Оригинален текст
Oh the wife she tried to tell me that 'twas nothing but the thrumming
of a woodpecker a-rapping on the hollow of a tree;
and she thought that i was fooling when i said it was the drumming
of the mustering of legions and 'twas calling unto me;
'twas calling me to pull my freight and hop across the sea.
And a-mending of my fish-nets sure i started up in wonder,
for i heard a savage roaring and 'twas coming from afar;
oh the wife she tried to tell me that 'twas only summer thunder,
and she laughed a bit sarcastic when i told her it was war:
'twas the chariots of battle where the mighty armies are.
Then down the lake came half-breed tom with russet sail a-flying
and the word he said was "war" again, so what was i to do ?
oh the dogs they took to howling and the missis took to crying,
as i flung my silver foxes in the little birch canoe;
yes, the old girl stood a-bubbling till an island hid the view.
Says the factor, "mike, you're crazy! they have soldier men a-plenty.
you're as grizzled as a badger and you're sixty year or so."
"but i haven't missed a scrap," says i, "since i was one and twenty.
and shall i miss the biggest ? you can bet your whiskers ? no!"
so i sold my furs and started ... and that's eighteen months ago.
For i joined the foreign legion and they put me for a starter
in the trenches of the argonne with the boche a step away;
and the partner on my right hand was an apache from montmartre;
and on my left there was a millionaire from pittsburgh, u.s.a.
(poor fellow! they collected him in bits the other day.)
Well i'm sprier than a chipmunk, save a touch of the lumbago,
and they calls me old methoosalah, and blagues me all the day.
i'm their exhibition sniper and they work me like a dago,
and laugh to see me plug a boche a half a mile away.
oh i hold the highest record in the regiment, they say.
And at night they gather round me, and i tell them of my roaming
in the country of the crepuscule beside the frozen sea,
where the musk-ox run unchallenged and the cariboo goes homing;
and they sit like little children, just as quiet as can be:
men of every clime and color, how they harken unto me!
And i tell them of the furland, of the tumpline and the paddle,
of secret rivers loitering, that no one will explore;
and i tell them of the ranges, of the pack-strap and the saddle,
and they fill their pipes in silence, and their eyes beseech for more;
while above the star-shells fizzle and the high explosives roar.