Robert W. Service

“ I hear the hoarse stampeding of an army on my trail, To the last, the greatest gold camp of them all. Beyond the shark-tooth ranges sawing savage at the sky There's a lowering land no white man ever struck; There's gold, there's gold in millions, and I'll find it if I die, And I'm going there once more to try my luck. Maybe I'll fail—what matter? It's a mandate, it's a vow; And when in lands of dreariness and dread You seek the last lone frontier, far beyond your frontiers now, You will find the old prospector, silent, dead. You will find a tattered tent-pole with a ragged robe below it ”

“ And there in a crater deep and vast, ungained, unguessed of men,
The mystery of the Arctic world was flashed into my ken.
For there these poor dim eyes of mine beheld the sight of sights —
That hollow ring was the source and spring of the mystic Northern Lights.
Then I staked that place from crown to base, and I hit the homeward trail.
Ah, God! it was good, though my eyes were blurred, and I crawled like a sickly snail.
In that vast white world where the silent sky communes with the silent snow,
In hunger and cold and misery I wandered to and fro. ”

“ Ice, white ice, like a winding-sheet, sheathing each smoke-grimed wall;
Ice on the stove-pipe, ice on the bed, ice gleaming over all;
Sparkling ice on the dead man’s chest, glittering ice in his hair,
Ice on his fingers, ice in his heart, ice in his glassy stare;
Hard as a log and trussed like a frog, with his arms and legs outspread.
I gazed at the coffin I’d brought for him, and I gazed at the gruesome dead,
And at last I spoke: “Bill liked his joke; but still, goldarn his eyes,
A man had ought to consider his mates in the way he goes and dies.” ”

“ There are times when one wonders if it is real and not the fabric of a dream. But of all its moods its glamour is, perhaps, most felt in that mellow moment that precedes the setting of the sun. From earth and sky exhales a great serenity. In the golden air, a thousand windows shine like casements of romance, the sea melts placidly into the tranquil sky, and the mountains breathe tenderness and calm.
It was at such a moment, reassuring to the soul, that Hugh, for the first time, mounted the seven steps that led to the temple of chance. ”

“ Oh, let them mock my mortal clay, My spirit's deathless as the dawn; Oh, let them shudder as they look . . . I'll be immortal in my Book. And so beside the sullen Seine I fight with dogs for filthy food, Yet know that from my sin and pain Will soar serene a Something Good; Exultantly from shame and wrong A Right, a Glory and a Song.
How charming it is, this Paris of the summer skies! Each morning I leap up with joy in my heart, all eager to begin the day of work. As I eat my breakfast and smoke my pipe, I ponder over my task. ”

“ All up the south side of the cabin they grew, overtopping the eaves in their riotous perfection. They rivalled the poppies in the radiant confusion of their colour, and they were so lavish of blossom we could not pick them fast enough. I think ours was the pioneer garden of the gold-born city, and awakened many to the growth-giving magic of the long, long day.
And it was the joy and pride of Berna's heart. I would sit on the porch of a summer's evening when down the mighty Yukon a sunset of vast and violent beauty flamed and languished, and I would watch her as she worked among her flowers. ”

“ In a flannel shirt from earth's clean dirt, Here, pal, is my calloused hand! Oh, I love each day as a rover may, Nor seek to understand. To ENJOY is good enough for me; The gipsy of God am I; Then here's a hail to each flaring dawn! And here's a cheer to the night that's gone! And may I go a-roaming on Until the day I die! Then every star shall sing to me Its song of liberty; And every morn shall bring to me Its mandate to be free. In every throbbing vein of me I'll feel the vast Earth-call; O body, heart and brain of me Praise Him who made it all!
The Soldier of Fortune
"Deny your God!" ”

“ In their road-house down by the river-trail they waited and watched for prey;
With wine and song they joyed night long, and they slept like swine by day.
For things were done in the Midnight Sun that no tongue will ever tell;
And men there be who walk earth-free, but whose names are writ in hell —
Are writ in flames with the guilty names of Fournier and Labelle.
Put not your trust in a poke of dust would ye sleep the sleep of sin;
For there be those who would rob your clothes ere yet the dawn comes in;
And a prize likewise in a woman’s eyes is a peerless black fox skin. ”

“ There in our awe we crouched and saw with our wild, uplifted eyes
Charge and retire the hosts of fire in the battlefield of the skies.
But all things come to an end at last, and the muskeg melted away,
And frowning down to bar our path a muddle of mountains lay.
And a gorge sheered up in granite walls, and the moose trail crept betwixt;
’twas as if the earth had gaped too far and her stony jaws were fixt.
Then the winter fell with a sudden swoop, and the heavy clouds sagged low,
And earth and sky were blotted out in a whirl of driving snow. ”

“ 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 good-by 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 the 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. ”

“ And as you scrub I sadly fear Your daughters speed the dance to-day. O windmill land and crescent moon! O Columbine and Pierrette! To you my old guitar I tune Ere I forget, ere I forget. . . . So come, good men who toil and tire, Who smoke and sip the kindly cup, Ring round about the tavern fire Ere yet you drink your liquor up; And hear my simple songs of earth, Of youth and truth and living things; Of poverty and proper mirth, Of rags and rich imaginings; Of cock-a-hoop, blue-heavened days, Of hearts elate and eager breath, Of wonder, worship, pity, praise, Of sorrow, sacrifice and death ”

“ Clancy crawled through the vastness; o'er him the hate of the Wild; Full on his face fell the blizzard; cheering his huskies he ran; Fighting, fierce-hearted and tireless, snows that drifted and piled, With ever and ever behind him singing the crazy man. "Sing hey, sing ho, for the ice and snow, And a heart that's ever merry; Let us trim and square with a lover's care (For why should a man be sorry?) A grave deep, deep, with the moon a-peep, A grave in the frozen mould. Sing hey, sing ho, for the winds that blow, And a grave deep down in the ice and snow, A grave in the land of gold." ”

“ Once more I roamed the long street with that awful restless agony in my heart. Where was she, my girl, so precious now it seemed I had lost her? Why does love mean so much to some, so little to others? Perhaps I am the victim of an intensity of temperament, but I craved for her; I visioned evils befalling her; I pierced my heart with dagger-thrusts of fear for her. Oh, if I only knew she was safe and well! Every slim woman I saw in the distance looked to be her, and made my heart leap with emotion. Yet always I chewed on the rind of disappointment. There was never a sign of Berna. ”

“ For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you proved in the cruel test
Of the screaming shell and the battle hell
That my boy was one of the best.
"So you'll live, you'll live, Young Fellow My Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star,
In the wood-note wild and the laugh of the child,
In all sweet things that are.
And you'll never die, my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true;
For all our beauty and hope and joy
We will owe to our lads like you." ”

“ When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads through the crust of the pale blue snow;
When the pine-trees crack like little guns in the silence of the wood,
And the icicles hang down like tusks under the parka hood;
When the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off, and the sky is weirdly lit,
And the careless feel of a bit of steel burns like a red-hot spit;
When the mercury is a frozen ball, and the frost-fiend stalks to kill —
Well, it was just like that that day when I set out to look for Bill. ”