BOOK IV. The Vortex

THE VORTEX

He burned a hole in the frozen muck; He scratched the icy mould; And there in six-foot dirt he struck A sack or so of gold.

He burned a hole in the Decalogue, And then it came about-- For Fortune's only a lousy rogue-- His "pocket" petered out.

And lo! it was but a year all told, When there in the shadow grim, But six feet deep in the icy mould, They burned a hole for him.

--"The Yukoner."