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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? | 5 |
| 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? | |
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| He must go—go—go away from here! | |
| On the other side the world he’s overdue. | 10 |
| ’Send your road is clear before you when the old Spring-fret comes o’er you, | |
| And the Red Gods call for you! | |
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| 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, | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
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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, | 25 |
| 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. | |
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II Do you know the shallow Baltic where the seas are steep and short, | |
| Where the bluff, lee-boarded fishing-luggers ride? | 30 |
| 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 her— | |
| Just one able ’long-shore loafer that I know. | |
| He can take his chance of drowning, while I sail and sail and sail her, | 35 |
For the Red Gods call me out and I must go!
He must go—go, etc. | |
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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? | 40 |
| 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. | |
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IV Do you know the world’s white roof-tree—do you know that windy rift | 45 |
| 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. | 50 |
| 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!
He must go—go, etc. | |
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| Now the Four-way Lodge is opened—now the Smokes of Council rise— | |
| Pleasant smokes, ere yet ’twixt trail and trail they choose— | |
| Now the girths and ropes are tested: now they pack their last supplies: | 55 |
| Now our Young Men go to dance before the Trues! | |
| Who shall meet them at those altars—who shall light them to that shrine? | |
| 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— | 60 |
| 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— | 65 |
| Where the rails run out in sand-drift … Quick! ah, heave the camp-kit over, | |
| For the Red Gods make their medicine again! | |
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| 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, | 70 |
| And the Red Gods call for you! | |
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