Publisher's Synopsis
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1897 edition. Excerpt: ... L'ENVOI There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield, And the ricks stand grey to the sun, Singing: --' Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover, 'And your English summer's done.' You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind, And the thresh of the deep-sea rain; You have heard the song--how long! how long? Pull out on the trail again! Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass, We 've seen the seasons through, And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail, Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail--the trail that is always new. It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun Or South to the blind Horn's hate; Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay, Or West to the Golden Gate; Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass, And the wildest tales are true, And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail, And life runs large on the Long Trail--the trail that is always new. The days are sick and cold, and the skies are grey and old, And the twice-breathed airs blow damp; And I 'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll Of a black Bilbao tramp; With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass, And a drunken Dago crew, And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail--the trail that is always new. There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake, Or the way of a man with a maid; But the sweetest way to me is a ship's upon the sea In the heel of the North-East Trade, Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass, And the drum of the racing screw, As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail, As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail-- the trail that is always new? See the shaking..