|
Monday,
Aug 12, at LaHave River Campground –
The
Cremation of Sam McGee
by Robert W. Service
Part One
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.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God
only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a
spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d
sooner live in hell.”
On
a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven
nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we
couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
go to Part Two
|
