SAM MCGEE The Cremation Of
Poem By Robert W. Service
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go ld ;
The A rc t ic
e s t rang e e ar t hin her g
T
2
s done in t h e mid n
t sun By ight
r il fo o m ho w en he m
tr ail s
hav e
thei r
r se c
ret t a
ke les T ha t w oul d ma
lo rb u o y
od
ld ; o c run
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the
queerest they ever did
see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I c r e m a t e d
.
SAM m c ge e
3
4
N
ow
Sam McGee
was from
Tennessee,
where the cotton
b l o o m s and b l o w s .
Why
he left his home in the Sout h to roam ‘round the Pole,
God only knows . He was always
cold, but the land of g o l d
seemed to hold him like
a spell;
Though h e ’d o f t e n s a y i n h i s h o m e l y w a y t h a t “ h e ’d sooner live in
hell .
”
5
On a Chrismas
Day we were
lik e a d r i v e n
mushing our way over the Dawson
nail.
If our eyes we’d c lose, then the
fun, but the only
m
was Sa
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trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed
lashes froze till s o m e t i m e s we
co uldn’t
s e e ; It wasn’t much
one to w h i m p e r .
McGee
77
er y
nig ht ,a sw el ay
pack
A
tv tha d n
e d tight
in ou r ro be sb en ea th
the snow And
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
8
the nd a , fed re e sw og d th e
sta
rs o’erhe a
d
we re
dancin
tur n
ess;
th
d an e, m
“C
is
to
t
ed
rip, I gu
in
to e,He
ap,” s ys he, “I’ll ca a
sh
ng heel a nd
9
10
Well
he
seemed
so
low
that
I
couldn’t
say
no;
“It’s
the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold
till
I’m
Yet
fair,
I
he says with a sort of moan:
chilled
‘taint
dread So
then
of want you’ll
clean
being the you
through dead—
icy to
cremate
to
the
bone.
my
awful
that
pains;
it’s
grave swear
that,
foul
my
last
remains.”
or
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A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before night fall a
corpse was all that was left of
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SA
M
M CG E E
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There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
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It was lashed to the sleigh ,and it seemed to say: “ you may tax your
brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate my last remains.”
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26 16
CURSE
D
Now
a promise m a d e is a debt u n p a i d , and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were
dumb , in my heart how I cursed the load. In the long,long night, by the firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring. Howled out their woes to the homeless snows-
O
. n g h i t ed the
G od! how i loath
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A
n
d
grow; And on
low;
of ten
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si ng
to
eve r y
day
that
I went, though the
bad, and I felt
The
trail was
th e
hateful thin g, and it
he avy and
quiet
clay
s eemed
to
dogs
wer e
sp e nt
and the grub was getting
bu t
I swore I
would
hearkened with
a g r i n
half
mad,
heavier
not give i n ; And I’d
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T
ill
I
Lebarge,
came and
to a
the derelict
marge
there
Lake
of
lay;
It was jammed in the i c e , but I saw in a trice it wa s called
the
The
CRE M 20
AT OR
“Alic
n
e
“Here,” said I,
EUM
” . y Ma with
And
I looked at it, and I thought a
bit,
and
I
looked my
at frozen
c h u m ;
a
sudden cry,
“is my
21 21
e; f ir So
22
ile
r
Som
e
me
p la
n ks
c oa
lit i
to
re
f ro m
th e
c a bi n
f loo
r,
an
the
bo
d
l i found th a a t was lying a r o u n d , a n d h e
ped
th e
fu e l
h
; r e i gh
t s u sj
e c a n e; r e e s fu m om e d a l h l t f se d u e n yo a , e Th d az
e r a so r
l
b h a nt i h c ole su h in d d e da r e e f f oa tu ow rr bu i en Th
e
d ,l an
is
oa c g
n wi o gl
m a S
M
cG
. e e
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Then
I made f or a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him
sizzle
so;
d n A
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t
in
r
easy s
ky
mo k e i n a n
he g
began to blow. It wa s icey cold, but the hot swea t
c
c lo
And the heavens scowled,and the huskies howled, and the w in d rol led down my
ak w
en t
king a e r st
cheeks,
and I don’t know
why;
do w n the
sky .
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I
do not k now how long in the s n ow I wrestled with gr isly fear ; B u t the stars came o u t and they danced about ere again I ventured near ;
ad, but re d h it w k ic I was s
I
guess
he’s
t he n
w 26
I bravely said:”I’ll just take a peep inside.
cooke d
,
the
i
and
it’s
time
door
d
I
looked;”...
opened
e
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A
nd there sat Sam , looking c o o l and c a l m , in the heart of the furnace
And he wore a
s
m
i l
e
roar;
you could see a
m i l e
“Please close that door . It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll l e t in the and storm — Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been
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w a r m .”
cold
, and he said:
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Th
er ea
re str ang e th ings
in the
e
do n
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midn
ight sun By the
m
who n e m
m
ld r go o f oil
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest
they ever did
see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I c r e m a t e d
SAM m c ge e
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Illustrations by
Jamie Ludlam
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