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The Cremation Of Sam McGee
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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 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! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
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:
"It's the cursed 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 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! 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 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;
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 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"; . . . 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."
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
I cremated Sam McGee.
Robert William Service
| Submitted Date |
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Monday, January 13, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: snow, fear, home, night, sick, god, sun, sometimes, smile, fire, wind, sky, death, howl, dance, dog, running, star
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Comments about this poem (The Cremation Of Sam McGee
by
Robert William Service
) |
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Robert Bartlett (10/5/2011 9:03:00 PM)
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As a high school student in 1953, I memorized this poem and delivered it in a school variety show. Following immediately after a lively song and dance routine, the audience was jazzed up when I began the recitation, but after a few moments the audience settled under the spell of the dramatic lines which this ballad delivers and by the end of the rendition that audience of over three hundred fellow students was spellbound.
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David Larson (11/25/2010 11:18:00 PM)
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I remember hearing this from my Creative Writing teacher, with salt and pepper hair and beard.Patrick Mealy was his name and the way he read it (in memorization) was more dramatic than any movie could have presented!
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Kevin Straw (6/18/2010 4:48:00 AM)
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This is a brilliant poem in every way. I have no doubt that Service was a true genius. His metre and rhyming are absolutely natural – the story grips – and it is in everyway the equal to a narrative poem such as Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner”. The sustaining of half rhymes in every line is wonderful. And the characterisation by verse of the narrator is perfect. I can find not a single flaw in this poem.
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JOSEPH POEWHIT (6/18/2010 4:40:00 AM)
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Reminded me of Son of Sam with his 44 bulldog seeking an inner gold. Now in a cell, wanting the door closed in a repentant cell of salvation, like the ship. Gold comes in different aspects, an the mortal lusts it stimulates in life.
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Manonton Dalan (6/18/2010 4:18:00 AM)
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i could clearly imagine his journey and i admire keeping his promise.
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Ramesh T A (6/18/2010 3:03:00 AM)
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A long narrative poem of last ceremony of a man is touching to read!
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Pandian Angelina (6/18/2009 1:41:00 PM)
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It is a great poem in that
It has introduced its author
To become a favourite of
A person living 180 degrees off
Right in the heart of Chennai, India
Read it when I was ten and
Have not forgotten it since!
Angel
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Mikayla Carpenter (6/18/2009 8:49:00 AM)
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I remember when I was maybe 8 my teacher read this to the entire class and I've loved it ever since!
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Kevin Straw (6/18/2009 7:57:00 AM)
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This is spell-binding stuff. A poem to surpass Coleridge's 'Ancient Mariner' and Poe's 'The Raven' in narrative and atmosphere. It rises well above the tumpty-tump of Service's metre and becomes great (?) art.
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Dianne Oltrogge (4/2/2009 1:51:00 AM)
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One of the poems I used to engage my wild rural boys to an enjoyment of poetry.
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