Luyện nghe bài hát The Cremation Of Sam McGee

The of Sam McGee

The of Sam McGee
(Robert W. Service)

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

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

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

And that very night while we lay tight
in our beneath the snow,
and the dogs were fed, and the stars head
dancing 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 refuse my request."

Well, he looked so low that I say no,
then he says with a of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, got right hold
'til I'm clean through to the bone.
Yet being dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy grave pains.
So I want you to that foul or fair,
you'll my last remains."

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

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

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

And day that quiet clay
seemed to and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the dogs spent
and the grub was low.
The trail was bad, and I half mad,
but I swore I not give in.
And I'd often sing to the thing
and it harkened a grin!

Then I to the marge of Lake LeBarge
and a there lay.
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a
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 I tore from the cabin floor
and I lit the fire.
Some I found that was lying around
and I heaped the higher.
The just soared and the furnace roared,
such a blaze you see.
Then I burrowed a in the glowing coal
and I in Sam McGee.

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

I do not know how long in the
I wrestled grisly fear.
But the stars were out and they danced
again I ventured near.
I was sick with dread, but I said
"I'll take a peek inside.
He's probably cooked, and time I looked."
the door I opened wide.

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

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

AJS