His eight-months’ beard grew stiff and weird
And it felt like a chestnut burr,
And he swore by his gizzard—and the Arctic blizzard,
That he’d do right by her.
But the cold sweat froze on the end of her nose
Till it gleamed like a Teckla pearl,
While her bright hair fell, like a flame from hell,
Down the back of the grateful girl.
But a hopeless rake was Yukon Jake
The Hermit of Shark Tooth Shoal!