Chapters 14
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1 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by apc 2:50
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow. I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white Latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooings past. My paddle will lull you into rest, O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep, sleep. By your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep, now fold in slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I drift, drift, where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift. The river rolls in its rocky bed.
My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip, in foam as over their breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now. The eddies circle about my bough. Swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl in many a dangerous pool a-whirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash they see, then boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe, the reckless waves you must plunge into. Reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid. We're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway, as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away. And up on the hills, against the sky, a fir-tree rocking its lullaby.
Swing, swings its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
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2 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by blb 2:44
Pauline Johnson. West wind blow from your prairie nest, Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow, I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white lateen. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest. O drowsy wind of the drowsy west! Sleep, sleep, by your mountains steep. Or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold in slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I. Drift, drift, where the hills uplift, on either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip. Dip while the waters flip, in foam as over their breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bough. Swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl, in many a dangerous pool a-whirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash, they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe, the reckless waves you must plunge in two. Reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead, the river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway, as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills, against the sky, a fir-tree rocking its lullaby, swings, swings its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
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3 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by Chip 2:56
Pauline Johnson by Chip in Tampa, Florida on February 5th, 2006. West wind, blow from your prairie nest, blow from the mountains, blow from the west, the sail is idle. The sailor, too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow! Blow! I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white Latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooings past. My paddle will lull you into rest. O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Slee! Sleep. By your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep, now fold in slumber your laggard wings. For soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle canoe and I drift, drift.
Where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift, my river rolls in its rocky bed, my paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip in foam as over their breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bow swirl. Swirl how the ripples curl, in many a dangerous pool awhirl, and forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe, the reckless waves you must plunge in to reel, reel. On your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead, the river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway, as the bubbles spray and fall in tinkling tunes away. And up on the hills, against the sky, a fir-tree rocking its lullaby swings. Swings its emerald wings, Swelling the song that my paddle sings.
The song my paddle sings, by E. Pauline Johnson.
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4 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by EP 3:17
The Song My Paddle Sings by Emily Pauline Johnson West Wind, blow from your prairie nest. Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow, I have wooed you so. But never a favor you'd bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, But scorn to notice my white Latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooin's past. My paddle will lull you into rest. O drowsy wind of the drowsy west! Sleep, sleep, by your mountain steep. Or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold and slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings.
August is laughing across the sky, laughing while Paddle, Canoe, and I drift, drift where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift. The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip in foam as over their breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bow. Swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl, in many a dangerous pool the whirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash with a mighty crash. They seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe. The reckless waves you must plunge in, too. Reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel.
We've raced the rapid. We're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away. And up on the hills against the sky, a fir-tree rockin' its lullaby. Swings, swings its emerald wings, swellin' the song that my paddle sings.
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5 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by Brad 2:33
The Song My Paddle Sings West wind, blow from your prairie nest, Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too. Oh, wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow, I have wooed you so, But never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white lateen. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest, O, drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep, sleep, by your mountain steep, or down where your prairie grasses sweep. Now fold and slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I drift, drift, where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead dip, dip, while the waters flip in foam as over their breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now. The eddies circle about my bow. Swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl in many a dangerous pool a-whirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with the mighty crash they seethe and boil, and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave canoe. The reckless waves you must plunge into. Reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills, against the sky, a fir-tree, rocking its lullaby, swings, Swings its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
End of poem. Read on February 7, 2006, in Texas.
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6 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by Kyo 2:59
The Song My Paddle Sings West wind, blow from your prairie nest, Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too, O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, Blow! I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest, O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep! Sleep. By your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep, now fold in slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I drift, drift, where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip in foam as over their breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bough. Swirl, swirl! How the ripples curl in many a dangerous pool awhirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash. They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe. The reckless waves you must plunge in two. Reel, reel, on your trembling keel. But never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid. We're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway, as the bubbles spray and fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills against the sky, a fir-tree rocking its lullaby. Swings, swings, its emerald wings. Swelling the song.
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7 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by MB 2:34
Pauline Johnson West wind, blow from your prairie nest, blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow, I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white Latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest. O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep, sleep by your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold and slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I. Drift, drift, where the hills uplift, on either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip, in foam as over their breast we slip. And oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bough. Swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl in many a dangerous... And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash, they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe, the reckless waves you must plunge into, reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills against the sky, a fir-tree rocking its lullaby, swings, swings its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
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8 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by MD 3:06
E. Pauline Johnson West wind blow from your prairie nest, Blow from the mountains, blow from the west, The sail is idle, the sailor too. O wind of the west, we wait for you, Blow, blow, I have wooed you so, But never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, But scorn to notice my white lateen. I stow the sail and ship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest. O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep, sleep, by your mountain steep. Or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold and slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I drift, drift where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip where the waters flip, and foam is over the breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bough, swirl, swirl how the ripples curl, in many a dangerous pool a-whirl, and forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash, they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave canoe. The reckless waves you must plunge into. Reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid. We're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills, against the sky, a fir tree rocking its lullaby. Swings, swings its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
End.
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9 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by PAO 2:38
Pauline Johnson. Read for LibriVox.org by Patricia Oakley.
West wind, blow from your prairie nest. Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow, I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white Latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest, O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep, sleep, by your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold and slumber your laggard wings. For soft is a song my paddle sings.
August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I drift, drift, where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift. The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip and foam as over their breast we slip. And oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bow, swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl in many a dangerous pool a-whirl. And forward, far, the rapids roar, fretting their margin forevermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe. The reckless waves you must plunge into. Reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel.
We've raced the rapid. We're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway as the bubbles spray and fall in tinkling tunes away. And up on the hills against the sky, a fir tree rocking its lullaby. Swings, swings, its emerald wings swelling the song that my paddle sings.
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10 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by PJ 2:20
Pauline Johnson. Read for LibriVox.org by Paul Jacobus. February 7, 2006. West wind blow from your prairie nest. Blow from the mountains. Blow from the west. The sail is idle. The sailor, too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow, I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white Latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest, O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep, sleep by your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold in slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe and I, drift, drift, where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed, my paddle is plying its way ahead, dip, dip, while the waters flip in foam as over their breast we slip. And oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bow, swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl, in many a dangerous pool a-whirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore, dash, dash, with a mighty crash, they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe, the reckless waves you must plunge into, reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never of fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tombs away.
And up on the hills, against the sky, a fir tree, rocking its lullaby, swings, swings its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
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11 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by rkb 1:54
West wind, blow from your prairie nest, Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle to sailor too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow! I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle, the hills between, but scorn to notice my weight lateen. I stow the sail, unship the mast, I wooed you long, but my wooing past. My paddle will lull you into rust. O drowsy wind of the drowsy west, sleep, sleep by your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold and slumber. Remember your laggard winds, for soft is the song of my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I drift, drift, where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift.
My river rolls on its rocky bed, my petal is plying its way ahead, dip, dip, while the waters flip in foam as over their breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bow, swirls swirl, how the ripples curl in many dangerous pools awhirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore, dash, dash with a mighty crash, they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe. The reckless waves you must plunge into, reel, reel, on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid. We're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway as the bubbles spray. Fallen, tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills against the sky, a fir-tree rocking in its lullaby. Swings, swings, its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
End of the song my title sings.
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12 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by SDW 2:43
Pauline Johnson. Read for LibriVox.org by S. D. West. February 9, 2006. The Song My Paddle Sings. West wind blow from your prairie nest. Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too. O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow, I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle, the hills between, but scorn to notice my white latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooings passed. My paddle will lull you into rest, O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep, sleep, by your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold and slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I.
Drift, drift, where the hills uplift, on either side of the current swift. The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip. In foam is over their breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bow. Swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl, in many a dangerous pool a-whirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash, they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle. Be brave, canoe. The reckless waves you must plunge in two. Reel, reel, on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid. We're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway, as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away. And up on the hills against the sky, a fir-tree rocking its lullaby. Swings, swings its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
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13 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by SS 2:18
The song my paddle sings West wind, blow from your prairie nest Blow from the mountains, blow from the west The sail is idle, the sailor too O wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow, I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white latine. I stow the sail, unship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest, O drowsy wind of the drowsy west. Sleep, sleep, by your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold and slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe and I. Drift, drift, where the hills uplift, on either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed, my paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip, in foam as o'er the breast we slip. And, oh, the river runs swifter now, the eddies circle about my bow. Swirl, swirl, how the ripples curl, in many a dangerous pool a-whirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash, they seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, be brave, canoe, the reckless waves you must plunge into. Reel, reel on your trembling keel. But never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid. We're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway, as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills against the sky, a fir-tree rocking its lullaby. Swing, swings, its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.
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14 The Song My Paddle Sings - Read by VB 3:03
John's, Newfoundland, February 2006. The Song My Paddle Sings by E. Pauline Johnson West wind, blow from your prairie nest. Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too. Oh, wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow. I have wooed you so, but never a favor you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, but scorn to notice my white Latine. I stow the sail on ship the mast. I wooed you long, but my wooing's past. My paddle will lull you into rest. Oh, drowsy wind of the drowsy west, sleep, sleep by your mountain steep, or down where the prairie grasses sweep. Now fold in slumber your laggard wings, for soft is the song my paddle sings. August is laughing across the sky, laughing while paddle, canoe, and I drift, drift, where the hills uplift on either side of the current swift.
The river rolls in its rocky bed. My paddle is plying its way ahead. Dip, dip, while the waters flip in foam as over their breast we slip. And oh, the river runs swifter now. The eddies circle about my bow. Swirl, swirl. How the ripples curl in many a dangerous pool a-whirl. And forward far the rapids roar, fretting their margin for evermore. Dash, dash, with a mighty crash. They seethe and boil and bound and splash. Be strong, O paddle, O brave canoe. The reckless waves you must plunge in two. Reel, reel on your trembling keel, but never a fear my craft will feel. We've raced the rapid we're far ahead. The river slips through its silent bed. Sway, sway as the bubbles spray, and fall in tinkling tunes away.
And up on the hills against the sky, a fir tree rocking its lullaby. Swings, swings its emerald wings, swelling the song that my paddle sings.