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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508754" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Gramaphone At Fond-Du-Lac</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now Eddie Malone got a swell grammyfone to draw all the trade to his store;<br>An' sez he: &quot;Come along for a season of song, which the like ye had niver before.&quot;<br>Then Dogrib, an' Slave, an' Yellow-knife brave, an' Cree in his dinky canoe,<br>Confluated near, to see an' to hear Ed's grammyfone make its dayboo.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Ed turned the crank, an' there on the bank they squatted like bumps on a log.<br>For acres around there wasn't a sound, not even the howl of a dog.<br>When out of the horn there sudden was born such a marvellous elegant tone;<br>An' then like a spell on that auddyence fell the voice of its first grammyfone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Bad medicine!&quot; cried Old Tom, the One-eyed, an' made for to jump in the lake;<br>But no one gave heed to his little stampede, so he guessed he had made a mistake.<br>Then Roll-in-the-Mud, a chief of the blood, observed in choice Chippewayan:<br>&quot;You've brought us canned beef, an' it's now my belief that this here's a case of canned man.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well, though I'm not strong on the Dago in song, that sure got me goin' for fair.<br>There was Crusoe an' Scotty, an' Ma'am Shoeman Hank, an' Melber an' Bonchy was there.<br>'Twas silver an' gold, an' sweetness untold to hear all them big guinneys sing;<br>An' thick all around an' inhalin' the sound, them Indians formed in a ring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So solemn they sat, an' they smoked an' they spat, but their eyes sort o' glistened an' shone;<br>Yet niver a word of approvin' occurred till that guy Harry Lauder came on.<br>Then hunter of moose, an' squaw an' papoose jest laughed till their stummicks was sore;<br>Six times Eddie set back that record an' yet they hollered an' hollered for more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'll never forget that frame-up, you bet; them caverns of sunset agleam;<br>Them still peaks aglow, them shadders below, an' the lake like a petrified dream;<br>The teepees that stood by the edge of the wood; the evenin' star blinkin' alone;<br>The peace an' the rest, an' final an' best, the music of Ed's grammyfone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then sudden an' clear there rang on my ear a song mighty simple an' old;<br>Heart-hungry an' high it thrilled to the sky, all about &quot;silver threads in the gold&quot;.<br>'Twas tender to tears, an' it brung back the years, the mem'ries that hallow an' yearn;<br>'Twas home-love an' joy, 'twas the thought of my boy . . . an' right there I vowed I'd return.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Big Four-finger Jack was right at my back, an' I saw with a kind o' surprise,<br>He gazed at the lake with a heartful of ache, an' the tears irrigated his eyes.<br>An' sez he: &quot;Cuss me, pard! but that there hits me hard; I've a mother does nuthin' but wait.<br>She's turned eighty-three, an' she's only got me, an' I'm scared it'll soon be too late.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On Fond-du-lac's shore I'm hearin' once more that blessed old grammyfone play.<br>The summer's all gone, an' I'm still livin' on in the same old haphazardous way.<br>Oh, I cut out the booze, an' with muscles an' thews I corralled all the coin to go back;<br>But it wasn't to be: he'd a mother, you see, so I -- sliped it to Four-finger Jack.</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>
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<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=508754" data-title="The Gramaphone At Fond-Du-Lac de Robert William Service" data-description="Now Eddie Malone got a swell grammyfone to draw all the trade to his store;
An' sez he: &quot;Come along for a season of song, which the like ye had niver before.&quot;
Then Dogrib, an' Slave, an' Yellow-knife brave, an' Cree in his dinky canoe,
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