large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/11_trailofninety-eight_service_hp_64kb_18
large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/11_trailofninety-eight_service_hp_64kb
English
2254
There were the tents of Dawson, there the scar of the slide; Swiftly we poled o'er the shallows, swiftly leapt o'er the side. Fires fringed the mouth of Bonanza; sunset gilded the dome; The test of the trail was over  thank God, thank God, we were Home! THERE WERE THE TENTS OF DAWSON THERE THE SCAR OF THE SLIDE SWIFTLY WE PULLED O'ER THE SHALLOWS SWIFTLY LEAPT O'ER THE SIDE FIRES FRINGED THE MOUTH OF BONANZA SUNSET GILDED THE DOME THE TEST OF THE TRAIL WAS OVER THANK GOD THANK GOD WE WERE HOME
ike a racer, sweeps through a gash in the rock; Buts at the boulder-ribbed bottom, staggers and rears at the shock; Leaps like a terrified monster, writhes in its fury and pain; Then with the crash of a demon springs to the onset again. Dared we that ravening terror; heard we its din in our ears; Called on the Gods of our fathers, juggled forlorn with our fears; Sank to our waists in its fury, tossed to the sky like a fleece; Then, when our dread was the greatest, crashed into safety and peace. But what of the others that followed, losing their boats by the score? Well could we see them and hear them, strung down that desolate shore. What of the poor souls that perished? Little of them shall be said-- On to the Golden Valley, pause not to bury the dead. Then there were days of drifting, breezes soft as a sigh; Night trailed her robe of jewels over the floor of the sky. The moonlit stream was a python, silver, sinuous, vast, That writhed on a shroud of velvet--well, it was done at last. MENACE OF DOOM THE RIVER SPRINGS LIKE A RACER SWEEPS THROUGH A GASH IN THE ROCK BUTTS AT THE BOULDER RIBBED BOTTOM STAGGERS AND REARS AT THE SHOCK LEAPS LIKE A TERRIFIED MONSTER WRITHES IN ITS FURY AND PAIN THEN WITH THE CRASH OF A DEMON SPRINGS TO THE ONSET AGAIN DARED WE THAT RAVENING TERROR HEARD WE ITS DIN IN OUR EARS CALLED ON THE GODS OF OUR FATHERS JUGGLED FORLORN WITH OUR FEARS SANK TO OUR WAISTS IN ITS FURY TOSSED TO THE SKY LIKE A FLEECE THEN WHEN OUR DREAD WAS THE GREATEST CRASHED INTO SAFETY AND PEACE BUT WHAT OF THE OTHERS THAT FOLLOWED LOSING THEIR BOATS BY THE SCORE WELL COULD WE SEE THEM AND HEAR THEM STRUNG DOWN THAT DESOLATE SHORE WHAT OF THE POOR SOULS THAT PERISHED LITTLE OF THEM SHALL BE SAID ON TO THE GOLDEN VALLEY PAUSE NOT TO BURY THE DEAD THEN THERE WERE DAYS OF DRIFTING BREEZES SOFT AS A SIGH NIGHT TRAILED HER ROBE OF JEWELS OVER THE FLOOR OF THE SKY THE MOONLIT STREAM WAS A PYTHON SILVER SINUOUS VAST THAT WRITHED ON A SHROUD OF VELVET WELL IT WAS DONE AT LAST
large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/11_trailofninety-eight_service_hp_64kb
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download/librilight/large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/11_trailofninety-eight_service_hp_64kb.flac