march2000

zenpond

"The Midnight Sun"

john painted this oil over acrylic as an tribute to Robert Service, Alaska's vagabond poet laureate. Below is the Robert Service poem which john thought of while painting. john hopes you enjoy this poem as much as he has over the years.

THE CREMATION OF SAM McGEE

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Artic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerst 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 Cristmas Day we were mushing our way

over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it

stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close, the 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 say with a sort of moan;

"It's the cured cold, and it's got right hold till

I'm chilled clean through to the bone.

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 looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day

of his home in Tennesee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all that was

left of Sam McGee.

There was'nt a breath in that land of death, and

I hurried, horror-driven,

With a corpse haf 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! how I loathed the thing.

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 sing to the hateful thing, and it

hearkend 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;

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and

I stuffed in Sam McGee.

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

steaking 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"; ...

then the door I opened wide.

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."