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 have secret tales
that would make blood run cold.
The northern lights have seen sights
but the queerest ever did see,
was that night on the marge of Lake
I Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from
where the cotton and blows.
Why he left his home in the to roam
the pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of
seemed to hold him a spell,
though he'd say in his homely way
that he'd sooner in Hell.

On a Christmas day we were our way
the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! the parka's fold
it like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the froze
sometimes we couldn't see.
It much fun, but the only one
to was Sam McGee.

And very night while we lay packed tight
in our robes the snow,
and the dogs fed, and the stars o'er head
dancing heel and toe,
he turns to me, and "Cap" he
"I'll in this trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm asking you
won't refuse my request."

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

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

There wasn't a 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 to the sleigh, and it seemed to say,
"You may tax your and brains,
but you true, and it's up to you
to cremate these remains."

Now, a promise made is a unpaid
And the has its own stern code,
In the days to come, though my lips were
In my heart, how I cursed load.
In the long, night, by the lone firelight
While the huskiers, in a ring
Howled out woes to the homeless 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 was bad, and I felt 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" I with a sudden cry
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!"

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

I made a hike, for I didn't like
to him sizzle so.
And the heavens scowled and the howled
and the wind to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot rolled
down my cheeks, and I know why.
And the greasy in an inky cloak
went down the sky.

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

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

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

AJS