The Feet of the Young Men

Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are loose--Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain;Now the Young Men’s hearts are troubled for the whisper of theTrues,Now the Red Gods make their medicine again!Who hath seen the beaver busied? Who hath watched the black-tailmating?Who hath lain alone to hear the wild-goose cry?Who hath worked the chosen water where the ouananiche is waiting,Or the sea-trout’s jumping-crazy for the fly?

He must go--go--go away from here!On the other side the world he’s overdue.’Send your road is clear before you when the oldSpring-fret comes o’er youAnd the Red Gods call for you!

So for one the wet sail arching through the rainbow round the bow,And for one the creak of snow-shoes on the crust;And for one the lakeside lilies where the bull-moose waits the cow,And for one the mule-train coughing in the dust.Who hath smelt wood-smoke at twilight? Who hath heard the birch-logburning?Who is quick to read the noises of the night?Let him follow with the others, for the Young Men’s feet areturningTo the camps of proved desire and known delight!

Do you know the blackened timber--do you know that racing streamWith the raw, right-angled log-jam at the end;And the bar of sun-warmed shingle where a man may bask and dreamTo the click of shod canoe-poles round the bend?It is there that we are going with our rods and reels and traces,To a silent, smoky Indian that we know--To a couch of new-pulled hemlock with the starlight on our faces,For the Red Gods call us out and we must go!

Do you know the shallow Baltic where the seas are steep and short,Where the bluff, lee-boarded fishing-luggers ride?Do you know the joy of threshing leagues to leeward of your portOn a coast you’ve lost the chart of overside?It is there that I am going, with an extra hand to bale her--Just one able ’long-shore loafer that I know.He can take his chance of drowning, while I sail and sail and sailher,For the Red Gods call me out and I must go!

Do you know the pile-built village where the sago-dealers trade--Do you know the reek of fish and wet bamboo?Do you know the steaming stillness of the orchid-scented gladeWhen the blazoned, bird-winged butterflies flap through?It is there that I am going with my camphor, net, and boxes,To a gentle, yellow pirate that I know--To my little wailing lemurs, to my palms and flying-foxes,For the Red Gods call me out and I must go!

Do you know the world’s white roof-tree--do you know that windy riftWhere the baffling mountain-eddies chop and change?Do you know the long day’s patience, belly-down on frozen drift,While the head of heads is feeding out of range?It is there that I am going, where the boulders and the snow lie,With a trusty, nimble tracker that I know.I have sworn an oath, to keep it on the Horns of Ovis Poli,And the Red Gods call me out and I must go!

Now the Four-way Lodge is opened--now the Smokes of Council rise--Pleasant smokes, ere yet ’twixt trail and trail they choose--Now the girths and ropes are tested: now they pack their lastsupplies:Now our Young Men go to dance before the Trues!Who shall meet them at those altars--who shall light them to thatshrine?Velvet-footed, who shall guide them to their goal?Unto each the voice and vision: unto each his spoor and sign--Lonely mountain in the Northland, misty sweat-bath ’neath the Line--And to each a man that knows his naked soul!

White or yellow, black or copper, he is waiting, as a lover,Smoke of funnel, dust of hooves, or beat of train--Where the high grass hides the horseman or the glaring flatsdiscover--Where the steamer hails the landing, or the surf-boat brings therover--Where the rails run out in sand-drift ...Quick! ah, heave the camp-kit over!For the Red Gods make their medicine again!

And we go--go--go away from here!On the other side the world we’re overdue!’Send the road is clear before you when the oldSpring-fret comes o’er you,And the Red Gods call for you!