And I wrapped myself in my grizzly coat,
And lit my pipe with a coal
From Hecla’s crest, where I stopped to rest,
On my way from the Northern Pole.
My reindeers—O, they were brisk and gay—
My sledge, it could stand a pull;
My pack, tho’ great, seemed a feather’s weight,
No matter how crammed and full!
My heart it was stout in those good old days,
And warm with an inward glee;