6 
 

Up In Alaska 
 
Copyright, 1912, by 
 Jo Anderson - 
 Sacramento, California 
 
 Printed by the 
 Jos. M. Anderson Company 
 
jUlustrations bu 
 pf)avu ^vct 
 
Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 To the Dogs .... 11 
 
 The Sourdough . . . .12 
 
 Robert Service .... 15 
 
 Toast to Elks . . . . .17 
 
 Spring in Nome .... 20 
 
 St. Patrick s Day Toast . . .22 
 
 A Friend 23 
 
 The Little Tin Bucket . . . .24 
 
 Toast to Norway .... 27 
 
 Lest You Forget ... .29 
 
 Down in Virginia .... 31 
 
 Up in Alaska . . . . .33 
 
 Merry Christmas .... 35 
 
 Santa Glaus . . . . .36 
 
 A Christmas Carol .... 37 
 
 A Wish 38 
 
 The Trail Song .... 39 
 
 Christmas Night in Nome . . .41 
 
 Es Selamu Aleikum ... 42 
 
 The King of the Trail . . . .45 
 
 My Pupmobile .... 46 
 
 The Alaska Forget-Me-Not . . .47 
 
 A Growl From Nome ... 49 
 
 Songs of the Sea . . . .55 
 
 Metempsychosis .... 57 
 
 Nome 59 
 
 > ,1 7 o 
 
 ; " i o 
 
O The Alaskaiws 
 
 Who, regardless of 
 Greed or Nationality, 
 Poverty or Wealth, 
 recognize a Brother 
 hood that needs no 
 Rules, that sees no 
 Limitations "The 
 Brotherhood," as 
 Robert Service so 
 truly calls it, "Of 
 Men that Know the 
 North." 
 
To the Dogs 
 
 I pledge the Health of Good Fellows 
 The Friends who are stanch and true 
 And I do not care if it s "Prosit" and Beer, 
 Or Sparkling Champagne "a vous." 
 I m ready for "Skol" with the Norseman, 
 With the Boys in Blue here s "How" 
 But with every real Alaskan, 
 Let it be "To the Dogs Bow wow!" 
 
The Sourdough 
 
 F you ve lived up in Alaska, 
 
 Where the Arctic breezes blow, 
 Till you ve seen the Autumn ice come, 
 
 And you ve seen the Spring ice go, 
 And survived one long dark winter 
 
 When the Mercury ran low, 
 You can drop the name "Checkako" 
 
 And become a "Sourdough." 
 
 If you ve planted in your garden 
 
 By a swift and dextrous throw, 
 Many demijohns and bottles 
 
 In the drifts of deep white snow, 
 And in May you are not speechless 
 
 When you/ find the soil can grow 
 Mammoth crops of "Lemps" and "Lacey" 
 
 You re a seasoned "Sourdough." 
 
 [ 12] 
 
If you have no tender feeling, 
 
 And with pride you do not glow 
 When you take out last year s headgear, 
 
 With its feather, quill or bow, 
 Knowing there s a tragic moment 
 
 When the first boat deals the blow 
 That your clothes are prehistoric, 
 
 Then you are a "Sourdough." 
 
 If you listen to the wailing 
 
 Of the Malamutes who throw 
 In their voices all the wildness 
 
 Of a wolf in deepest woe, 
 And it soothes you into slumber 
 
 Like a sweet song soft and low, 
 You can feel that you belong here, 
 
 And you are a Sourdough. 
 
 If you say "Mush on" and "Peluk" 
 
 Somewhat carelessly to show 
 That you understand the trail talk 
 
 And some words of Eskimo, 
 Then remark, The air is balmy ; 
 
 Only thirty-five below," 
 Everyone will surely tell you 
 
 You ve become a "Sourdough." 
 
 [ 13] 
 
If you find you ve lost your memory, 
 
 And you little care or know 
 All the great things men are doing 
 
 Far beyond the ice and snow, 
 And you feel, in spring, that lemons 
 
 Handed even by a foe, 
 Would look to you like peaches, 
 
 Then you are a " Sourdough. " 
 
 [ 14 ] 
 
Robert Service 
 
 An Appreciation 
 
 The North, it is yours through his verses 
 With him you can follow the Trail, 
 
 And exult with those who fight and win, 
 Or suffer with those who fail. 
 
 Though you sit by the glowing embers, 
 In the warmth of your "am fireside," 
 
 You shall feel the chill of the icy blast, 
 As it sweeps the tundra wide. 
 
 Your eyes shall turn from the shaded lamp, 
 To the calm of the still clear night, 
 
 And a ghostly splendor shall hold you fast 
 In the spell of the Northern Light. 
 
 Your ears shall be deaf to the rumble 
 
 Of the traffic that passes by, 
 And shall hear in the Arctic stillness 
 
 The wolf dog s distant cry. 
 
 You shall know the lure of the trackless snows, 
 
 The mountain and frozen sea 
 And your soul shall forget its petty cares, 
 
 Its paltry aims, and be free. 
 
 [ 15 ] 
 
You shall feel the passions of primitive men, 
 
 The fever and lust for gold 
 That risks disaster upon the trail, 
 
 And death in the bitter cold. 
 
 Perhaps, in the shade of a stately palm, 
 
 Neath a sky of cloudless blue, 
 He has made his North seem real to you, 
 
 And you feel that his tales ring true. 
 
 But if you have lived in this snow swept land, 
 
 His verses are part of your life 
 His men are your friends and your comrades, 
 
 Their struggles are yours and their strife. 
 
 And you know that wherever your lines be cast, 
 
 Wherever you wander forth, 
 You will feel with him those strange strong bonds 
 Of the "Brotherhood of the North." 
 
Toast to Elks 1908 
 
 (Read as the Eleven O clock Toast at the Ball Given by the Elks Club 
 of Nome, January 12, 1908) 
 
 S tke mystic hour approaches, 
 
 When the hands of time stand 
 
 still, 
 That the hearts of Elks, responsive, 
 
 May feel a world wide thrill, 
 We rise and drink to them standing 
 
 And wherever they may be, 
 Go the greetings of their Brothers 
 
 Who are "North of Fifty-three." 
 
 Here may stop the law of God or 
 
 man, 
 
 But you know from out your soul 
 That the zone of all good Brother 
 hood 
 
 Will reach from Pole to Pole. 
 When our old friend, Rudyard 
 
 Kipling, 
 
 Wrote of distant Mandalay, 
 The land where maids are dusky 
 And the flying fishes play, 
 
 [ 17 ] 
 
He paid a hearty tribute 
 
 To the deep and constant thirst 
 Which is rampant in that country 
 
 " Where the best is like the worst." 
 And I only wish that Kipling 
 
 Might be here in Nome today 
 I think he d write far finer verse 
 
 Than that on Mandalay, 
 
 And he d tell in rhythmic numbers 
 
 Of the town on Bering Sea, 
 Where the thirst makes that of Suez 
 
 Look a paltry "twenty-three." 
 He could write of the old world vineyards, 
 
 Of the amber grape of France, 
 Of the German beer with its creamy foam, 
 
 Of the native "Hootch" perchance; 
 
 And he d prove that the virtues of every land 
 
 From the Nile to the terraced Rhine, 
 That the fire of the South and the strength 
 of the North, 
 
 Are ours while we drink this wine ; 
 This wine, which takes to the absent Elks, 
 
 No matter where they roam, 
 The wireless message of love and cheer 
 
 From the hearts of the Elks in Nome. 
 
 [18] 
 
And here, in the "Great White Silence/ 
 
 Now gay with our mirth and song, 
 Where the popping corks make music, 
 
 And the happy laugh rings long, 
 We turn this night to our Brothers 
 
 Beyond the Frozen Sea, 
 And we drink to them a Bumper 
 
 Wherever they may be. 
 
 [19] 
 
Spring in Nome 
 
 I dream of the May of a vanished year, 
 
 And the lure of the South is with me here 
 
 The charm of a day in sunny Spain, 
 
 When I watched with a joy akin to pain 
 
 Granada s walls, the tall gray tower, 
 
 The far-off church at the sunset hour, 
 
 Where the sound of the Angelus, soft and clear, 
 
 Fell like music upon my ear. 
 
 I dream of Japan in a long gone May, 
 
 Where little maids, in bright array, 
 
 Looked quaintly out of their almond eyes 
 
 And fluttered like mammoth butterflies, 
 
 Through the cloudy pink of the cherry trees, 
 
 Whose blossoms swayed in the gentle breeze. 
 
 And May in the gardens of old Stamboul, 
 
 Where the wind from the Golden Horn blows cool, 
 
 And the perfume of Jasmine fills the air, 
 
 And the sea is blue and the sky is fair. 
 
 Or spring in a narrow Arab street, 
 
 Where lean brown men from the Desert meet, 
 
 And shadowy white- veiled women fade 
 
 Into the dusk of the palm trees shade, 
 
 And spring in Venice, where each lagoon 
 
 Is a silver path for the rising moon, 
 
 [20] 
 
Where in the warm still night you hear 
 
 The distant cry of the gondolier. 
 
 And England s May with its Hawthorne sweet, 
 
 And the nightingale s song in the ripening wheat; 
 
 And the glories of May in the Sunset Land, 
 
 With the yellow poppies on every hand, 
 
 Where spring eternal seems to wait 
 
 And linger long by the Golden Gate. 
 
 These mem ries haunt, yet I wake in Nome, 
 
 And I find that only in dreams I roam, 
 
 And I see instead of the bud and bloom 
 
 The lengthening days and the winter s doom; 
 
 The sooty snow as it melts away, 
 
 The old tin cans with their labels gay ; 
 
 The ashes and bottles and broken things 
 
 That May in this Northern City brings. 
 
 And we hear the wolf dogs lonely wail 
 
 Instead of the birds in a leafy dale. 
 
 And the short gray day and the long dark night 
 
 Return again in Time s swift flight; 
 
 Yet little we care how they come and go, 
 
 For the heart alone makes Spring, we know. 
 
 [21 ] 
 
St. Patrick s Day Toast 
 
 (Given at the St. Patrick s Day Banquet, Held 
 
 by the Knights of Robert Emmet in 
 
 Nome, March 17, 1908) 
 
 E LL drink, in White Alaska, 
 To the Green of the Emerald Isle, 
 
 Where men are brave and maids 
 
 are fair, 
 And nature seems to smile. 
 
 We ll drink to the Irish rover, 
 Who drifts toward the Frozen 
 Pole, 
 
 Or toils in the heat of the Tropics, 
 Yet is Irish, heart and soul. 
 
 We ll drink to Robert Emmet 
 
 And the cause he knew was right. 
 We ll drink to peace with honor, 
 
 Or the chance for an honest fight. 
 Then we ll drink to good St. Patrick 
 
 And what he did at Home 
 In keeping snakes from the Irish 
 
 May he do for his sons in Nome ! 
 
 [22] 
 
A Friend 
 
 Sometimes when life has gone wrong with you, 
 
 And the world seems a dreary place, 
 
 Has your dog ever silently crept to your feet, 
 
 His yearning eyes turned to your face, 
 
 Has he made you feel that he understands, 
 
 And all that he asks of you 
 
 Is to share your lot, be it good or ill, 
 
 With a chance to be loyal and true? 
 
 Are you branded a failure? He does not know 
 
 A sinner? He does not care 
 
 You re " Master" to him that s all that counts 
 
 A word, and his day is fair. 
 
 Your birth and your station are nothing to him; 
 
 A Palace and Hut are the same 
 
 And his love is yours, in honor and peace, 
 
 And it s yours through disaster or shame. 
 
 Though others forget you, and pass you by, 
 
 He is ever your Faithful Friend 
 
 Who is ready to give you the best that is his, 
 
 Unselfishly, unto the End. 
 
 [23] 
 
The Little Tin Bucket 
 
 (Written on the S. S. Victoria, September, 1908, 
 En Route for Nome, for an Entertainment) 
 
 Y thoughts often turn to the sea 
 
 trips I ve taken, 
 When firmly my feet press the 
 
 good solid earth, 
 And my heart turns in thanks to that modest con 
 trivance, 
 
 The little tin bucket that hangs on the berth 
 The square covered bucket, the clinging brown 
 
 bucket, 
 The friendly tin bucket that hangs on the berth. 
 
 It shared all my sorrows when shipmates forsook me, 
 
 And went off to ponder on life s paltry worth. 
 It clung through my moans and my groans and my 
 
 curses, 
 
 Nor left when I violently plunged from the berth. 
 The square covered bucket, the clinging brown 
 
 bucket, 
 The friendly tin bucket that hangs on the berth. 
 
 It hints not of roses, nor Araby s spices, 
 Nor comforts of Home nor a warm cheerful hearth, 
 
 [24] 
 
But modestly nestles beneath the dark curtain 
 That shuts out the world from the gloom of your 
 
 berth. 
 The square covered bucket, the clinging brown 
 
 bucket, 
 The friendly tin bucket that hangs on the berth. 
 
 Tis plain, and tis humble, and asks not remem 
 brance, 
 
 When life s rosy moments are filled full of mirth 
 But it shares both your bed and your board uncom 
 plaining, 
 
 In all the drear days that you spend in your berth. 
 The square covered bucket, the clinging brown 
 
 bucket, 
 The friendly tin bucket that hangs on the berth. 
 
 [25] 
 
/T 
 
 [26 ] 
 
Toast to Norway 
 
 A toast from Nome to Norway, 
 The new North to the old 
 
 To that land of countless beauties, 
 From this far bleak land of gold. 
 
 To the land of crags and torrents, 
 Of the Fjords that darkly lie, 
 
 Where the pine clad mountains tower, 
 And the snow line meets the sky. 
 
 To the land of matchless Stallheim, 
 Of Trondhjem, quaint and old, 
 
 Christiania, gay and modern, 
 And the North Cape dark and bold. 
 
 To the land of Grieg, whose music 
 Can bring to the weary heart 
 
 The thrill of Norway s sprmgtime, 
 With the touch of his magic art. 
 
 To the land where a mighty master 
 Stripped with his skillful pen 
 
 The shams from the modern drama, 
 And dealt with the souls of men. 
 
 [27 ] 
 
To the land of the Ancient Vikings, 
 To the land our Hosts call Home 
 
 We drink a toast to Norway 
 With her loyal sons in Nome ! 
 
 [28] 
 
Lest You Forget 
 
 When under brighter skies in sunnier climes, 
 Perchance beneath your fig tree and your vine, 
 
 Your mind may sometimes wander back to Nome, 
 And conjure up the days of Auld Lang Syne. 
 
 The perfect Junes, the bitter Arctic nights 
 May linger, as some half-forgotten line, 
 Or strain of music that is far and faint, 
 Yet brings back haunting thoughts of Auld Lang 
 Syne. 
 
 But this we ask what else may be forgot, 
 That in your heart you keep a little shrine 
 
 Where we, who met you in this distant land, 
 May hold a happy place for Auld Lang Syne. 
 
 [29 ] 
 
tA^zjp^F&ji 
 ^VA^*^^ <? 
 
 _fe 
 
 [30 ] 
 
Down in Virginia 
 
 (Recited in Nome by a Virginian. Quoted from Memory) 
 
 The roses nowhere bloom so white 
 
 As in Virginia; 
 The sunshine nowhere is so bright 
 
 As in Virginia; 
 
 The flowers nowhere smell so sweet, 
 And nowhere hearts so lightly beat, 
 For Heaven and Earth do seem to meet 
 
 Down in Virginia. 
 
 There nowhere is a land so fair 
 
 As old Virginia; 
 So full of song, so free of care 
 
 As old Virginia; 
 
 And when my time shall come to die, 
 Just take me back and let me lie 
 Close where the James goes rolling by, 
 
 Down in Virginia. 
 
 The days are nowhere quite so long 
 
 As in Virginia; 
 So free of care, so full of song, 
 
 As in Virginia; 
 
 And I believe the Happy Land, 
 The Lord prepared for Mortal Man, 
 Is built exactly on the plan 
 
 Of old Virginia. 
 
 [31 J 
 
[32] 
 
Up in Alaska 
 
 The snow is nowhere quite so white 
 
 As in Alaska; 
 And nowhere shine the stars so bright 
 
 As in Alaska. 
 
 The days are nowhere quite so gray, 
 The nights are nowhere quite so gay, 
 For Heaven s forgot, and Hell s to pay, 
 
 Up in Alaska. 
 
 And nowhere is the gold so pure 
 
 As in Alaska. 
 The people well, we re not so sure 
 
 Up in Alaska; 
 
 But when I cross the Great Divide, 
 I only hope that by my side 
 Will stand some comrades true and tried, 
 
 As these up in Alaska. 
 
 [33 ] 
 
The Malamutes wail loud and long 
 
 Up in Alaska; 
 It is the Arctic slumber song 
 
 Up in Alaska. 
 
 But joy comes fast and shadows flee, 
 The winters fly in mirth and glee, 
 For nowhere flows the Hootch so free 
 
 As in Alaska. 
 
 And when we ve left this barren shore, 
 
 Up in Alaska, 
 Perchance to come to Nome no more, 
 
 Up in Alaska, 
 
 We ll often say, "Here s one on me," 
 To those old friends on Bering Sea, 
 Good luck to all where they may be, 
 
 Up in Alaska. 
 
 [34 ] 
 
Merry Christmas 
 
 (For Christmas Cards) 
 
 There is speeding to you o er the long white trail 
 A heavy load by this dog team mail 
 
 A load of wishes for Christmas cheer, 
 And the best of luck for the coming year. 
 
 The hope of joys without an end, 
 And a load of love from your absent friend. 
 
 [35 J 
 
Santa Glaus 
 
 Have you very often wondered, 
 
 When good Santa Glaus is due, 
 Just where he lives and what he does, 
 
 And how he hears of you? 
 He hears because a station, 
 
 As installed by Uncle Sam, 
 Now brings us all important news 
 
 By wireless telegram. 
 And when he learns how good you ve been, 
 
 All through the past long year, 
 He fills his sled quite full of things, 
 
 And calls his fleet reindeer. 
 So if any one should ask you 
 
 Where old Santa has his home, 
 You can say it s in Alaska, 
 
 And his address there is Nome. 
 
 [36 J 
 
A Christmas Carol 
 
 I am sending this Christmas Carol, 
 And it carries my wishes true, 
 
 That all of the good and happy things 
 May be given to yours and you. 
 
 I can send you no scarlet holly, 
 
 Nor a wreath of mistletoe, 
 To bear you the season s greetings 
 
 From this land of ice and snow. 
 
 And we have no Robin, red-breasts, 
 With voices like silver flutes, 
 
 So with love I am sending a Carol, 
 As sung by our Malamutes. 
 
 [37] 
 
A Wish 
 
 May your life be as full of brightness 
 
 As Alaska s long June days, 
 When at midnight the sun just sinks to rest, 
 
 But leaves us his golden rays. 
 
 May your troubles and sorrows be shorter 
 Than our brief December days, 
 
 When our noon, like a ghostly twilight, 
 Is shrouded in soft gray haze. 
 
 May your skies be as clear and starry 
 
 As those of our Arctic nights, 
 And illumined with mystic splendor 
 
 Like the glory of Northern Lights. 
 
 [38] 
 
The Trail Song 
 
 (Sung to the Air of "The Handicap March" by the Children of the Nome 
 Grammar School) 
 
 There are songs of the South where the tall palm 
 stands, 
 
 And the desert is wild and wide, 
 Where the camels stalk o er the burning sands, 
 
 And the Arabs swiftly ride. 
 There are songs of the Western cowboys bold, 
 
 Of the East and its caravans quaint and old, 
 But give to me the frozen sea, 
 
 And the song of the Long White Trail. 
 
 Away we go, o er ice and snow, 
 
 For a spin on the Long White Trail, 
 And little we care if cold winds blow, 
 
 Or the day be bright and fair 
 With a steady grasp of the handle bar, 
 
 Neath the winter s sun and the Polar Star, 
 Our hearts never quail, our dogs never fail, 
 
 And the Trail stretches free and far. 
 
 [ 39 ] 
 
For this land, vast and grand, this land of the Mid 
 night Sun, 
 
 Has the finest sport that the world has seen 
 A sport that takes courage and judgment keen 
 
 And the flying feet of our teams so fleet, 
 As they speed o er the trails on a run, 
 Plainly show, as they go, there s danger as well 
 
 as fun. 
 For it s "Gee" and it s "Haw" and it s "Put, put, 
 
 put," 
 
 Over a bump or rut, 
 With a steady grip and a cracking whip, 
 
 Past town or native hut, 
 There s the sound of yells and cheery bells, 
 
 And the cry of "Mush, Mush, Mush," 
 On they go, never slow, the men and the dogs in a 
 rush. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Alaska s the place where the dogs set a pace, 
 
 That startles the world outside. 
 They do not dream, with a little dog team, 
 
 We can take a jolly joy-ride, 
 Like a lightning flash, away we dash, 
 
 Over the hill and dale. 
 We re off, we re off, for our spin upon the Trail. 
 
 [40] 
 
Christmas Night in 
 Nome 
 
 It was Christinas night, and the holly, 
 
 In the softly shaded light, 
 Gave the season s touch to the festive 
 board, 
 
 And a scene that was gay and bright. 
 
 And the silver and crystal gleaming, 
 And the laughter so cheery and free, 
 
 Made us all forget we were exiles here, 
 On the shore of Bering Sea. 
 
 And our thoughts unfettered crossed frozen wastes, 
 From the darkness of ice-bound Nome, 
 
 As we spoke of those distant places 
 That at heart we still call Home. 
 
 And standing, we drank to the Absent Ones, 
 And we pledged, in bumpers of wine, 
 
 The health of our friends so far away 
 And the days of Auld Lang Syne. 
 
 [41 ] 
 
Es Selamu Aleikum 
 
 (When Nile Temple, Nobels of the Mystic Shrine, Made a Pilgrimage to Nome 
 
 in 1909, They Were Presented with a Key of Nome Gold 
 
 and the Freedom of the City) 
 
 To you who rest a moment in our 
 
 midst, 
 
 As pilgrims to the shore of Ber 
 ing Sea, 
 The portals of our hearts we open 
 
 wide, 
 
 And give you entrance with this 
 Golden Key. 
 
 - I///, 
 
 What though we dwell beneath the Northern Lights, 
 You come to us from sunnier, summer lands 
 
 To sing the glories of the Southern Cross, 
 And guide our footsteps o er the Burning Sands. 
 
 With you we stand before the Mystic Shrine; 
 
 Its splendid visions fill our eager eyes, 
 Of Sultan s mosque and 1 slender minaret, 
 
 And Houri s gardens where the moonlight lies. 
 
 Forgotten is the wolf dog s lonely cry 
 The white and silent trail, the boundless snows; 
 
 A Mecca of Alaska you have made, 
 Where thoughts of you shall blossom as the rose. 
 
 [42] 
 
Please Allah that some day our broad Yukon 
 May be, with temples, like your mighty Nile, 
 
 And grant that many a Shriner s Caravan 
 May come and tarry with us here a while. 
 
 Search, if you will, the tents of Bedouin Sheiks 
 And meet the Arab in his desert home 
 
 You find no truer welcome than we give, 
 Nor warmer hearts than beat in Arctic Nome. 
 
 [43 ] 
 
[44] 
 
The King of the Trail 
 
 When the sons of Bonnie Scotland feel the call of 
 
 sport or duty, 
 On the shore of fair Loch Lomond or on frozen 
 
 Bering Sea, 
 You will find some tale heroic, one of pluck or iron 
 
 endurance, 
 
 That will rouse the pride of Scotsmen in their "ain 
 countrie. 
 
 Far away from crag and heather, to this drear and 
 
 icebound Northland, 
 Scotland sends to White Alaska men whose 
 
 staunchness does not fail. 
 So a toast to "Scotty" Allan, who has proved his 
 
 grit and courage, 
 
 And is known the wide world over as the King 
 of the Arctic Trail ! 
 
 [45] 
 
My Pupmobile 
 
 I ve ridden on a camel where the 
 
 tall and stately palm, 
 Stands sentry to the Desert s 
 
 burning sand; 
 Used a gondola in Venice, and a 
 
 rickshaw in Japan ; 
 Breasted breakers on Hawaiia s 
 coral strand; 
 
 I have traveled on a burro through 
 the mountains of New Spain ; 
 Sailed the Tropic Seas upon an 
 even keel; 
 
 But for sport, give me Alaska with 
 
 its white and silent trails, 
 And a spin behind my Racing 
 Pupmobile. 
 
The Alaska Forget-Me-Not 
 
 (Written for the Closing Exercises of the Nome Grammar School after the 
 
 Society of Alaska Pioneers had Chosen the Forget-Me-Not 
 
 as the State Flower of Alaska) 
 
 In this far away Alaska, 
 
 With its deep and trackless snows, 
 Winter comes so very quickly, 
 
 And so very slowly goes, 
 That the fair and fleeting summer 
 
 Is a dream of brief delight, 
 With its air so soft and balmy 
 
 And its days so long and bright. 
 
 And it seems as if to pay us 
 
 For the gray months bleak and cold, 
 That the smallest, simplest blossoms 
 
 Here some rare new charms unfold ; 
 And of all these welcome flowers 
 
 Answering to the sun s warm glow, 
 There are none that touch the heart strings 
 
 Like "Forget-Me-Nots," I know. 
 
 So, in looking for an emblem 
 For our Empire of the North, 
 
 We will choose this azure flower 
 That the sunny hours bring forth. 
 
 [47] 
 
For we want men to remember 
 
 That Alaska s here to stay, 
 Though she slept unknown for ages, 
 
 And awakened in a day. 
 
 And we want them to remember, 
 
 Though her heart is one of gold, 
 There are many other treasures 
 
 That she offers to unfold. 
 She has men of brawn and muscle ; 
 
 She has men of brain and fire, 
 Who will help to win her honors 
 
 And achieve her soul s desire. 
 
 She has women who have followed 
 
 Where the brave frontiersmen roam, 
 Who are sure that where the heart is, 
 
 There can always be a home. 
 And Alaska has her children, 
 
 Who no fairer land have known, 
 Yet the love of our whole country 
 
 In each little mind is sown. 
 
 So we want to tell the nation 
 
 That the mines and golden sands 
 Yield no richer, surer fortune 
 
 Than our loyal hearts and hands. 
 And although they say we re living 
 
 In the "Land that God forgot" 
 We ll recall Alaska to them 
 
 With our blue Forget-Me-Not. 
 [48] 
 
A Growl from Nome 
 
 (Written in 1911 in Answer to a Poem Galled "Derby Day in the Yukon," by 
 "Yukon Bill") 
 
 Now, I ain t very keen on these poetry chaps, 
 And there s mighty few poets I kin read 
 
 But Dunham and Service jest hit me right, 
 For they tell o the things I ve seed. 
 
 They might sound queer to the folks outside, 
 
 Onnatural and wild-like, too 
 Though the tales, God knows, in this Northern Land 
 
 Ain t never too strange to be true. 
 
 When I ve read all kinds of Alaska stuff 
 
 That s printed in poems or a book, 
 And I see how the plain facks is twisted, 
 
 I says, It s poetic license they ve took." 
 
 But I jest struck some verses by "Yukon Bill," 
 
 And I ve got to butt into the game, 
 For he ain t no poet, and the license he s took 
 
 Would put Annanias to shame. 
 
 He calls the Sweepstakes "The Yukon Race 
 
 That brings the Yukon fame," 
 And his ignorance is somethin fierce 
 
 When he tries to describe the same. 
 
 [ 49] 
 
Now, them Yukon towns ain t put up a cent 
 
 Toward the purse o this here event, 
 And them Yukon sports never put in a team 
 
 Though an invite was often sent. 
 
 So it makes us sore when "Yukon Bill" 
 
 Talks o "Yukon Derby Day," 
 And tries to tell, what he never knowed, 
 
 In a foolish kind o way. 
 
 He speaks of a dead dog throwed to the wolves 
 Though it s one o the rules o the race 
 
 That every dog, alive or dead, 
 Must be brought to the startin place. 
 
 He says that they never pause for food, 
 
 Nor give the poor brutes a drink 
 And lash them and whip them, till bloody and blind, 
 
 They stiffen and stagger and sink. 
 
 Now, "Yukon Bill" is a trustin chap 
 If he heer d and believed sech a lie, 
 
 But he s got his nerve to put it in print 
 For Nome folks to read and deny. 
 
 [50] 
 
For we re proud o the way that the men and the 
 dogs 
 
 Come through all the hardships they face, 
 When they speed four hundred and eight long miles 
 
 In this wonderful Northern race. 
 
 I ve seed every start since the year it begun, 
 
 And I ve seed every finish, too 
 So although I m some shy on this poetry stunt, 
 
 You can bank on my words bein true. 
 
 Five times the Kennel Club green and gold 
 
 Has fluttered so bright and gay, 
 And each team s colors has decked its friends 
 
 On our April Racing Day. 
 
 And the throngs has surged through the narrow 
 streets, 
 
 In sunshine or howlin gale, 
 To wait for the thrill of each trumpet call, 
 
 When the men and the dogs hit the trail. 
 
 And the cheers that ring in the mushers ears 
 Are the cheers that come from the heart 
 
 For the bets you ve made jest fade from your mind; 
 They are favorites all, at the start. 
 
 [51 ] 
 
And then, when the last team is out o sight 
 
 And everyone s under a spell, 
 There s nothin kin rouse them from tales o dogs 
 
 But the sound o the telephone bell. 
 
 And every soul in the whole blame burg, 
 
 From Grandma to Angel Child, 
 Is askin "Central" to give em "dope," 
 
 And the "dope" comes fast and wild. 
 
 And it comes for three whole days and nights, 
 And "Yukon" for once spoke well 
 
 When he said that nothin could touch this race 
 In the whole wide world, or Hell. 
 
 Our eatin is done when the news is slack, 
 As for sleep well, we don t get none 
 
 For we sit at the phone and hear how each team 
 Is a makin that "terrible run." 
 
 How them "staggerin brutes" o "Yukon Bill s 
 
 Is a gettin their alcohol rub, 
 And a massage, too, and a downy bed, 
 
 And their fill o wholesome grub. 
 
 How Dalzene talks to his weary team, 
 And tells em with tears in his eyes 
 
 That they won t have to run up to Candle again, 
 No matter how big is the prize. 
 
 [52 ] 
 
And care, why when Scotty at Baker s 
 Was a-thought to be takin a nap, 
 
 He was rubbin the frost from McMillan s feet, 
 And a holdin Mc s head in his lap. 
 
 Of course, we know that the race is hard, 
 For everything is that s worth while 
 But freighters is often in far worse shape 
 When they ve gone barely fifty mile. 
 
 "Bill" says when the race is all over, 
 That the dogs has no honor in Nome 
 
 And the winners, neglected on bar-room floors, 
 Lies gaspin and covered with foam. 
 
 I d jest like to show to this Yukon poet 
 
 How the racers get pettin and care, 
 And is fed upon food that would give a few points 
 
 To a Yukon Hotel Bill o Fare. 
 
 And he speaks o the drinkin and orgies, 
 When the contest is turned to a feast 
 
 And he says that there s brawlin and fightin 
 Till you can t tell a man from a beast. 
 
 Now, the camps, "Bill" knows, may be full o sech 
 
 sports, 
 But here, when the racers coma home, 
 
 [ 53] 
 
The men is Men, and the dogs is Friends 
 And there s pride in em both in Nome. 
 
 When the boom o the gun at Fort Davis 
 Tells the news that the winner is near, 
 
 With the whistles and bells all a ringin , 
 There s the sound of a rousin cheer. 
 
 A cheer for the man who has conquered, 
 
 For the dogs that has set the pace 
 strength and speed, at their masters need, 
 
 In Alaska s Sweepstakes Race. 
 
 And there s honor and praise awaitin 
 
 For, whether they win or fail, 
 They re Heroes all, in the eyes o the North, 
 
 For their pluck on the Arctic Trail. 
 
 These here are the facks and I hope "Yukon Bill" 
 When he busts into poetry next time, 
 
 Will tackle some country a long ways off, 
 Or put somethin he knows of in rhyme. 
 
 [54 ] 
 
Songs of the Sea 
 
 (Written for an Entertainment on the S. S. Senator, off Sledge Island, in a Storm, 
 October, 1909) 
 
 Oh, don t you think that you could hurl 
 
 Into a watery grave, 
 The fool who gaily pictured life 
 
 "Upon the ocean wave." 
 
 And he who penned the verses 
 All about the "deep blue sea," 
 
 Ah ! would that he were with us now, 
 Beneath Sledge Island s lee. 
 
 And with him, too, the fiend who wrote 
 "The Cradle of the Deep," 
 
 Be sure we d see that he "in peace" 
 Did not "lie down to sleep." 
 
 I know some farmer voiced that rot 
 About the "billowy main," 
 
 Who never trod a deck nor strayed 
 Beyond the "billowy grain." 
 
 As for the famous idiot, 
 Who when he wrote of snow, 
 
 Could call it naught but "beautiful," 
 We hope he roasts below. 
 
 [55] 
 
At first it seems that sudden death 
 Is all that fits the crime 
 
 Of those who put such lies in songs 
 Or make them into rhyme 
 
 But that, I fear, is far too mild 
 They should be forced to roam 
 
 From now until Hell freezes o er, 
 Between the Sound and Nome. 
 
 [56 ] 
 
Metempsychosis 
 
 In the gray of the Arctic twilight, 
 
 As close by my side she lies, 
 I ponder the fathomless mystery 
 That broods in my wolf dog s eyes. 
 
 She is gentle, yet fiercely loving 
 She is jealous and stealthy and wise, 
 
 As ever she watches and guards me, 
 With a yearning that never dies. 
 
 Together we ve crossed the frozen wastes, 
 We have breasted the howling gale, 
 
 We have seen the glory of Northern Lights; 
 Together we ve starved on the Trail. 
 
 Is there something that holds her to me, 
 
 Some secret I cannot know, 
 An expiation of crime or wrong 
 
 That happened long ages ago? 
 
 Is there bound in this wolf dog s body 
 
 The soul of some woman of old, 
 Who lived and loved, and betrayed, perchance, 
 
 When her love was growing cold? 
 
 [57 ] 
 
The soul of some passionate princess, 
 Who dwelt where the Desert sand 
 
 Sweeps down to the banks of the templed Nile 
 In that sun- warmed Lotus Land? 
 
 Or the soul of an Indian Nautch girl, 
 Who trampled the hearts of men 
 
 Into dust, neath her slender and jeweled feet, 
 And for this, is she living again? 
 
 Or is it some spirit that drained to the dregs 
 The wine from the full cup of life, 
 
 And left the Hemlock for others to quaff, 
 Laughing lightly at ruin and strife? 
 
 And who was I in those centuries gone, 
 
 And what was her guilt to me, 
 That makes her my dumb and willing slave, 
 
 In the North by the frozen sea? 
 
 If mine was the sorrow and hers was the sin, 
 
 And all that is now had to be, 
 Whatever her debt, she has paid it in full, 
 
 And her prisoned soul shall be free. 
 
 And I wonder if some time, in ages to come, 
 Will the ghosts of this dead past arise, 
 
 Shall I know then the mystery that broods today 
 In my faithful wolf dog s eyes? 
 
 [58] 
 
Nome 
 
 There lies on the shore of a frozen 
 sea, 
 
 All wrapped in a mantle of drifted 
 snow, 
 
 A little town on a dreary beach 
 
 Where the icy winds from the 
 
 Arctic blow. 
 
 Where the White Trails lead to the Great Outside, 
 Where the ghostly glow of the Northern Lights 
 Gives way to a summer, as brief as fair, 
 To be banished again by the cold bleak nights. 
 Yet no matter how rare are the scenes I view, 
 How lovely the spot I may call my Home, 
 As the compass needle will turn to the North, 
 So my heart ever turns to distant Nome. 
 
 [59 ] 
 
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