Rhymes of a Roughneck   By: Pat O'Cotter

BY

PAT O'COTTER

1918

DEDICATED TO ALASKA

The home of the tin can and dog, A waste of snow, ice, and moss. The graveyard of ambitions, The by word for hell, The home of the famed double cross. Men come here for gold, Ambitious for wealth They stick for they can't get away, They dig, drink, and die, And then go to hell, To pay for their last sucker play

ALASKA

CONTENTS

THE BIRTH OF THE LAND

A WOMAN, A DOG, AND A WALNUT TREE

WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN

THE THROWBACK

THE MALAMUTE

UNSATISFIED

THE PROSPECTOR

IF

US FOR SAM

HOW LONG

THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL

FLOTSAM

TRYING

THE NEW MASTER

PROSPECTING

THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY

WHY

AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA

THE BIRTH OF THE LAND

For a thousand years the Devil crouched On the white hot flags of hell: For a thousand years the Devil cursed The imps that had chained him well; For a thousand years the Devil sulked And planned with his hell trained brain Of the things he'd do, when his term was thru, And freed from the blistering chain.

He'd even the score with the men of earth, And give them back pain for pain, For all of the days he had felt the blaze And the sear of the galling chain. And it came to pass when his time was up And hell's gates were opened wide That all hell rang, and the clinkered imps sang When the Devil passed Outside.

"I have served my time," the Devil said As he halted by heaven's gate; I have sweated in hell for a thousand years And each year was a year of hate. I have framed my plans for a thousand years, I have worked out the details well Now I'd have a place near the human race As a sort of a prep school for hell.

The sons of men, on the earth below Have scarcely a chance to sin, Churched, belled and gowned, they mope around By precept, all sealed in; There is never a sin for lust of flesh Nor sin for a man struck blow, And the red blood crime of the olden time Has passed with the long ago.

Hell's motley crew is scarce worth coal When they come to the thing called death; They squat on the coals with the real damned souls And listen with bated breath, To the tales of the earth, when the world was new, When a man had to fight for his own, When he took his wife at the risk of his life And killed for a half baked bone.

Now I'd build a place where a man might sin For the sake of his own desires; Make his the cause, and his the laws, And the penalty, mine own fires; Hast a place on earth to breed such men Each for his own deeds blamed? If you'll give me a place, I'll breed a race That hell may not be shamed.

The God King sighed as he searched the plat And the map of the earth below; I have given a place for every race In the belt from snow to snow. I have given a home to each bird and beast For even the fox has its hole, I have given all land to the sons of man And I've builded a home for his soul.

In the seven days that I toiled below When I builded the seas and lands, There was much to do, and I didn't get thru And one place unfinished stands. It's the part of my work that I really regret, For I know it's the worst of the lot, It's known down below as The Land of the Snow, Or, The Country that God forgot.

It stands apart by the Northern Pole, Unfinished, forgotten, alone, And no man's hand has won this land, And no man calls it his own. The country is made up of odds and ends, Unfinished mountain, and swamp and lake, Stuff that couldn't be used when the earth was fused; If you want it, it's yours to take.

"I'll take this plot," the Devil quoth, "For I like your description well, Yes, I'll take this place and I'll mould a race That will be a credit to hell." Then he whistled an imp from the uttermost part And they dropped as the comets whirled Past the white baked stars, past Venus and Mars To the unfinished part of the world.