Posted on 02/27/2008 12:21:19 PM PST by Clive
My Old man had a picture of a Brown Bear that one of them Shot and skinned out. Close to 18 feet with out the Guts and meat, paw to paw. had it nailed to the end of his house.
So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far; They are strong and brave and true; But they're always tired of the things that are, And they want the strange and new. They say: "Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!" So they chop and change, and each fresh move Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; He has just done things by half. Life's been a jolly good joke on him, And now is the time to laugh. Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost; He was never meant to win; He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone; He's a man who won't fit in.
If you have any Scots Irish Blood in you this will resonate.
What say you Alouette?
Well, my wife does, but the only Scotch I have is in my liver. One of my favorites, though.
Fabulous! Brilliant! ... Warms my old heart indeed. Now, if you can find “The Haunted Pond” for me, I’d be much obliged, for my memory ‘s failin’ and I can’t recall how my Grandpa said it all. Oh I kin recitate Darius Green and Little Orphan Annie, but that pond just seems to have slipped away. ... Somethin’ about a merry maid down on the Pee Dee in SOuth Caroline, but the part about Daddy Joe, well I don’t recollect how that did go.
And then I screamed, "Oh, sh!%! The dead guy's talking!"
In the old days, you would sneak across the boarder steal their cattle, impregnate their women, all cousins anyway, and return home happy. With the commies in Concord these days may be waining.
What made you bring this up? It’s a great poem, but I just wondered...
I was privileged to visit the Yukon gold fields last year.
The country is just fantastic
Country song that is like Robert Service lyrics.
***
I was born in Saginaw Michigan I grew up in a
house on Saginaw bay
My dad was a poor hard working Saginaw fisherman
Too many times he came home with too little pay
I loved a girl in Saginaw Michigan the daughter
of a wealthy wealthy man
But he called me that son of a Saginaw fisherman
And said I wasn’t good enough for his daughter’s hand
That’s why I went up to Alaska searchin’ around for gold
Like a crazy fool I was diggin’ in the frozen ground so
cold
But with each new day I pray I’d strike it rich and then
I’ll go back home and claim my love in Saginaw Michigan
I wrote my love in Saginaw Michigan I said honey I’m
comin’ home please wait for me
And you can tell your dad I’m coming back a richer man
I’ve hit the biggest strike in Klondike historyn
So her dad met me in Saginaw Michigan
He gave me a great big party and we served champagne
Then he said son now you’re a wise young ambitious man
Now won’t you sell your father-in-law your Klondike claim
So now he’s up there in Alaska diggin’ in the cold cold ground
Why the greedy fool is lookin’ for the gold I never found
It serves him right and no one here is a missin’ him
Least of all the newly weds of Saginaw Michigan
Least of all us newly weds of Saginaw Michigan (Saginaw Michigan)
Iv’e got that poem and others on MP3 read by Hank Snow. Really good.
Cold weather and more snow in the past fortnight than in the whole of last winter.
And outrageous heating gas bills.
This in the face of Tennessean Al Gore having promised Global Warming.
God, I love Robert Service- have the “Collected Poems of Robert Service” in my bookcase- we used to read him to my son when he was growing up....in lieu of another computer game.
He LOVED them (and does to this day)!
Outstanding!!!
This was my grandmother’s favorite poet, and her favorite poem.
I recited the last stanza at her eulogy.
By chance, I happened to visit the
alt.binaries.sounds.mp3.country
... news group earlier today, and there is a collection posted of Robert Service poems (including Sam McGee) being read by none other than Hank Snow.
You’ll need a newsreader capable of downloading and decoding yEnc binary files to hear them...
- John
All that said, the best -- the absolute hands down best -- Service poem for cold nights and campfires, is The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill. It's the story of a man who accepted money from a miner/trapper to find his body and bury it if he died in the wilds of the Yukon Territory -- apparently contracts to bury were common during the gold rush. The narrator finds Bill's body on the floor of his cabin, glittering with ice, frozen stiff with arms and legs outspread ("hard as a log and trussed like a frog"). He tries for days to thaw Bill out, with no luck. Finally, the narrator resorts to the only way he can think of to get frozen Bill in the coffin. The last line, delivered in a calm low voice around a campfire, cements a Boy Scout's memories of cold weather camping forever: "I often think of poor old Bill, and how hard he was to saw." When you finish, the silence is complete and look on the Scouts' faces is priceless.
It was my joy to recite Blasphemous Bill at a cold, New-Mexico-mountains-campfire at Beaubien, Philmont Scout Ranch, several years ago.
You should also read The Ballad of Athabasca Pete, whose main concern when going over a waterfall (having fallen out of a boat), is to keep his bottle of liquor from breaking.
Finally, find a copy of Bessie's Boil, about a shy young woman with a carbuncle very close to a delicate bodily opening, who goes to the hospital. She shows her dermatological outbreak to a man in a white coat, who sends her to another room for a second opinion from another man in white . . . and again and again until one of the men tells her to see a doctor about it -- on the floor below -- seems all of the physician offices have been relocated while the floor she's on is being painted.
If you haven't figured it out, I love Robert W. Service's work. I often recite him when the going gets tough on a backpacking trip. I've done miles and miles at Philmont to Robert W. Service.
Thanks for bringing back those memories!
A Lancashire Ballad by Robert W. Service
(Read in yer best Lancaster brogue)
Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."
So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."
So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
hen once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."
So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."
My dad used to play this all the time....Of course it was on his freestanding cassette player that he used in the car on long trips. I have it on MP3 now and its great to think about my father when I hear this.....Thanks....
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