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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508256" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Clancy Of The Mounted Police</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the little Crimson Manual it's written plain and clear<br>That who would wear the scarlet coat shall say good-bye to fear;<br>Shall be a guardian of the right, a sleuth-hound of the trail--<br>In the little Crimson Manual there's no such word as "fail"--<br>Shall follow on though heavens fall, or hell's top-turrets freeze,<br>Half round the world, if need there be, on bleeding hands and knees.<br>It's duty, duty, first and last, the Crimson Manual saith;<br>The Scarlet Rider makes reply: "It's duty--to the death."<br>And so they sweep the solitudes, free men from all the earth;<br>And so they sentinel the woods, the wilds that know their worth;<br>And so they scour the startled plains and mock at hurt and pain,<br>And read their Crimson Manual, and find their duty plain.<br>Knights of the lists of unrenown, born of the frontier's need,<br>Disdainful of the spoken word, exultant in the deed;<br>Unconscious heroes of the waste, proud players of the game,<br>Props of the power behind the throne, upholders of the name:<br>For thus the Great White Chief hath said, "In all my lands be peace",<br>And to maintain his word he gave his West the Scarlet Police.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Livid-lipped was the valley, still as the grave of God;<br> Misty shadows of mountain thinned into mists of cloud;<br>Corpselike and stark was the land, with a quiet that crushed and awed,<br> And the stars of the weird sub-arctic glimmered over its shroud.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Deep in the trench of the valley two men stationed the Post,<br> Seymour and Clancy the reckless, fresh from the long patrol;<br>Seymour, the sergeant, and Clancy--Clancy who made his boast<br> He could cinch like a bronco the Northland, and cling to the prongs of the Pole.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Two lone men on detachment, standing for law on the trail;<br> Undismayed in the vastness, wise with the wisdom of old--<br>Out of the night hailed a half-breed telling a pitiful tale,<br> "White man starving and crazy on the banks of the Nordenscold."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up sprang the red-haired Clancy, lean and eager of eye;<br> Loaded the long toboggan, strapped each dog at its post;<br>Whirled his lash at the leader; then, with a whoop and a cry,<br> Into the Great White Silence faded away like a ghost.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The clouds were a misty shadow, the hills were a shadowy mist;<br> Sunless, voiceless and pulseless, the day was a dream of woe;<br>Through the ice-rifts the river smoked and bubbled and hissed;<br> Behind was a trail fresh broken, in front the untrodden snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ahead of the dogs ploughed Clancy, haloed by steaming breath;<br> Through peril of open water, through ache of insensate cold;<br>Up rivers wantonly winding in a land affianced to death,<br> Till he came to a cowering cabin on the banks of the Nordenscold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Clancy loosed his revolver, and he strode through the open door;<br> And there was the man he sought for, crouching beside the fire;<br>The hair of his beard was singeing, the frost on his back was hoar,<br> And ever he crooned and chanted as if he never would tire:--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I panned and I panned in the shiny sand, and I sniped on the river bar;<br>But I know, I know, that it's down below that the golden treasures are;<br>So I'll wait and wait till the floods abate, and I'll sink a shaft once more,<br>And I'd like to bet that I'll go home yet with a brass band playing before."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was nigh as thin as a sliver, and he whined like a Moose-hide cur;<br> So Clancy clothed him and nursed him as a mother nurses a child;<br>Lifted him on the toboggan, wrapped him in robes of fur,<br> Then with the dogs sore straining started to face the Wild.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Said the Wild, "I will crush this Clancy, so fearless and insolent;<br> For him will I loose my fury, and blind and buffet and beat;<br>Pile up my snows to stay him; then when his strength is spent,<br> Leap on him from my ambush and crush him under my feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Him will I ring with my silence, compass him with my cold;<br> Closer and closer clutch him unto mine icy breast;<br>Buffet him with my blizzards, deep in my snows enfold,<br> Claiming his life as my tribute, giving my wolves the rest."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Clancy crawled through the vastness; o'er him the hate of the Wild;<br> Full on his face fell the blizzard; cheering his huskies he ran;<br>Fighting, fierce-hearted and tireless, snows that drifted and piled,<br> With ever and ever behind him singing the crazy man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> "Sing hey, sing ho, for the ice and snow,<br> And a heart that's ever merry;<br> Let us trim and square with a lover's care<br> (For why should a man be sorry?)<br> A grave deep, deep, with the moon a-peep,<br> A grave in the frozen mould.<br> Sing hey, sing ho, for the winds that blow,<br> And a grave deep down in the ice and snow,<br> A grave in the land of gold."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Day after day of darkness, the whirl of the seething snows; <br> Day after day of blindness, the swoop of the stinging blast; <br>On through a blur of fury the swing of staggering blows;<br> On through a world of turmoil, empty, inane and vast. <br>Night with its writhing storm-whirl, night despairingly black;<br> Night with its hours of terror, numb and endlessly long;<br>Night with its weary waiting, fighting the shadows back,<br> And ever the crouching madman singing his crazy song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cold with its creeping terror, cold with its sudden clinch;<br> Cold so utter you wonder if 'twill ever again be warm;<br>Clancy grinned as he shuddered, "Surely it isn't a cinch<br> Being wet-nurse to a looney in the teeth of an arctic storm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The blizzard passed and the dawn broke, knife-edged and crystal clear;<br> The sky was a blue-domed iceberg, sunshine outlawed away;<br>Ever by snowslide and ice-rip haunted and hovered the Fear;<br> Ever the Wild malignant poised and panted to slay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lead-dog freezes in harness--cut him out of the team!<br> The lung of the wheel-dog's bleeding--shoot him and let him lie!<br>On and on with the others--lash them until they scream!<br> "Pull for your lives, you devils! On! To halt is to die."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There in the frozen vastness Clancy fought with his foes;<br> The ache of the stiffened fingers, the cut of the snowshoe thong;<br>Cheeks black-raw through the hood-flap, eyes that tingled and closed,<br> And ever to urge and cheer him quavered the madman's song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Colder it grew and colder, till the last heat left the earth,<br> And there in the great stark stillness the bale fires glinted and gleamed,<br>And the Wild all around exulted and shook with a devilish mirth,<br> And life was far and forgotten, the ghost of a joy once dreamed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Death! And one who defied it, a man of the Mounted Police;<br> Fought it there to a standstill long after hope was gone;<br>Grinned through his bitter anguish, fought without let or cease,<br> Suffering, straining, striving, stumbling, struggling on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till the dogs lay down in their traces, and rose and staggered and fell;<br> Till the eyes of him dimmed with shadows, and the trail was so hard to see;<br>Till the Wild howled out triumphant, and the world was a frozen hell--<br> Then said Constable Clancy: "I guess that it's up to me."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far down the trail they saw him, and his hands they were blanched like bone;<br> His face was a blackened horror, from his eyelids the salt rheum ran;<br>His feet he was lifting strangely, as if they were made of stone,<br> But safe in his arms and sleeping he carried the crazy man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So Clancy got into Barracks, and the boys made rather a scene;<br> And the O. C. called him a hero, and was nice as a man could be;<br>But Clancy gazed down his trousers at the place where his toes had been,<br> And then he howled like a husky, and sang in a shaky key: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"When I go back to the old love that's true to the finger-tips, <br>I'll say: `Here's bushels of gold, love,' and I'll kiss my girl on the lips;<br>It's yours to have and to hold, love.' It's the proud, proud boy I'll be,<br>When I go back to the old love that's waited so long for me."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508256" data-title="Clancy Of The Mounted Police de Robert William Service" data-description="In the little Crimson Manual it's written plain and clear That who would wear the scarlet coat shall say good-bye to fear; Shall be a guardian of the right, a sleuth-hound of the trail-- In the little Crimson Manual there's no such word as "f..."></div> </div> </div>
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