Mapping Indigenous Poetry of North America, 1830-1924

"Beyond the Blue" by E. Pauline Johnson

Speak of you, sir? You bet he did. Ben Fields
    was far too sound 
To go back on a fellow just because he weren't
    around.
Why, sir, he thought a lot of you, and only three
    months back
Says he, "The Squire will some time come a-snuffing
    out our track
And give us the surprise." And so I got to thinking
    then
That any day you might drop down on 
Andgve And so Igot to thinking on Rove, and
    me, and Ben. 
And now you've come for nothing, for the lad has
    left us two,
And six long weeks ago, sir, he went up beyond the 
    blue.
    
Who's Rove? Oh, he's the collie, and the only
    thing on earth 
That I will ever love again. Why, Squire, that dog
    is worth
More than you ever handled, and that's quite a
    piece, I know. 
Ah, there the beggar is!—you scalaway!
    and show 
Your broken leg all bandaged up. Yes, sir, it's 
    pretty sore;
I did it,—curse me,— and I think I feel the pain far 
    more 
Than him, for somehow I just feel as if I'd been 
    untrue 
To what my brother said before he went beyond
    the blue. 
    
You see, the day before he died he says to me, 
    "Say, Ned, 
Be sure you take good care of poor old Rover when
    I'm dead,
And maybe he will cheer your lonesome hours up
    a bit, 
And when he takes to you just see that you're de-
    serving it." 
Well, Squire, it wasn't any use. I tried, but couldn't 
    get
The friendship of that collie, for I needed it, you
    bet. 
I might as well have tried to get the moon to help
    me through,
For Rover's heart had gone with Ben, 'way up
    beyond the blue. 
    
He never seemed to take to me nor follow me
    about,
For all I coaxed and petted, for my heart was
    starving out 
For want of some companionship,—I thought, if 
    only he 
Would lick my hand or come and put his head aside 
    my knee, 
Perhaps his touch would scatter something of the 
    gloom away. 
But all alone I had to live until there came a day
When, tired of the battle, as you'd have tired too,
I wished to heaven I'd gone with Ben, 'way up
    beyond the blue. 
    
One morning I took out Ben's gun, and thought I'd 
    hunt all day,
And started through the clearing for the bush that
    forward lay,
When something made me look around —I scarce 
    believed my mind— 
But, sure enough, the dog was following right close 
    behind. 
A feeling first of joy, and than a sharper, greater 
    one 
Of anger came, at knowing 'twas not me, but Ben's 
    old gun. 
That Rove was after,—well, sir, I just don't mind 
    telling you,
But I forgot that moment Ben was up beyond the 
    blue. 
    
Perhaps it was but jealousy—perhaps it was despair,
But I just struck him with the gun and broke the 
    bone right there; 
And then—my very throat seemed choked, for he 
    began to whine 
With pain—God knows how tenderly I took that 
    dog of mine
Up in my arms, and tore my old red necktie into 
    bands 
To bind the broken leg, while there he lay and licked 
    my hands;
And though I cursed my soul, it was the brightest
    day I knew, 
Or even cared to live, since Ben went up beyond
     the blue. 
     
I tell you, Squire, I nursed him just as gently as 
    could be. 
And now I'm all the world to him, and he's the 
    world to me. 
Look, sir, at that big, noble soul, right in his faithful 
    eyes. 
The square, forgiving honesty that deep down in
    them lies. 
Eh, Squire? What's that you say? He's got no 
    soul? I tell you, then,
He's grander and he's better than the mass of what's 
    called men; 
And I guess he stands a better chance than many of 
    us do 
Of seeing Ben some day again, 'way up beyond the 
    blue. 

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