And if I fall to your hand afresh I give you leave for the sin, That you cram my throat with the foul pig's flesh, THE FEET OF THE YOUNG MEN 1897 Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are loose Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain; Now the Young Men's hearts are troubled for the whisper of the Trues, Now the Red Gods make their medicine again! Who hath seen the beaver busied? Who hath watched the black-tail mating? Who hath lain alone to hear the wild-goose cry? Who hath worked the chosen water where the ouananiche is waiting, Or the sea-trout 's jumping-crazy for the fly? He must go go go away from here! On the other side the world he's overdue. 'Send your road is clear before you when the old Spring fret comes o'er you, And the Red Gods call for you! So for one the wet sail arching through the rainbow round the bow, And for one the creak of snow-shoes on the crust; And for one the lakeside lilies where the bull-moose waits the Cow, And for one the mule-train coughing in the dust. Who hath smelt wood-smoke at twilight? Who hath heard the birch-log burning? Who is quick to read the noises of the night? Let him follow with the others, for the Young Men's feet are turning To the camps of proved desire and known delight! Let him go go, etc. I Do you know the blackened timber - do you know that racing stream With the raw, right-angled log-jam at the end; And the bar of sun-warmed shingle where a man may bask and dream To the click of shod canoe-poles round the bend? It is there that we are going with our rods and reels and traces, To a silent, smoky Indian that we know To a couch of new-pulled hemlock, with the starlight on our faces, For the Red Gods call us out and we must go! They must go — go, etc. II Do you know the shallow Baltic where the seas are steep and short, Where the bluff, lee-boarded fishing-luggers ride? Do you know the joy of threshing leagues to leeward of your port On a coast you 've lost the chart of overside? It is there that I am going, with an extra hand to bale herJust one able 'long-shore loafer that I know. He can take his chance of drowning, while I sail and sail and sail her, For the Red Gods call me out and I must go! He must go go, etc. III Do you know the pile-built village where the sago-dealers trade Do you know the reek of fish and wet bamboo? Do you know the steaming stillness of the orchid-scented glade When the blazoned, bird-winged butterflies flap through? It is there that I am going with my camphor, net, and boxes, To a gentle, yellow pirate that I know To my little wailing lemurs, to my palms and flying-foxes, For the Red Gods call me out and I must go! He must go go, etc. IV Do you know the world's white roof-tree- do you know that windy rift Where the baffling mountain-eddies chop and change? Do you know the long day's patience, belly-down on frozen drift, While the head of heads is feeding out of range? It is there that I am going, where the boulders and the snow lie, With a trusty, nimble tracker that I know. I have sworn an oath, to keep it on the Horns of Ovis Poli, And the Red Gods call me out and I must go! Pleasant smokes, ere yet 'twixt trail and trail they choose Now the girths and ropes are tested: now they pack their last supplies: Now our Young Men go to dance before the Trues! Who shall meet them at those altars to that shrine? who shall light them Velvet-footed, who shall guide them to their goal? Unto each the voice and vision: unto each his spoor and sign Lonely mountain in the Northland, misty sweat-bath 'neath the Line And to each a man that knows his naked soul! White or yellow, black or copper, he is waiting, as a lover, Smoke of funnel, dust of hooves, or beat of train Where the high grass hides the horseman or the glaring flats discover Where the steamer hails the landing, or the surf-boat brings the rover Where the rails run out in sand-drift . . . Quick! ah, heave the camp-kit over! For the Red Gods make their medicine again! And we go go go away from here! On the other side the world we 're overdue! 'Send the road is clear before you when the old Spring fret comes o'er you, And the Red Gods call for you! THE TRUCE OF THE BEAR 1898 YEARLY, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go By the pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale below. Yearly by Muttianee he follows our white men in Matun, the old blind beggar, bandaged from brow to chin. Eyeless, noseless, and lipless-toothless, broken of speech, Seeking a dole at the doorway he mumbles his tale to each; Over and over the story, ending as he began: 66 Make ye no truce with Adam-zad - the Bear that walks like a man! "There was a flint in musket my pricked and primed was the pan, When I went hunting Adam-zad—the Bear that stands like a man. I looked my last on the timber, I looked my last on the snow, When I went hunting Adam-zad fifty summers ago! "I knew his times and his seasons, as he knew mine, that fed By night in the ripened maizefield and robbed my house of bread; I knew his strength and cunning, as he knew mine, that crept At dawn to the crowded goat-pens and plundered while I slept. "Up from his stony playground -down from his well-digged lair Out on the naked ridges ran Adam-zad the Bear; Groaning, grunting, and roaring, heavy with stolen meals, Two long marches to northward, and I was at his heels! "Two full marches to northward, at the fall of the second night, I came on mine enemy Adam-zad all panting from his flight. There was a charge in the musket - pricked and primed was the pan My finger crooked on the trigger when he reared up like a man. "Horrible, hairy, human, with paws like hands in prayer, Making his supplication rose Adam-zad the Bear! I looked at the swaying shoulders, at the paunch's swag and swing, And my heart was touched with pity for the monstrous, pleading thing. "Touched with pity and wonder, I did not fire then. I have looked no more on women I have walked no more with men. |