Do you know the world's white roof-tree-do you know that windy rift

Where 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.

He must go-go, etc.

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 last supplies;

Now our Young Men go to dance before the

Trues!

Who shall meet them at those altars-who shall light them to that shrine?

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 trainWhere the high grass hides the horseman or the glaring flats discover

Where the steamer hails the landing, or the surfboats bring the rover

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 old
Spring-fret comes o'er you,

And the Red Gods call for you!

RUDYARD KIPLING

I

VISIONS

NEVER watch the sun set a-down the Western skies

But that within its wonderness I see my mother's

eyes;

I never hear the West wind sob softly in the trees But that there comes her broken call far o'er the

distant seas,

And never shine the dim stars but that my heart would go

Away and back to olden lands and dreams of long ago.

A rover of the wide world, when yet my heart was

young,

The sea came whispering to me in well-beloved

tongue,

And oh, the promises she held of golden lands a-gleam

That clung about my boy heart and filled mine eyes with dream,

And Wanderlust came luring me till 'neath the stars I swore

That I would be a wanderer for ever, ever more.

A rover of the wide world, I've seen the Northern

lights

A-flashing countless colors in the knife-cold wintry nights;

I've watched the Southern Cross a-blaze o'er smiling, sunny lands,

And seen the lazy sea caress palm-sheltered, silver sands;

Still wild unrest is scourging me, the Wanderlust

of yore,

And I must be a wanderer for ever, ever more.

And yet, I see the sun set a-down the Western skies, And glimpse within the wonderness my mother's pleading eyes;

And yet, I hear the West wind sob softly in the

trees

That vainly cloak her broken call far o'er the dis

tant seas;

And still when shine the dim stars my wander-heart

would go

Away and back to her side, and dreams of long ago. EDMUND LEAMY

T

A VAGABOND SONG

HERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood

Touch of manner, hint of mood;

And my heart is like a rhyme,

With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by,

And my lonely spirit thrills

To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood

astir;

We must rise and follow her,

When from each hill of flame

She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

BLISS CARMAN