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قراءة كتاب Songs of the Prairie
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 7
vain;
The fickle wind seemed scarce to stay a moment at a place—
Now howling in a real attack, now snapping at his face;
And nearing, leering, peering, in the ghastly, ghostly light,
The Thing came softly after as it followed in the night.
A light! a light! a welcome light gleamed friendly from afar:
Oh, can it be—it cannot be—'tis surely not a star?
Nay, nay, it is more warm and near, a happy farmer's home
That beckons to the wanderer, "You need no longer roam."
With eager hope they hastened on, and plied across the plain;
As often as the horses fell they rose to plunge again.
Oh, can it be—it cannot be—'tis surely not a star?
Nay, nay, it is more warm and near, a happy farmer's home
That beckons to the wanderer, "You need no longer roam."
With eager hope they hastened on, and plied across the plain;
As often as the horses fell they rose to plunge again.
The hours moved on, the miles moved on, they followed as a dream
The waning light, the dying light, of that deceitful gleam,
And when at last it seemed the place must almost be in sight,
The light went out! Oh, perfidy! Oh, murderous, mocking light!
'Twas well the ears grew deaf before the howling of the wind,
Nor heard the ghoulish chuckle of the gloating Thing behind.
The waning light, the dying light, of that deceitful gleam,
And when at last it seemed the place must almost be in sight,
The light went out! Oh, perfidy! Oh, murderous, mocking light!
'Twas well the ears grew deaf before the howling of the wind,
Nor heard the ghoulish chuckle of the gloating Thing behind.
The snow lay deep; the horses floundered with the heavy sleigh,
Till, plunging in a sudden drift, they tore the tongue away;
The sleepy driver knew it not, as through his nerveless hands
His hold on life was slipping with the frozen leather bands.
The night was calm and beautiful, the frost had ceased to smart. . . .
The Thing had lept upon him and was tearing at his heart!
Till, plunging in a sudden drift, they tore the tongue away;
The sleepy driver knew it not, as through his nerveless hands
His hold on life was slipping with the frozen leather bands.
The night was calm and beautiful, the frost had ceased to smart. . . .
The Thing had lept upon him and was tearing at his heart!
* * * * * * * *
The room was warm and cosy, and the light was soft and low,
Her presence seemed to radiate a tender, girlish glow,
And when she placed her hand in his, the soft, caressing palm
Was cure for every trouble, and for every pain a balm:
And she whispered, "Sweet, my sweetheart, I'll be faithful, I'll be true;
In the springtime, in the springtime, I will cross the sea to you." . . .
Her presence seemed to radiate a tender, girlish glow,
And when she placed her hand in his, the soft, caressing palm
Was cure for every trouble, and for every pain a balm:
And she whispered, "Sweet, my sweetheart, I'll be faithful, I'll be true;
In the springtime, in the springtime, I will cross the sea to you." . . .
A little bed was fashioned in the fitful firelight glow;
A little boy was murmuring a prayer of long ago;
And mother-hands upon his head, that fondled in his hair,
And sense of quiet comfort and respite from every care;
And a pillow white and downy, and a bed so soft and deep,
And tired lips were lisping, "Now I lay me down to sleep." . . .
A little boy was murmuring a prayer of long ago;
And mother-hands upon his head, that fondled in his hair,
And sense of quiet comfort and respite from every care;
And a pillow white and downy, and a bed so soft and deep,
And tired lips were lisping, "Now I lay me down to sleep." . . .
Again the scene was changed: A flood of mellow, amber light,
That filled the soul with ecstasy of infinite delight;
While crystal-cadenced music tinkled through the yellow glow,
The lullabies of childhood and the songs of long ago;
The sea of God on every hand in silent silver lay:
An atom fell: its circles spread through all eternity.
That filled the soul with ecstasy of infinite delight;
While crystal-cadenced music tinkled through the yellow glow,
The lullabies of childhood and the songs of long ago;
The sea of God on every hand in silent silver lay:
An atom fell: its circles spread through all eternity.
* * * * * * * *
The Thing was gone; its work was done; a lump of lifeless clay
Sat crouching, crouching, crouching in the dawning of the day;
The frozen eyeballs stared upon a wilderness of snow,
And peered into the future, to the Place no man may know.
A she-wolf prowled about the spot, and sniffed below the sleigh,
And howled a melancholy howl, and slunk in fear away.
Sat crouching, crouching, crouching in the dawning of the day;
The frozen eyeballs stared upon a wilderness of snow,
And peered into the future, to the Place no man may know.
A she-wolf prowled about the spot, and sniffed below the sleigh,
And howled a melancholy howl, and slunk in fear away.
Feelin' kind of all run down?
Mighty bad:
Sick and tired o' life in town?
Don't be sad:
What you're needing isn't rest:
Square your shoulders, raise your chest;
Pack your turkey; go out West—
Just be glad!
Mighty bad:
Sick and tired o' life in town?
Don't be sad:
What you're needing isn't rest:
Square your shoulders, raise your chest;
Pack your turkey; go out West—
Just be glad!
Gone astray in No-Man's-Land?
Silly lad!
Ought to have your carcass tanned
With a gad:
Should ha' kept the narrow track:
Never mind, you can't go back;
Things may not be quite so black—
Just be glad!
Silly lad!
Ought to have your carcass tanned
With a gad:
Should ha' kept the narrow track:
Never mind, you can't go back;
Things may not be quite so black—
Just be glad!
Gone and blown in all your cash
On a fad?
Livin' now on soup and hash?
Writin' Dad?
Don't you do it. Here's a tip;
Keep a good stiff upper lip;
Needn't fall because you slip—
Just be glad!
On a fad?
Livin' now on soup and hash?
Writin' Dad?
Don't you do it. Here's a tip;
Keep a good stiff upper lip;
Needn't fall because you slip—
Just be glad!
Friends refuse to help you out?
Don't get mad!
You would be a lazy lout
If they had.
Do not envy place or pelf;
Praise the Lord, you've got your health;
Dig in! Be a man yourself—
Just be glad!
Don't get mad!
You would be a lazy lout
If they had.
Do not envy place or pelf;
Praise the Lord, you've got your health;
Dig in! Be a man yourself—
Just be glad!
All the world may say or do,
Good or bad,
Isn't anything to you—
Just be glad!
Though you work at book or trade,
Though you work with pen or spade,
Hump yourself—you'll make the grade—
Just be glad!
Good or bad,
Isn't anything to you—
Just be glad!
Though you work at book or trade,
Though you work with pen or spade,
Hump yourself—you'll make the grade—
Just be glad!
(Lines suggested in the camp of the Alpine Club of Canada,
Sherbrooke Lake, B. C., August, 1911.)
"I to the hills will lift mine eyes,"
Of old the Psalmist sung,
And we who clutch the worldly
Of old the Psalmist sung,
And we who clutch the worldly