Robert W. Service
And I tell them when it s over how I ll hike for Atha-
baska ;
And those seven greasy poilus they are crazy to go too. And I ll give the wife the pickle-tub I promised and
I ll ask her
The price of mink and marten, and the run of cariboo ; And I ll get my traps in order, and I ll start to work anew.
For I ve had my fill of fighting, and I ve seen a nation
scattered ; And an army swung to slaughter, and a river red with
gore; And a city all a-smoulder, and . . . as if it really
mattered, For the lake is yonder dreaming, and my cabin s on
the shore; And the dogs are leaping madly, and the wife is singing
gladly, And I ll rest in Athabaska, and I ll leave it never more.
��JEAN DESPREZ
OH ye whose hearts are resonant, and ring to War s romance,
Hear ye the story of a boy, a peasant boy of France; A lad uncouth and warped with toil, yet who, when trial
came, Could feel within his soul upleap and soar the sacred
flame; Could stand upright, and scorn and smite, as only heroes
may: Oh, harken ! Let me try to tell the tale of Jean Desprez.
With fire and sword the Teuton horde was ravaging the land,
�� �
