Luyện nghe bài hát The Cremation Of Sam McGee

The of Sam McGee

The of Sam McGee
(Robert W. Service)

There are things done 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who for gold.
The trails have their secret tales
that would make your run cold.
The northern have seen queer sights
but the queerest they did see,
was that night on the marge of Lake
I Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from
where the blooms and blows.
Why he his home in the south to roam
'round the pole, God knows.
He was cold, but the land of gold
seemed to him like a spell,
though often say in his homely way
that he'd sooner in Hell.

On a Christmas day we were our way
over the trail.
Talk of cold! through the parka's fold
it like a driven nail.
If our eyes close, then the lashes froze
'til sometimes we see.
It much fun, but the only one
to was Sam McGee.

And that night while we lay packed tight
in our beneath the snow,
and the dogs fed, and the stars o'er head
were heel and toe,
he turns to me, and "Cap" he
"I'll cash in trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm that you
won't my last request."

Well, he looked so low that I say no,
then he says a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got right
'til I'm chilled through to the bone.
Yet tain't being dead, it's my awful
of an icy grave pains.
So I you to swear that foul or fair,
you'll cremate my remains."

Well, a friend's last need is a to heed,
so I swore I not fail.
We started on at the of dawn,
but, God, he ghastly pale!
He on the sleigh, and he raved all day
of his in Tennessee,
and before nightfall, a was all
that was of Sam McGee.

wasn't a breath in that land of death,
and I on, horror driven
With a corpse half hid, that I get rid,
of a promise given.
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it to say,
"You may tax brawn and brains,
but you promised true, and up to you
to cremate these remains."

Now, a made is a debt unpaid
And the trail has its own code,
In the days to come, though my lips numb
In my heart, how I cursed load.
In the long, night, by the lone firelight
While the huskiers, in a ring
Howled out their woes to the homeless
Oh God! How I the thing.

And day that quiet clay
to heavy and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the dogs were
and the was getting low.
The trail was bad, and I felt mad,
but I swore I not give in.
And I'd often to the hateful thing
and it harkened a grin!

Then I to the marge of Lake LeBarge
and a there lay.
It was in the ice, but I saw in a trice
it was the "Alice May".
And I at it, and I thought a bit,
And I at my frozen chum,
Then "Here" said I with a cry
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!"

Some planks I tore from the cabin
and I lit the fire.
coal I found that was lying around
and I the fuel higher.
The just soared and the furnace roared,
a blaze you seldom see.
Then I a hole in the glowing coal
and I in Sam McGee.

I made a hike, for I didn't like
to hear him so.
And the heavens and the huskies howled
and the began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat
down my cheeks, and I don't why.
And the greasy smoke in an inky
streaking down the sky.

I do not how long in the snow
I wrestled with fear.
But the stars out and they danced about
'ere I ventured near.
I was sick dread, but I bravely said
"I'll just a peek inside.
He's probably cooked, and it's I looked."
Then the door I wide.

And sat Sam, looking cold and calm
in the heart of the roar.
He a smile you could see a mile,
and he said "Please that door!
It's fine in here, but I fear
let in the cold and storm.
Since I left Plumtree, in Tennessee,
it's the first I've been warm."

There are things done 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who for gold.
The arctic have their secret tales
would make your blood run cold.
The northern have seen queer sights,
but the queerest they did see
was that night on the marge of Lake
I Sam McGee.

AJS