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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.


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,

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.


Do you know the shallow Baltic where the seas are steep and short,

Where the bluff, lee-boarded fishing-luggers ride? 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,

For the Red Gods call me out and I must go!

He must go-go, etc.


Do you know the pile-built village where the sagodealers 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?

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 flyingfoxes,

For the Red Gods call me out and I must go!

He must go-go, etc.


Do you know the world's white roof-tree-do you know that windy rift

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.

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.

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:

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

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

Where the rails run out in sand-drift

ah, heave the camp-kit over!

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For the Red Gods make their medicine again!

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,

And the Red Gods call for you!




EARLY, with tent and rifle, our careless white

men go

By the pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale below.

Yearly by Muttianee he follows our white men in— Matun, the old blind beggar, bandaged from brow to chin.

Eyeless, noseless, and lipless-toothless, broken of speech,

Seeking a dole at the doorway he mumbles his tale to each;

Over and over the story, ending as he began:

'Make ye no truce with Adam-zad-the Bear that walks like a man!

"There was a flint in my musket-pricked and primed was the pan,

When I went hunting Adam-zad-the Bear that stands like a man.

I looked my last on the timber, I looked my last on the


When I went hunting Adam-zad fifty summers ago!

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