The Song of Hugh Glass

by John G. Neihardt

Now creeping round the door-flap, lights the place

And shows thin fingers groping for a face

Deep-scarred and hoary with the frost of years

Whereover runs a new springtide of tears.

“O Jamie, Jamie, Jamie—I am Hugh!

There was no Black Robe yonder—Will I do?”

NOTES

By Julius T. House, Ph.D. (Chicago)

Head of the Department of English at the State Normal School, Wayne, Nebraska