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The poetry of Robert Service


teddy

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My sister in law bought me a book of this guy's poetry and it really is good stuff. I have heard some of the more well known ones such as, 'The Cremation of Sam McGee' and 'The shooting of Dan McGrew', but never realised he was such a prolific poet. Here's Sam McGee for those who may not have read him:

 

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 â??round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though heâ??d often say in his homely way that â??heâ??d sooner live in hell.â?Â

 

 

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parkaâ??s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes weâ??d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldnâ??t see;

It wasnâ??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 oâ??erhead were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and â??Cap,â? says he, â??Iâ??ll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, Iâ??m asking that you wonâ??t refuse my last request.â?Â

 

 

Well, he seemed so low that I couldnâ??t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:

â??Itâ??s the cursed cold, and itâ??s got right hold till Iâ??m chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet â??taint being deadâ??itâ??s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, youâ??ll cremate my last remains.â?Â

 

 

A palâ??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 wasnâ??t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,

With a corpse half hid that I couldnâ??t get rid, because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: â??You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and itâ??s up to you to cremate those last remains.â?Â

 

 

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 snowsâ??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 Iâ??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 â??Alice May.â?Â

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then â??Here,â? said I, with a sudden cry, â??is my cre-ma-tor-eum.â?Â

 

 

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 roaredâ??such a blaze you seldom see;

Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

 

 

Then I made a hike, for I didnâ??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 donâ??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: â??Iâ??ll just take a peep inside.

I guess heâ??s cooked, and itâ??s time I looked;â? . . . 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: â??Please close that door.

Itâ??s fine in here, but I greatly fear youâ??ll let in the cold and stormâ??

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, itâ??s the first time Iâ??ve been warm.â?Â

 

 

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.

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