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"The cremation of sam mcgee"

The cremation of sam mcgee pdf

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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 Cremation of Sam McGee, ballad by Robert Service, published in Canada in in Songs of a Sourdough (U.S. title, The Spell of the Yukon, and Other. "The Cremation of Sam McGee" is among the most famous of Robert W. Service's (–) poems. It was published in in Songs of a Sourdough. (A "sourdough", in this sense, is a resident of the Yukon.)‎The Poem · ‎The reality behind the fiction · ‎Today.


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Born in Lancashire, England to a bank cashier and an heiress, poet Robert William Service moved to Scotland at the age of five, living with his grandfather and three aunts until his parents moved to Glasgow four years later and the family reunited.

He wrote Prose Home Harriet Blog. Visit Home Events Exhibitions Library. Newsletter Subscribe Give. Poetry Foundation. Back to Previous. The Cremation of Sam McGee. By Robert W. 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. 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! 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. And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,. And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,. He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;. And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request.

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:. Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;. So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains.

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 crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;. And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. 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;.

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 those last remains. Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,. Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;.

And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;. The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;. And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;.

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May. And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;.

Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum. Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;. Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;.

The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;. Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;. And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;.

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;. But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;. I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside. I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;.

And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door. It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—. Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm. First Loves. Read More. More Poems by Robert W. The Shooting of Dan McGrew. The Song of the Wage-slave. The Telegraph Operator. The Spell of the Yukon. My Madonna. See All Poems by this Author. See a problem on this page? More About This Poem. About this Poet. Read Full Biography.

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There are strange things done 'neath 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! If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze 'til sometimes we couldn't see.

It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night while we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, and the dogs were fed, and the stars o'er head were dancing heel and toe, he turns to me, and "Cap" says he "I'll cash in this trip, I guess.

And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request. Well, he looked so low that I couldn't say no, then he says with a sort of a moan, "It's the cursed cold, it's got right hold 'til I'm chilled clean through to the bone. Yet tain't being dead, it's my awful dread of an icy grave that pains.

So I want you to swear that foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains. Well, a friend's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail. 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 nightfall, a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried on, horror driven With a corpse half hid, that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given. 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 these last remains.

Now, a promise made is a debt unpaid And the trail has its own stern code, In the days to come, though my lips were numb In my heart, how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight While the huskiers, round in a ring Howled out their woes to the homeless snows Oh God! How I loathed the thing. And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow. But on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low. The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in.

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing and it harkened with a grin! Then I came to the marge of Lake LeBarge and a derelict there lay. It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May". Some planks I tore from the cabin floor and I lit the boiler fire. Some coal I found that was lying around and I heaped the fuel higher. The flames just soared and the furnace roared, such a blaze you seldom see.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so. And the heavens scowled and the huskies howled and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why.

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear. But the stars were out and they danced about 'ere again I ventured near. I was sick with dread, but I bravely said "I'll just take a peek inside. He's probably cooked, and it's time I looked. And there sat Sam, looking cold and calm in the heart of the furnace roar. He wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said "Please close that door!

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm. Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm. 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.

Service There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold. You gotta check out.

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The Cremation of Sam McGee is a poem based off the Klondike Gold Rush in which man named Sam McGee leaves his warm home in Tennessee in hopes to find riches. After Sam’s death, Cap finds himself with Sam Mcgee’s body and a promise to cremate him. Mar 17,  · 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;. Apr 21,  · The classic Robert Service poem is read by Johnny Cash. Audio is from "Personal File: Bootleg 1." Paintings by Ted Harrison.