a senior prizeman once, and the pride of a college eight;
+    Called to the bar--my friends were true! but they could not keep me
+          straight;
+    Then came the divorce, and I went abroad and "died" on the River Plate.
+
+    But I'm not dead yet; though with half a lung there isn't time to
+          spare,
+    And I hope that the year will see me out, and, thank God, no one
+          will care--
+    Save maybe the little slim Siwash girl with the rose of shame in her
+          hair.
+
+    She will come with the dawn, and the dawn is near; I can see its
+          evil glow,
+    Like a corpse-light seen through a frosty pane in a night of want
+          and woe;
+    And yonder she comes, by the bleak bull-pines, swift staggering
+          through the snow.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE OLD LOG CABIN
+
+
+    When a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town,
+      An' he ain't got nothin' comin', an' he can't afford ter eat,
+    An' he's in a fix fer lodgin', an' he wanders up an' down,
+      An' you'd fancy he'd been boozin', he's so locoed 'bout the feet;
+    When he's feelin' sneakin' sorry, an' his belt is hangin' slack,
+      An' his face is peaked an' grey-like, an' his heart gits down an'
+          whines,
+    Then he's apt ter git a-thinkin' an' a-wishin' he was back
+      In the little ol' log cabin in the shadder of the pines.
+
+    When he's on the blazin' desert, an' his canteen's sprung a leak,
+      An' he's all alone an' crazy, an' he's crawlin' like a snail,
+    An' his tongue's so black an' swollen that it hurts him fer to speak,
+      An' he gouges down fer water, an' the raven's on his trail;
+    When he's done with care and cursin', an' he feels more like to cry,
+      An' he sees ol' Death a-grinnin', an' he thinks upon his crimes,
+    Then he's like ter hev' a vision, as he settles down ter die,
+      Of the little ol' log cabin an' the roses an' the vines.
+
+    Oh, the little ol' log cabin, it's a solemn shinin' mark
+      When a feller gits ter sinnin', an' a-goin' ter the wall,
+    An' folks don't understand him, an' he's gropin' in the dark,
+      An' he's sick of bein' cursed at, an' he's longin' fer his call:
+    When the sun of life's a-sinkin' you can see it 'way above,
+      On the hill from out the shadder in a glory 'gin the sky,
+    An' your mother's voice is callin', an' her arms are stretched in love,
+      An' somehow you're glad you're goin', an' you ain't a-scared to die;
+    When you'll be like a kid again, an' nestle to her breast,
+      An' never leave its shelter, an' forget, an' love, an' rest.
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNGER SON
+
+
+    If you leave the gloom of London and you seek a glowing land,
+      Where all except the flag is strange and new,
+    There's a bronzed and stalwart fellow who will grip you by the hand,
+      And greet you with a welcome warm and true;
+    For he's your younger brother, the one you sent away,
+      Because there wasn't room for him at home;
+    And now he's quite contented, and he's glad he didn't stay,
+      And he's building Britain's greatness o'er the foam.
+
+    When the giant herd is moving at the rising of the sun,
+      And the prairie is lit with rose and gold;
+    And the camp is all a-bustle, and the busy day's begun,
+      He leaps into the saddle sure and bold.
+    Through the round of heat and hurry, through the racket and the rout,
+      He rattles at a pace that nothing mars;
+    And when the night-winds whisper, and camp-fires flicker out,
+      He is sleeping like a child beneath the stars.
+
+    When the wattle-blooms are drooping in the sombre she-oak glade,
+      And the breathless land is lying in a swoon,
+    He leaves his work a moment, leaning lightly on his spade,
+      And he hears the bell-bird chime the Austral noon.
+    The parakeets are silent in the gum-tree by the creek;
+      The ferny grove is sunshine-steeped and still;
+    But the dew will gem the myrtle in the twilight ere he seek
+      His little lonely cabin on the hill.
+
+    Around the purple, vine-clad slope the argent river dreams;
+      The roses almost hide the house from view;
+    A snow-peak of the Winterberg in crimson splendour gleams;
+      The shadow deepens down on the karroo.
+    He seeks the lily-scented dusk beneath the orange-tree:
+      His pipe in silence glows and fades and glows,
+    And then two little maids come out and climb upon his knee,
+      And one is like the lily, one the rose.
+    He sees his white sheep dapple o'er the green New Zealand plain,
+      And where Vancouver's shaggy ramparts frown,
+    When the sunlight threads the pine-gloom he is fighting might and main
+      To clinch the rivets of an Empire down.
+    You will find him toiling, toiling, in the south or in the west,
+      A child of nature, fearless, frank and free;
+    And the warmest heart that beats for you is beating in his breast,
+      And he sends you loyal greeting o'er the sea.
+
+    You've a brother in the Army, you've another in the Church;
+      One of you is a diplomatic swell;
+    You've had the pick of everything and left him in the lurch;
+      And yet I think he's doing very well.
+    I'm sure his life is happy, and he doesn't envy yours;
+      I know he loves the land his pluck has won;
+    And I fancy in the years unborn, while England's fame endures,
+      She will come to bless with pride--the Younger Son.
+
+
+
+
+THE MARCH OF THE DEAD
+
+
+    The cruel war was over--oh, the triumph was so sweet!
+      We watched the troops returning, through our tears;
+    There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street,
+      And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers.
+    And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew
+          between,
+      The bells were pealing madly to the sky;
+    And every one was shouting for the Soldiers of the Queen,
+      And the glory of an age was passing by.
+
+    And then there came a shadow, swift and sudden, dark and drear;
+      The bells were silent, not an echo stirred.
+    The flags were drooping sullenly, the men forgot to cheer;
+      We waited, and we never spoke a word.
+    The sky grew darker, darker, till from out the gloomy rack
+      There came a voice that checked the heart with dread:
+    "Tear down, tear down your bunting now, and hang up sable black;
+      They are coming--it's the Army of the Dead."
+
+    They were coming, they were coming, gaunt and ghastly, sad and slow;
+      They were coming, all the crimson wrecks of pride;
+    With faces seared, and cheeks red smeared, and haunting eyes of woe,
+      And clotted holes the khaki couldn't hide.
+    Oh, the clammy brow of anguish! the livid, foam-flecked lips!
+      The reeling ranks of ruin swept along!
+    The limb that trailed, the hand that failed, the bloody finger-tips!
+      And oh, the dreary rhythm of their song!
+
+    "They left us on the veldt-side, but we felt we couldn't stop,
+      On this, our England's crowning festal day;
+    We're the men of Magersfontein, we're the men of Spion Kop,
+      Colenso,--we're the men who had to pay.
+    We're the men who paid the blood-price. Shall the grave be all our
+          gain?
+      You owe us. Long and heavy is the score.
+    Then cheer us for our glory now, and cheer us for our pain,
+      And cheer us as ye never cheered before."
+
+    The folks were white and stricken, and each tongue seemed weighed
+          with lead;
+      Each heart was clutched in hollow hand of ice;
+    And every eye was staring at the horror of the dead,
+      The pity of the men who paid the price.
+    They were come, were come to mock us, in the first flush of our peace;
+      Through writhing lips their teeth were all agleam;
+    They were coming in their thousands--oh, would they never cease!
+      I closed my eyes, and then--it was a dream.
+
+    There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet gleaming street;
+      The town was mad, a man was like a boy.
+    A thousand flags were flaming where the sky and city meet;
+      A thousand bells were thundering the joy.
+    There was music, mirth and sunshine; but some eyes shone with regret:
+      And while we stun with cheers our homing braves,
+    O God, in Thy great mercy, let us nevermore forget
+      The graves they left behind, the bitter graves.
+
+
+
+
+"FIGHTING MAC"
+
+A LIFE TRAGEDY
+
+
+    A pistol-shot rings round and round the world:
+      In pitiful defeat a warrior lies.
+    A last defiance to dark Death is hurled,
+      A last wild challenge shocks the sunlit skies.
+      Alone he falls with wide, wan, woeful eyes:
+    Eyes that could smile at death--could not face shame.
+
+    Alone, alone he paced his narrow room,
+      In the bright sunshine of that Paris day;
+    Saw in his thought the awful hand of doom;
+      Saw in his dream his glory pass away;
+      Tried in his heart, his weary heart, to pray:
+    "O God! who made me, give me strength to face
+    The spectre of this bitter, black disgrace."
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    The burn brawls darkly down the shaggy glen,
+      The bee-kissed heather blooms around the door;
+    He sees himself a barefoot boy again,
+      Bending o'er page of legendary lore.
+      He hears the pibroch, grips the red claymore,
+    Runs with the Fiery Cross a clansman true,
+    Sworn kinsman of Rob Roy and Roderick Dhu.
+
+    Eating his heart out with a wild desire,
+      One day, behind his counter trim and neat,
+    He hears a sound that sets his brain afire--
+      The Highlanders are marching down the street.
+      Oh, how the pipes shrill out, the mad drums beat!
+    "On to the gates of Hell, my Gordons gay!"
+    He flings his hated yardstick far away.
+
+    He sees the sullen pass, high-crowned with snow,
+      Where Afghans cower with eyes of gleaming hate.
+    He hurls himself against the hidden foe.
+      They try to rally--ah, too late, too late!
+      Again, defenceless, with fierce eyes that wait
+    For death, he stands, like baited bull at bay,
+    And flouts the Boers, that mad Majuba day.
+
+    He sees again the murderous Soudan,
+      Blood-slaked and rapine swept. He seems to stand
+    Upon the gory plain of Omdurman.
+      Then Magersfontein, and supreme command
+      Over his Highlanders. To shake his hand
+    A King is proud, and princes call him friend,
+    And glory crowns his life--and now the end.
+
+    The awful end. His eyes are dark with doom;
+      He hears the shrapnel shrieking overhead:
+    He sees the ravaged ranks, the flame-stabbed gloom.
+      Oh, to have fallen! the battle-field his bed,
+      With Wauchope and his glorious brother-dead.
+    Why was he saved for this, for this? And now
+    He raises the revolver to his brow.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    In many a Highland home, framed with rude art,
+      You'll find his portrait, rough-hewn, stern and square:
+    It's graven in the Fuyam fellah's heart;
+      The Ghurka reads it at his evening prayer;
+      The raw lands know it, where the fierce suns glare;
+    The Dervish fears it. Honour to his name,
+    Who holds aloft the shield of England's fame.
+
+    Mourn for our hero, men of Northern race!
+      We do not know his sin; we only know
+    His sword was keen. He laughed death in the face,
+      And struck, for Empire's sake, a giant blow.
+      His arm was strong. Ah! well they learnt, the foe.
+    The echo of his deeds is ringing yet,
+    Will ring for aye. All else ... let us forget.
+
+
+
+
+THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL
+
+
+    An angel was tired of heaven, as he lounged in the golden street;
+    His halo was tilted sideways, and his harp lay mute at his feet;
+    So the Master stooped in His pity, and gave him a pass to go,
+    For the space of a moon, to the earth-world, to mix with the men below.
+
+    He doffed his celestial garments, scarce waiting to lay them straight;
+    He bade goodbye to Peter, who stood by the golden gate;
+    The sexless singers of heaven chanted a fond farewell,
+    And the imps looked up as they pattered on the red-hot flags of hell.
+
+    Never was seen such an angel: eyes of a heavenly blue,
+    Features that shamed Apollo, hair of a golden hue;
+    The women simply adored him, his lips were like Cupid's bow;
+    But he never ventured to use them--and so they voted him slow.
+
+    Till at last there came One Woman, a marvel of loveliness,
+    And she whispered to him: "Do you love me?" And he answered that
+          woman, "Yes."
+    And she said: "Put your arms around me, and kiss me, and hold me--so--"
+    But fiercely he drew back, saying: "This thing is wrong, and I know."
+
+    Then sweetly she mocked his scruples, and softly she him beguiled:
+    "You, who are verily man among men, speak with the tongue of a child.
+    We have outlived the old standards; we have burst, like an
+          over-tight thong,
+    The ancient, outworn, puritanic traditions of Right and Wrong."
+
+    Then the Master feared for His angel, and called him again to His side,
+    For oh, the woman was wondrous, and oh, the angel was tried.
+    And deep in his hell sang the Devil, and this was the strain of his
+          song:
+    "The ancient, outworn, puritanic traditions of Right and Wrong."
+
+
+
+
+THE RHYME OF THE RESTLESS ONES
+
+
+    We couldn't sit and study for the law;
+      The stagnation of a bank we couldn't stand;
+    For our riot blood was surging, and we didn't need much urging
+    To excitements and excesses that are banned.
+    So we took to wine and drink and other things,
+      And the devil in us struggled to be free;
+    Till our friends rose up in wrath, and they pointed out the path,
+    And they paid our debts and packed us o'er the sea.
+
+    Oh, they shook us off and shipped us o'er the foam,
+    To the larger lands that lure a man to roam;
+            And we took the chance they gave
+            Of a far and foreign grave,
+    And we bade goodbye for evermore to home.
+
+    And some of us are climbing on the peak,
+      And some of us are camping on the plain;
+    By pine and palm you'll find us, with never claim to bind us,
+    By track and trail you'll meet us once again.
+
+    We are fated serfs to freedom--sky and sea;
+      We have failed where slummy cities overflow;
+    But the stranger ways of earth know our pride and know our worth,
+    And we go into the dark as fighters go.
+
+    Yes, we go into the night as brave men go,
+    Though our faces they be often streaked with woe;
+            Yet we're hard as cats to kill,
+            And our hearts are reckless still,
+    And we've danced with death a dozen times or so.
+
+    And you'll find us in Alaska after gold,
+      And you'll find us herding cattle in the South.
+    We like strong drink and fun; and when the race is run,
+      We often die with curses in our mouth.
+
+    We are wild as colts unbroke, but never mean;
+      Of our sins we've shoulders broad to bear the blame;
+    But we'll never stay in town, and we'll never settle down,
+      And we'll never have an object or an aim.
+
+    No, there's that in us that time can never tame;
+    And life will always seem a careless game;
+            And they'd better far forget--
+            Those who say they love us yet--
+    Forget, blot out with bitterness our name.
+
+
+
+
+NEW YEAR'S EVE
+
+
+    It's cruel cold on the water-front, silent and dark and drear;
+      Only the black tide weltering, only the hissing snow;
+    And I, alone, like a storm-tossed wreck, on this night of the glad
+          New Year,
+      Shuffling along in the icy wind, ghastly and gaunt and slow.
+
+    They're playing a tune in McGuffy's saloon, and it's cheery and
+          bright in there
+      (God! but I'm weak--since the bitter dawn, and never a bite of food);
+    I'll just go over and slip inside--I mustn't give way to despair--
+      Perhaps I can bum a little booze if the boys are feeling good.
+
+    They'll jeer at me, and they'll sneer at me, and they'll call me a
+          whiskey soak;
+      ("Have a drink? Well, thankee kindly, sir, I don't mind if I do.")
+    A drivelling, dirty gin-joint fiend, the butt of the bar-room joke;
+      Sunk and sodden and hopeless--"Another? Well, here's to you!"
+
+    McGuffy is showing a bunch of the boys how Bob Fitzsimmons hit;
+      The barman is talking of Tammany Hall, and why the ward boss got
+          fired;
+    I'll just sneak into a corner, and they'll let me alone a bit;
+      The room is reeling round and round ... O God, but I'm tired, I'm
+          tired....
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Roses she wore on her breast that night. Oh, but their scent was sweet;
+      Alone we sat on the balcony, and the fan-palms arched above;
+    The witching strain of a waltz by Strauss came up to our cool retreat,
+      And I prisoned her little hand in mine, and I whispered my plea of
+          love.
+
+    Then sudden the laughter died on her lips, and lowly she bent her head;
+      And oh, there came in the deep, dark eyes a look that was heaven
+          to see
+    And the moments went, and I waited there, and never a word was said,
+      And she plucked from her bosom a rose of red, and shyly gave it to
+          me.
+
+    Then the music swelled to a crash of joy, and the lights blazed up
+          like day;
+      And I held her fast to my throbbing heart, and I kissed her bonny
+          brow;
+    "She is mine, she is mine for evermore!" the violins seemed to say,
+      And the bells were ringing the New Year in--O God! I can hear them
+          now.
+
+    Don't you remember that long, last waltz, with its sobbing, sad
+          refrain?
+      Don't you remember that last goodbye, and the dear eyes dim with
+          tears?
+    Don't you remember that golden dream, with never a hint of pain,
+      Of lives that would blend like an angel-song in the bliss of the
+          coming year?
+
+    Oh, what have I lost! What have I lost! Ethel, forgive, forgive!
+      The red, red rose is faded now, and it's fifty years ago.
+    'Twere better to die a thousand deaths than live each day as I live!
+      I have sinned, I have sunk to the lowest depths--but oh, I have
+          suffered so!
+
+    Hark! Oh hark! I can hear the bells!... Look! I can see her there,
+      Fair as a dream ... but it fades ... And now--I can hear the
+          dreadful hum
+    Of the crowded court ... See! the Judge looks down ... NOT GUILTY,
+          my Lord, I swear ...
+      The bells, I can hear the bells again ... Ethel, I come, I come!...
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    "Rouse up, old man, it's twelve o'clock. You can't sleep here, you
+          know.
+      Say! ain't you got no sentiment? Lift up your muddled head;
+    Have a drink to the glad New Year, a drop before you go--
+      You darned old dirty hobo ... My God! Here, boys! He's DEAD!"
+
+
+
+
+COMFORT
+
+
+    Say! You've struck a heap of trouble--
+      Bust in business, lost your wife;
+    No one cares a cent about you,
+      You don't care a cent for life;
+    Hard luck has of hope bereft you,
+      Health is failing, wish you'd die--
+    Why, you've still the sunshine left you,
+      And the big, blue sky.
+
+            Sky so blue it makes you wonder
+              If it's heaven shining through;
+            Earth so smiling 'way out yonder,
+              Sun so bright it dazzles you;
+            Birds a-singing, flowers a-flinging
+              All their fragrance on the breeze;
+            Dancing shadows, green, still meadows--
+              Don't you mope, you've still got these.
+
+    These, and none can take them from you;
+      These, and none can weigh their worth.
+    What! you're tired and broke and beaten?--
+      Why, you're rich--you've got the earth!
+    Yes, if you're a tramp in tatters,
+      While the blue sky bends above,
+    You've got nearly all that matters,
+      You've got God, and God is love.
+
+
+
+
+PREMONITION
+
+
+    'Twas a year ago and the moon was bright
+      (Oh, I remember so well, so well),
+    I walked with my love in a sea of light,
+      And the voice of my sweet was a silver bell.
+
+        And sudden the moon grew strangely dull,
+          And sudden my love had taken wing;
+        I looked on the face of a grinning skull,
+          I strained to my heart a ghastly thing.
+
+    'Twas but fantasy, for my love lay still
+      In my arms with her tender eyes aglow,
+    And she wondered why my lips were chill,
+      Why I was silent and kissed her so.
+
+        A year has gone and the moon is bright,
+          A gibbous moon like a ghost of woe;
+        I sit by a new-made grave to-night,
+          And my heart is broken--it's strange, you know.
+
+
+
+
+THE TRAMPS
+
+
+    Can you recall, dear comrade, when we tramped God's land together,
+      And we sang the old, old Earth-song, for our youth was very sweet;
+    When we drank and fought and lusted, as we mocked at tie and tether,
+      Along the road to Anywhere, the wide world at our feet.
+
+    Along the road to Anywhere, when each day had its story;
+      When time was yet our vassal, and life's jest was still unstale;
+    When peace unfathomed filled our hearts as, bathed in amber glory,
+      Along the road to Anywhere we watched the sunsets pale.
+
+    Alas! the road to Anywhere is pitfalled with disaster;
+      There's hunger, want, and weariness, yet O we loved it so!
+    As on we tramped exultantly, and no man was our master,
+      And no man guessed what dreams were ours, as swinging heel and toe,
+    We tramped the road to Anywhere, the magic road to Anywhere,
+      The tragic road to Anywhere, such dear, dim years ago.
+
+
+
+
+_L'ENVOI_
+
+
+    _You who have lived in the Land,
+      You who have trusted the trail;
+    You who are strong to withstand,
+      You who are swift to assail;
+    Songs have I sung to beguile,
+      Vintage of desperate years
+    Hard as a harlot's smile,
+      Bitter as unshed tears._
+
+                      _Little of joy or mirth,
+                        Little of ease I sing;
+                      Sagas of men of earth,
+                        Humanly suffering,
+                      Such as you all have done;
+                        Savagely faring forth,
+                      Sons of the midnight sun,
+                        Argonauts of the North._
+
+    _Far in the land God forgot
+      Glimmers the lure of your trail;
+    Still in your lust are you taught
+      Even to win is to fail.
+    Still must you follow and fight
+      Under the vampire wing;
+    There in the long, long night
+      Hoping and vanquishing._
+
+                      _Husbandmen of the Wild,
+                        Reaping a barren gain;
+                      Scourged by desire, reconciled
+                        Unto disaster and pain;
+                      These my songs are for you,
+                        You who are seared with the brand:
+                      God knows I have tried to be true;
+                        Please God you will understand._
+
+
+
+
+ _Printed in Great Britain by_
+ UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED
+ WOKING AND LONDON.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    Inconsistent hyphenation has been retained. Minor typographical
+    errors have been corrected without note, whilst significant
+    amendments have been listed below.
+
+      P. 22, 'greyling' amended to _grayling_.
+      P. 58, 'trial' amended to _trail_.
+      P. 93, 'sidways' amended to _sideways_.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Songs of a Sourdough, by Robert W. Service
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