قراءة كتاب Derby Day in the Yukon, and Other Poems of the "Northland"
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اللغة: English
Derby Day in the Yukon, and Other Poems of the "Northland"
الصفحة رقم: 2
old man, y' clean forgot my friend, "Swiftwater Bill!"
You was a kid in pettic'uts
When I went in, a man;
Grub-stakin' with two other goats——
We sow'd th' last of our wild oats
An' th' new, clean life began;
We was th' fu'st (an' p'raps th' wu'st) Five Fingers' Rapids ran.
When I went in, a man;
Grub-stakin' with two other goats——
We sow'd th' last of our wild oats
An' th' new, clean life began;
We was th' fu'st (an' p'raps th' wu'st) Five Fingers' Rapids ran.
I staked out Eldorado crick
Long 'fore th' world was told
Them hills from Hunker to St. Mick
Groaned f'r th' drill an' f'r th' pick,
The'r bellies achin' GOLD!
Where many a night th' moon pale white saw me in blankets rolled.
Long 'fore th' world was told
Them hills from Hunker to St. Mick
Groaned f'r th' drill an' f'r th' pick,
The'r bellies achin' GOLD!
Where many a night th' moon pale white saw me in blankets rolled.
At Magnet Gulch I lit my pipe——
Got drunk upon Gold Hill;
I hoofed it cle'r t' Kokusqum——
'Twas ther' I lost my Siwash chum
(She drownded in a spill),
An' Love an' Luck together went from pore old Yukon Bill!
Got drunk upon Gold Hill;
I hoofed it cle'r t' Kokusqum——
'Twas ther' I lost my Siwash chum
(She drownded in a spill),
An' Love an' Luck together went from pore old Yukon Bill!
Big Skookum claim might a-bin mine,
But fortune ther' I missed;
For all I got a-though I sought——
I starved an' thirsted, dug an' fought,
Was d—— plumbago schist!
Ten years of toil, of muck an' spoil; then on th' "Failure list."
But fortune ther' I missed;
For all I got a-though I sought——
I starved an' thirsted, dug an' fought,
Was d—— plumbago schist!
Ten years of toil, of muck an' spoil; then on th' "Failure list."
Labarge; th' Canyon; I was there;
I clumb th' Glacier mound.
I might a-bin a millionaire——
God! think of it, and see me—WHERE?
A bum on Puget Sound!——
At night my roof th' open sky—my pillow th' cold ground.
I clumb th' Glacier mound.
I might a-bin a millionaire——
God! think of it, and see me—WHERE?
A bum on Puget Sound!——
At night my roof th' open sky—my pillow th' cold ground.
Me for th' trail at seventy!
I'm longin' f'r th' track:
I'll try again—no, I'll not fail——
I hear them "Little Voices" wail:
"Come back! come back! come back!"
O, God! how Mem'ry knifes me now an' puts me on th' rack.
I'm longin' f'r th' track:
I'll try again—no, I'll not fail——
I hear them "Little Voices" wail:
"Come back! come back! come back!"
O, God! how Mem'ry knifes me now an' puts me on th' rack.
Yes, yes—I failed! Yes, yes, a drink!
An' then my pipe I'll fill.
Boy, here's t' you—y'r picter's true
Of them old sinners that I knew
On old Che-cha-ko Hill;
But say, old man, y' overlooked my friend, "Swiftwater Bill!"
An' then my pipe I'll fill.
Boy, here's t' you—y'r picter's true
Of them old sinners that I knew
On old Che-cha-ko Hill;
But say, old man, y' overlooked my friend, "Swiftwater Bill!"
DERBY DAY IN THE YUKON
Talk of England's Derby Race; of Kentucky's blue-grass chase;
Epsom Downs an' Frisco "Tanforan" t' boot;
I don't say they ain't done well, but I tell y' even h—ll
Couldn't match th' Yukon racin' malamoot.
Epsom Downs an' Frisco "Tanforan" t' boot;
I don't say they ain't done well, but I tell y' even h—ll
Couldn't match th' Yukon racin' malamoot.
How them dogs they love th' Race! Y' kin see it in th' face
Of th' starvin' scut that hangs aroun' th' claim;
F'r he knows, like you an' me, that th' Derby Day'll be
Th' big jag day—th' glad rag play, that brings th' Yukon fame.
Of th' starvin' scut that hangs aroun' th' claim;
F'r he knows, like you an' me, that th' Derby Day'll be
Th' big jag day—th' glad rag play, that brings th' Yukon fame.
It was Fool's Day f'r th' Race; every husky in his place;
Wasky's dogs was runnin' Billy Brown of Nome;
But at th' Starter's line ranged up Jake Berger's Nine,
Ten t' one they'd bring th' Derby money home!
Wasky's dogs was runnin' Billy Brown of Nome;
But at th' Starter's line ranged up Jake Berger's Nine,
Ten t' one they'd bring th' Derby money home!
Thousands hit th' trail that night; we was out t' see th' sight;
Th' stakes, eleven-thousand-plunks in gold!
Th' thermometer on strike—every bench-claim on th' hike——
An' them leaders b' th' leash y' couldn't hold.
Th' stakes, eleven-thousand-plunks in gold!
Th' thermometer on strike—every bench-claim on th' hike——
An' them leaders b' th' leash y' couldn't hold.
Oh, th' run was cruel hard—th' white frost how it scarred
As they galloped down th' long, unending trail;
The whip cut like th' wind, an' Carey's dog, snow-blind,
Joined his howlin' t' th' screeches of th' gale.
As they galloped down th' long, unending trail;
The whip cut like th' wind, an' Carey's dog, snow-blind,
Joined his howlin' t' th' screeches of th' gale.
Down where Candle's bonfires glow see th' racin' huskies go,
All keen t' win—McCarthy's purp drops dead——
He's thrown out upon th' track f'r th' lean an' hungry pack
Of grey wolves follerin' th' flyin' sled.
All keen t' win—McCarthy's purp drops dead——
He's thrown out upon th' track f'r th' lean an' hungry pack
Of grey wolves follerin' th' flyin' sled.
Two-an'-eighty hours they raced—an' four hunderd-miles they paced,
Them dogs never paused f'r frozen fish 'r drink;
Hung with icicles of foam, the'r lithe bodies stretched whale-bone,—
but they broke the record made by jimmie fink!
Them dogs never paused f'r frozen fish 'r drink;
Hung with icicles of foam, the'r lithe bodies stretched whale-bone,—
but they broke the record made by jimmie fink!
Cursed, an' kicked, an' whipped ahead, th' dumb brutes, staggerin', bled
Where th' whip cut cruel in; but comes th' feast
When at Nome t'morrow night there'll be brawl an' drink, an' fight;
An' no tellin' which is man an' which is beast.
Where th' whip cut cruel in; but comes th' feast
When at Nome t'morrow night there'll be brawl an' drink, an' fight;
An' no tellin' which is man an' which is beast.
Then th' dumb an' winded brute—th' blood-blinded malamoot,
All frosted foam is gaspin' upon th' bar-room floor;
He, the winner of th' race! in th' glory has no place;
He's jes' a slinkin' malamoot when Derby Day is o'er!
All frosted foam is gaspin' upon th' bar-room floor;
He, the winner of th' race! in th' glory has no place;
He's jes' a slinkin' malamoot when Derby Day is o'er!
THE MALAMUTE
Hi, there! Into your harness of thong!
(Whip.) You get into your place;
Give him the lash, Bill. Eh? What's wrong?
See that look in the mal'mute's face:—
Is it devilish cunning o'ermastering pain?
Some lost soul reincarnate again,
Running Sin's last race.
(Whip.) You get into your place;
Give him the lash, Bill. Eh? What's wrong?
See that look in the mal'mute's face:—
Is it devilish cunning o'ermastering pain?
Some lost soul reincarnate again,
Running Sin's last race.
Come skulkin' into the camp last June,
A leprous, mangy cur;
Reasty and rotten—bayed at th' Moon
As if you'd a grudge 'gainst her.
All fester and soil—corruption and boil;
Your evil face like some carved gargoyle,
And you refused to stir
A leprous, mangy cur;
Reasty and rotten—bayed at th' Moon
As if you'd a grudge 'gainst her.
All fester and soil—corruption and boil;
Your evil face like some carved gargoyle,
And you refused to stir
Though I broke th' lash on your back,
You subjugated
You subjugated