Explore "The Athabasca Trail" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
My life is gliding downwards; it speeds swifter to the day / When it shoots the last dark canyon to the Plains of Far-away, / But while its stream is running through the years that are to be, / The mighty voice of Canada will ever call to me. / I shall hear the roar of rivers where the rapids foam and tear, / I shall smell the virgin upland with its balsam-laden air, / And shall dream that I am riding down the winding woody vale / With the packer and the packhorse on the Athabasca Trail.
I have passed the warden cities at the Eastern water-gate / Where the hero and the martyr laid the corner stone of State, / The habitant, _coureur-des-bois_, and hardy voyageur -- / Where lives a breed more strong at need to venture or endure? / I have seen the gorge of Erie where the roaring waters run, / I have crossed the Inland Ocean, lying golden in the sun, / But the last and best and sweetest is the ride by hill and dale / With the packer and the packhorse on the Athabasca Trail.