'The Prospector' by Robert Service
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I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
A-purpose to revisit the old claim.
I kept thinking mighty sadly of the funny ways of Fate,
And the lads who once were with me in the game.
Poor boys, they're down-and-outers, and there's scarcely one to-day
Can show a dozen colors in his poke;
And me, I'm still prospecting, old and battered, gaunt and gray,
And I'm looking for a grub-stake, and I'm broke.
I strolled up old Bonanza. The same old moon looked down;
The same old landmarks seemed to yearn to me;
But the cabins all were silent, and the flat, once like a town,
Was mighty still and lonesome-like to see.
There were piles and piles of tailings where we toiled with pick and pan,
And turning round a bend I heard a roar,
And there a giant gold-ship of the very newest plan
Was tearing chunks of pay-dirt from the shore.
It wallowed in its water-bed; it burrowed, heaved and swung;
It gnawed its way ahead with grunts and sighs;
Its bill of fare was rock and sand; the tailings were its dung;
It glared around with fierce electric eyes.
Full fifty buckets crammed its maw; it bellowed out for more;
It looked like some great monster in the gloom.
With two to feed its sateless greed, it worked for seven score,
And I sighed: "Ah, old-time miner, here's your doom!"
The idle windlass turns to rust; the sagging sluice-box falls;
The holes you digged are water to the brim;
Your little sod-roofed cabins with the snugly moss-chinked walls
Are deathly now and mouldering and dim.
The battle-field is silent where of old you fought it out;
The claims you fiercely won are lost and sold;
But there's a little army that they'll never put to rout--
The men who simply live to seek the gold.
The men who can't remember when they learned to swing a pack,
Or in what lawless land the quest began;
The solitary seeker with his grub-stake on his back,
The restless buccaneer of pick and pan.
On the mesas of the Southland, on the tundras of the North,
You will find us, changed in face but still the same;
And it isn't need, it isn't greed that sends us faring forth--
It's the fever, it's the glory of the game.
For once you've panned the speckled sand and seen the bonny dust,
Its peerless brightness blinds you like a spell;
It's little else you care about; you go because you must,
And you feel that you could follow it to hell.
You'd follow it in hunger, and you'd follow it in cold;
You'd follow it in solitude and pain;
And when you're stiff and battened down let someone whisper "Gold",
You're lief to rise and follow it again.
Yet look you, if I find the stuff it's just like so much dirt;
I fling it to the four winds like a child.
It's wine and painted women and the things that do me hurt,
Till I crawl back, beggared, broken, to the Wild.
Till I crawl back, sapped and sodden, to my grub-stake and my tent--
There's a city, there's an army (hear them shout).
There's the gold in millions, millions, but I haven't got a cent;
And oh, it's me, it's me that found it out.
It was my dream that made it good, my dream that made me go
To lands of dread and death disprized of man;
But oh, I've known a glory that their hearts will never know,
When I picked the first big nugget from my pan.
It's still my dream, my dauntless dream, that drives me forth once more
To seek and starve and suffer in the Vast;
That heaps my heart with eager hope, that glimmers on before--
My dream that will uplift me to the last.
Perhaps I am stark crazy, but there's none of you too sane;
It's just a little matter of degree.
My hobby is to hunt out gold; it's fortressed in my brain;
It's life and love and wife and home to me.
And I'll strike it, yes, I'll strike it; I've a hunch I cannot fail;
I've a vision, I've a prompting, I've a call;
I hear the hoarse stampeding of an army on my trail,
To the last, the greatest gold camp of them all.
Beyond the shark-tooth ranges sawing savage at the sky
There's a lowering land no white man ever struck;
There's gold, there's gold in millions, and I'll find it if I die,
And I'm going there once more to try my luck.
Maybe I'll fail--what matter? It's a mandate, it's a vow;
And when in lands of dreariness and dread
You seek the last lone frontier, far beyond your frontiers now,
You will find the old prospector, silent, dead.
You will find a tattered tent-pole with a ragged robe below it;
You will find a rusted gold-pan on the sod;
You will find the claim I'm seeking, with my bones as stakes to show it;
But I've sought the last Recorder, and He's--God.
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Prospector: Uncovering the Layers of Robert Service's Classic Poem
As I read Robert Service's poem, "The Prospector," I couldn't help but be struck by the layers of meaning and interpretation that could be found within its verses. On the surface, it tells the story of a lone prospector seeking his fortune in the wilderness, but as I delved deeper, I discovered a rich tapestry of themes and symbols that spoke to the human experience in profound ways.
At its core, "The Prospector" is a narrative of the search for meaning in a world that often seems indifferent to our desires and aspirations. The protagonist, who remains nameless throughout the poem, is driven by a burning desire to strike it rich and escape the drudgery of everyday life. He is described as a man of "nerve and pluck and grit," who is willing to brave the dangers of the wilderness in pursuit of his dreams.
But as the poem progresses, we see that the prospector's ambition is not enough to sustain him in the face of the harsh reality of the wilderness. He is forced to contend with hunger, thirst, and the constant threat of danger from wild animals and treacherous terrain. He is described as "half-starved and half-sickened," his clothes "torn and darned and gritty," and his body "wracked with pain."
Yet despite these hardships, the prospector persists in his quest, driven by a stubborn will to survive and succeed. He is a symbol of the human spirit, which refuses to be broken by the trials and tribulations of life. As the poet writes, "For he's a man, you understand; / It's men that make the world go round."
But there is more to the story than just the prospector's individual struggle. "The Prospector" is also a meditation on the nature of wealth and its relationship to human happiness. The protagonist is driven by the belief that if he can just find the mother lode, he will be able to escape the drudgery of his old life and live a life of luxury and ease.
However, as the poem unfolds, we see that this belief is misguided. The prospector digs and digs, but he never finds the treasure he seeks. As the days and weeks pass, he becomes increasingly desperate, and his body begins to fail him. He is forced to eat his moccasins and drink his own urine in a desperate bid to stay alive.
It is only when he is at his lowest point, lying near death, that he has a moment of clarity. He realizes that the wealth he has been seeking is not the key to happiness and fulfillment, but rather it is the struggle itself that gives life its meaning. As the poem concludes, he says, "I've learned some truths I never knew; / But Sorrow is my richest gain, / And there's no price I would not pay / For my long, lone trail again."
This final revelation is a powerful one, and it speaks to the heart of the human experience. We are all searching for meaning and purpose in our lives, and we often believe that wealth and material possessions will provide the answer. But as the prospector discovers, it is the struggle itself that gives our lives meaning, and it is the hardships and challenges we face that make us stronger and more resilient.
In addition to these overarching themes, "The Prospector" also contains a wealth of smaller symbols and motifs that contribute to its richness and depth. For example, the wilderness itself is a powerful symbol of the unknown and the unpredictable, and it represents the challenges and obstacles we all face in our lives. The gold that the prospector is seeking is a symbol of wealth and abundance, but it also represents the elusive nature of happiness and fulfillment.
The prospector's mule, too, is a symbol of the fragility of life and the importance of companionship. The mule is the prospector's only companion in the wilderness, and its death is a devastating blow that sends the protagonist into a spiral of despair. But even in this dark moment, the prospector finds the inner strength to carry on, and it is this resilience that ultimately allows him to survive and thrive.
Overall, "The Prospector" is a masterful work of poetry that resonates with readers on multiple levels. It is a story of individual struggle and triumph, but it is also a profound meditation on the nature of the human experience and the search for meaning and purpose in our lives. Robert Service's deft use of symbolism and metaphor creates a rich and complex tapestry that rewards close reading and interpretation, and it is a testament to the enduring power of poetry to capture the essence of the human soul.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Prospector: A Tale of Adventure and Perseverance
Robert Service's poem, The Prospector, is a classic tale of adventure and perseverance that captures the spirit of the gold rush era. The poem tells the story of a lone prospector who braves the harsh wilderness in search of gold, facing numerous challenges and setbacks along the way. Through vivid imagery and powerful language, Service paints a picture of the prospector's journey and the rugged beauty of the landscape he traverses.
The poem begins with a description of the prospector's solitary existence, as he sets out on his quest for gold:
"I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
A-purpose to revisit the old claim.
I kept thinking mighty sadly of the funny ways of Fate,
And the lads who once were with me in the game."
Here, Service sets the scene for the poem, introducing the prospector and his mission. The use of colloquial language, such as "lads" and "funny ways of Fate," adds a personal touch to the narrative, making the reader feel as though they are hearing the story from a friend.
As the prospector makes his way through the wilderness, he encounters a series of obstacles that test his resolve. He faces treacherous terrain, harsh weather conditions, and the constant threat of danger from wild animals. Despite these challenges, he remains determined to find his fortune:
"I crossed the range and dropped a while in Happy Valley town,
And I tried to stir a little old-time cheer;
But the boys I used to booze with are all gone or broken down,
Or else they've moved away from here."
Here, Service highlights the prospector's resilience in the face of adversity. He is not deterred by the loss of his former companions or the difficult conditions he faces. Instead, he presses on, driven by his desire to strike it rich.
As the prospector continues his search, he begins to feel the weight of his isolation. He longs for the company of others, but finds himself alone in the vast wilderness:
"I'm lonesome-like and homesick, and my feet are tired and sore,
And I don't know where to go or what to do;
But I'll stick it out another month; I'll stay a little more,
For I cannot lose the hope that's born anew."
This passage captures the prospector's sense of isolation and uncertainty, as well as his determination to persevere. Despite his weariness and doubt, he refuses to give up on his dream.
Finally, after months of searching, the prospector strikes gold. His hard work and perseverance have paid off, and he is rewarded with the ultimate prize:
"And I've struck it, yes, by Heaven! and it's richer than before;
But I'm old, and I want to go away;
I want to go where codfish are, I want to see the shore,
For I'm just a tired old man who's had his day."
This final stanza is a bittersweet conclusion to the poem. The prospector has achieved his goal, but at a great cost. He is tired and worn out, and longs for the comforts of home. The use of the phrase "had his day" suggests that the prospector recognizes that his time has passed, and that he is ready to move on.
Overall, The Prospector is a powerful and evocative poem that captures the spirit of the gold rush era. Through vivid imagery and powerful language, Service tells the story of a lone prospector who braves the wilderness in search of fortune, facing numerous challenges and setbacks along the way. The poem is a testament to the human spirit of perseverance, and a reminder that even in the face of great adversity, we can find the strength to carry on.
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