Part 2

No! no! my mind's made up. I gaze above, Into that sky insensate as a stone; Not for my creed, my country, but my Love Will I stand up and meet my death alone. Then though it be to utter dark I sink, The God that dwells in me is not denied; "Best" triumphs over "Beast", -- and so I think Humanity itself is glorified. . . .

"And now, my butchers, I embrace my fate. Come! let my heart's blood slake the thirsty sod. Curst be the life you offer! Glut your hate! Strike! Strike, you dogs! I'll NOT deny my God."

I saw the spears that seemed a-leap to slay, All quiver earthward at the headman's nod; And in a daze of dream I heard him say: "Go, set him free who serves so well his God!"

The Gramaphone at Fond-Du-Lac

Now Eddie Malone got a swell grammyfone to draw all the trade to his store; An' sez he: "Come along for a season of song, which the like ye had niver before." Then Dogrib, an' Slave, an' Yellow-knife brave, an' Cree in his dinky canoe, Confluated near, to see an' to hear Ed's grammyfone make its dayboo.

Then Ed turned the crank, an' there on the bank they squatted like bumps on a log. For acres around there wasn't a sound, not even the howl of a dog. When out of the horn there sudden was born such a marvellous elegant tone; An' then like a spell on that auddyence fell the voice of its first grammyfone.

"BAD MEDICINE!" cried Old Tom, the One-eyed, an' made for to jump in the lake; But no one gave heed to his little stampede, so he guessed he had made a mistake. Then Roll-in-the-Mud, a chief of the blood, observed in choice Chippewayan: "You've brought us canned beef, an' it's now my belief that this here's a case of 'CANNED MAN'."

Well, though I'm not strong on the Dago in song, that sure got me goin' for fair. There was Crusoe an' Scotty, an' Ma'am Shoeman Hank, an' Melber an' Bonchy was there. 'Twas silver an' gold, an' sweetness untold to hear all them big guinneys sing; An' thick all around an' inhalin' the sound, them Indians formed in a ring.

So solemn they sat, an' they smoked an' they spat, but their eyes sort o' glistened an' shone; Yet niver a word of approvin' occurred till that guy Harry Lauder came on. Then hunter of moose, an' squaw an' papoose jest laughed till their stummicks was sore; Six times Eddie set back that record an' yet they hollered an' hollered for more.

I'll never forget that frame-up, you bet; them caverns of sunset agleam; Them still peaks aglow, them shadders below, an' the lake like a petrified dream; The teepees that stood by the edge of the wood; the evenin' star blinkin' alone; The peace an' the rest, an' final an' best, the music of Ed's grammyfone.

Then sudden an' clear there rang on my ear a song mighty simple an' old; Heart-hungry an' high it thrilled to the sky, all about "silver threads in the gold". 'Twas tender to tears, an' it brung back the years, the mem'ries that hallow an' yearn; 'Twas home-love an' joy, 'twas the thought of my boy . . . an' right there I vowed I'd return.

Big Four-finger Jack was right at my back, an' I saw with a kind o' surprise, He gazed at the lake with a heartful of ache, an' the tears irrigated his eyes. An' sez he: "Cuss me, pard! but that there hits me hard; I've a mother does nuthin' but wait. She's turned eighty-three, an' she's only got me, an' I'm scared it'll soon be too late."

* * * * *

On Fond-du-lac's shore I'm hearin' once more that blessed old grammyfone play. The summer's all gone, an' I'm still livin' on in the same old haphazardous way. Oh, I cut out the booze, an' with muscles an' thews I corralled all the coin to go back; But it wasn't to be: he'd a mother, you see, so I -- SLIPPED IT TO FOUR-FINGER JACK.

The Land of Beyond

Have ever you heard of the Land of Beyond, That dreams at the gates of the day? Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies, And ever so far away; Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke galls, And ye of the trail overfond, With saddle and pack, by paddle and track, Let's go to the Land of Beyond!

Have ever you stood where the silences brood, And vast the horizons begin, At the dawn of the day to behold far away The goal you would strive for and win? Yet ah! in the night when you gain to the height, With the vast pool of heaven star-spawned, Afar and agleam, like a valley of dream, Still mocks you a Land of Beyond.

Thank God! there is always a Land of Beyond For us who are true to the trail; A vision to seek, a beckoning peak, A farness that never will fail; A pride in our soul that mocks at a goal, A manhood that irks at a bond, And try how we will, unattainable still, Behold it, our Land of Beyond!

Sunshine

Flat as a drum-head stretch the haggard snows; The mighty skies are palisades of light; The stars are blurred; the silence grows and grows; Vaster and vaster vaults the icy night. Here in my sleeping-bag I cower and pray: "Silence and night, have pity! stoop and slay."

I have not slept for many, many days. I close my eyes with weariness -- that's all. I still have strength to feed the drift-wood blaze, That flickers weirdly on the icy wall. I still have strength to pray: "God rest her soul, Here in the awful shadow of the Pole."

There in the cabin's alcove low she lies, Still candles gleaming at her head and feet; All snow-drop white, ash-cold, with closed eyes, Lips smiling, hands at rest -- O God, how sweet! How all unutterably sweet she seems. . . . Not dead, not dead indeed -- she dreams, she dreams.

"Sunshine", I called her, and she brought, I vow, God's blessed sunshine to this life of mine. I was a rover, of the breed who plough Life's furrow in a far-flung, lonely line; The wilderness my home, my fortune cast In a wild land of dearth, barbaric, vast.

When did I see her first? Long had I lain Groping my way to life through fevered gloom. Sudden the cloud of darkness left my brain; A velvet bar of sunshine pierced the room, And in that mellow glory aureoled She stood, she stood, all golden in its gold.

Sunshine! O miracle! the earth grew glad; Radiant each blade of grass, each living thing. What a huge strength, high hope, proud will I had! All the wide world with rapture seemed to ring. Would she but wed me? YES: then fared we forth Into the vast, unvintageable North.

III

In Muskrat Land the conies leap, The wavies linger in their flight; The jewelled, snakelike rivers creep; The sun, sad rogue, is out all night; The great wood bison paws the sand, In Muskrat Land, in Muskrat Land.

In Muskrat Land dim streams divide The tundras belted by the sky. How sweet in slim canoe to glide, And dream, and let the world go by! Build gay camp-fires on greening strand! In Muskrat Land, in Muskrat Land.