The Ballad of Lake Winnipesaukee
“Keep land in sight—now don't forget!”
The dock man croaked at me;
Ah, why grow old if one can't fret?
He tossed the hawser free.
The lake gazed up at azure blue,
And like a wide, bright eye,
Reflected heaven's purest hue;
I might have rowed through sky.
I stopped and shipped my oars at noon,
And ate my sandwich, there,
And lay beneath the seats, and soon,
I slept without a care.
My eyes next opened on a world
Long held in some bleak store,
From which the blackest clouds now hurled
To blot the sky and shore.
There was no strip of hills in sight;
I whirled, and stared in fear:
No serrate spruce, no dab of white,
No spire by which to steer.
The dread came first, but then, this thought:
Dear God, how fate would relish
This joke upon a man who sought
To live for one dear wish.
For I, who swore that I would make
At least one march for man,
Had dozed a single hour to wake
To see fate's chosen plan:
A bug upon a stick, my mind
A toy for imps at play.
I cried aloud, and cursed the wind.
I did not kneel or pray.
I had nowhere to steer:
I rested on my oars, to wait;
I turned my back on fear.
I bowed my head into the rain,
And raging, still, I tossed,
And fell, and rose, and fell again,
But never cried: “I'm lost.
Ha, ha! I'm here! And here I'll be
If lightning fries my oars,
If hell has knit the sky and sea,
And sneers: There are no shores!
I think I sang a childhood song;
I shivered in the spray,
But would not ask of fate how long
Could be the longest day.
I don't know how I raised my head
To spy a light on land.
It was a steady light that said,
O you will understand:
How one real thing is like a prayer
To him who will not kneel.
I think I wept to see light there;
At last, I set my keel.
At last, I rowed with a steady will
To drive my bow through wave and foam;
And soon the moon lit a friendly hill
And I was going home.
Mountain Man John
Old trapper John, old trapper John,
You cadged a loan to buy your grub
And now you've gone, now you've gone.
Marias Pass saw snow, last night;
Snow's blowing down the Red Hill Creek;
I hope you set your camp up tight.
It's when Red Oaks are going brown
The Lodgepole Pines will call you up,
Just when the grizzly's heading down.
A Fisher pelt is fine to see,
In traps along a ten-mile line
When snow is on Marias Valley.
But John, for winter camp the rule
Is take a partner or a shroud.
You wouldn't take a dog, old fool!
When wind comes moaning over snow,
And hunger raps your cabin door,
Aren't you scared of the Wendigo?
What calls a man like you to flee
The cozy stove, and talk, and beer?
What calls you to the high country?
My niece says: “John has got a stash,
A safety box at Fargo bank
That's stuffed with nuggets, dust, and cash.”
If not the furs the dandies wear,
And not the money old men seek,
What are you looking for, up there?
For Bill, who never missed a tramp
With you, and trapped the winter line,
Until he broke his hip in camp?
You knew Bill didn't have a prayer,
But hauled the sled until he died.
You think old Bill is still up there?
For Luke, whose birthing killed your wife,
Who schooled along the winter lines
To learn what snow sign tells of life?
Young Luke grew fierce on mountain air,
And tore a cougar from your neck.
You think young Luke is still up there?
For Blackfoot Sue, who came to stay
Because you killed the men who led
Her naked, camp to camp, each day?
The smallpox took your Sue, whose care
Brought you and Luke through it alive.
You think that Sue is still up there?
For Rusty Mutt, that damned red hound,
Who raced ahead to check the trail
As though you walked on hallowed ground?
Well, Rusty waltzed a mother bear
To buy you time to load your gun.
You think that Rusty's still up there?
No, John, just snow is up there, now,
Just snow, and living through to spring,
And not a soul can tell you how.
I'm thinking you go on your own
Because so many springs arrived
To see Old John come down alone.
