Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By HamlinGarland1396 The Gold-Seekers
I
I trod in their footsteps a space;
Each marched with his eyes on the sky,
Each passed with a light on his face.
They faced the future and gold;
Some the tooth of want’s wolf had made mad,
And some at the forge had grown old.
The rags of their service had flung;
No longer of fortune the fool,
This word from each bearded lip rung:
No man is my master, I say;
To-morrow I fail, it may be,—
No matter, I ’m freeman to-day.”
To despair and hunger and cold;
Their sickness no warning can cure,
They are mad with a longing for gold.
The smile from each face;
They will curse the impassable sky,
And the earth when the snow torrents race.
In the frost of the desolate earth;
And some will return to a maid,
Empty of hand as at birth.
They have lived and have tossed;
So much in the game will be gain,
Though the gold of the dice has been lost.