Songs of a Sourdough Part 4

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 G.o.d! 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 G.o.d."

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 suns.h.i.+ne 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 pa.s.s, Smoke a choice cigar, and sip the wealthy water in your gla.s.s; 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 G.o.d 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 circ.u.mstance, 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 G.o.ds 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