Call of the Wild (1992) - full transcript

A young boy heads off to the Yukon after hearing tales about the Gold Rush, and he forms an unwavering friendship with a heroic Alsatian dog called Buck.

Come, Buck!

Buck lived at a big house

in the sun-kissed

Santa Clara Valley.

Judge Miller's Place,

it was called.

The house was approached

by graveled driveways

which wound about through

wide-spreading lawns

and under the interlacing boughs

of tall poplars.

And over this great domain,

Buck ruled.

Here he was born,

and here he had lived

the four years of his life.

Good afternoon, Manuel.

Buck didn't

read the newspapers,

or he would have known

that trouble was brewing,

not alone for himself,

but of every tidewater dog,

strong of muscle

and with warm, long hair

from Puget Sound to San Diego,

because men, groping

in the arctic darkness,

had found a yellow metal.

And because steam ship

and transportation companies

were booming the find,

thousands of men were

rushing into the Northland.

These men wanted dogs.

Come on!

And the dogs they wanted

were heavy dogs,

with strong muscles

by which to toil

and furry coats

to protect them from the frost.

Buck accepted the rope

with quiet dignity.

He had learned to trust

in men he knew

and to give them credit

for a wisdom

that outreached his own.

But when the rope was placed

in the stranger's hands...

For two days and nights,

he neither ate nor drank.

And in those two days

of torment,

he accumulated a fund of wrath

that boded ill

for whoever

first fell foul of him.

Get in there!

Let him out.

You stay good,

and it'll be fine.

You be a bad dog,

and I'll wail

the stuffin' out ya.

Buck was beaten,

but he was not broken.

He saw that he stood no chance

against a man with a club.

That club was a revelation.

It was his introduction

to the reign of primitive law.

Now, this is the one

you need.

Big, strappin' brute

name of Buck.

Heh. He's big enough,

all right.

Why isn't he eating?

Ah, he's sulkin'.

Got a temper

for a big dog.

Had to show him

his place.

This is my best dog,

Perrault.

He'll pull your mail sled

all the way to Dawson

by himself, mark my word.

300.

300?

That's my price.

He's worth more.

That's a lot of money.

He's a lot of dog.

I'll give you 300

for him...

and for that

frisky one over there.

Curly?

Deal.

The next morning,

Buck and Curly were loaded

onto the "Narwhal."

The vessel sailed north

from Seattle,

quickly crossing

the Canadian border.

The journey continued,

pressing on

through Queen Charlotte Sound,

past Juneau, into Lynn Canal,

and finally up towards

Dyea Beach.

At last, one morning,

the propeller was quiet.

Buck knew a change was at hand.

This is Buck.

And Curly.

Take them over

to the camp.

I'll go

get the mail.

Hey!

Hey, off! Cut it out!

Here, Billee.

Here, Buck.

Spitz.

There you go, Dave.

And Curly.

No, Spitz!

That was fair, Buck decided.

This was a new kind of man,

a man too wise

in the way of dogs

to be fooled by dogs.

As a courier for

the Canadian government

bearing important dispatches,

Perrault was anxious

to secure the best dogs.

How ya doin'?

And he was

particularly gladdened

by the possession of Buck.

There you go, sir.

Thanks a lot.

Hello, John.

How are you this morning?

Fine, Perrault.

And you?

All right.

I have plenty of mail

for Dawson this time.

So I see.

So, what's the weather like

on the trail these days?

Oh, it's pretty bad.

Especially

around Lake Bennett.

Yeah?

Hey!

Hey, ho!

Come on, Francois,

do something!

Get out!

Get them out of here!

Yah! Get out!

Get out of here!

Go on, get! Go on!

So that was the way.

No fair play.

Once down,

that was the end of you.

Well...

Buck would see to it

that he never went down.

Spitz looked at Curly,

unmoved,

and that moment

Buck hated him

with a bitter

and deathless hatred.

Get out, Buck!

Get out!

Out!

Francois.

This is Solecks.

What's the problem?

Well, he's old.

And half blind.

He knows how

to pull a sled,

that's all

I care about.

Okay, Solecks.

No more fancy collars

for you, my friend.

Come on, Buck.

Come on, Buck.

Good dog, yeah.

Let's get moving,

Francois,

or we'll never

make it through the canyon.

Mush! Mush!

Though Buck's dignity

was sorely hurt

by being harnessed

like a horse,

he was too wise to rebel.

He buckled down with a will

and did his best,

though it was

all new and strange.

He was glad to be gone.

He was surprised

at the eagerness

which animated

the whole team,

and which was communicated

to him.

The toil of the traces

seemed the supreme expression

of their being,

and all that they lived for

and the only thing in which

they took delight.

There you go, Dave.

Here, Spitz.

Come on, Buck.

Thieves!

What happened?

One of 'em

stole my bacon.

Where'd you

leave it?

Doesn't matter

where I left it.

They had no business

stealing it.

No... Buck wouldn't

have stolen it.

It was you, wasn't it?

If I ever catch you,

you'll wish you'd

never been born.

This first theft marked Buck

as fit to survive in the hostile

Northland environment.

It marked his adaptability,

his capacity to adjust himself

to changing conditions,

the lack of which

would have meant

swift and terrible death.

It was all well enough

in the Southland

under the law

of love and fellowship

to respect private property

and personal feelings,

but in the Northland,

under the law

of club and fang,

whoso took such things

into account was a fool.

And insofar as he observed them,

he would fail to prosper.

Come on, Buck.

You built yourself a nest.

Go back to it.

Hey, hey! All right.

Hold it, Buck, hold it.

Get out of there, Spitz!

Go! Go!

The next day they made 40 miles,

the trail being packed.

But the next day,

and for many days to follow,

they broke their own trail,

worked harder and made

poorer time.

It was a hard day's run

up canyon,

through snowdrifts

hundreds of feet deep.

And over the great

Chilkoot divide,

which stand between the ocean

and the Yukon River

and guards forbiddingly

the sad and lonely north.

Ho! Ho!

We camp here.

All right.

You're gonna like this.

Trust me.

Hurry up.

The weather's

getting worse.

Come on, come walk.

Come.

Come on, Buck.

Don't worry,

you'll get used to them.

That's it, Buck.

Come on.

That's it, Buck.

You'll get

used to it.

I've seen it all now,

Francois.

Boots for a damn dog.

How's the ice?

Pretty bad.

Could lose half a day,

so keep your wits

about you.

Mush! Mush!

Here in Dawson

were other Southland dogs,

and every night,

regularly,

at 9:00, at 12:00, at 3:00,

they lifted

a nocturnal song,

a weird and eerie chant

in which it was

Buck's delight to join.

Mush!

Mush!

Mush!

Seven days from the time

they pulled into Dawson,

they dropped down

to the Yukon trail.

Perrault was carrying dispatches

more urgent

than those he had brought in.

Also, the pride

had gripped him...

Ho! Ho!

...and he proposed to make

the record trip of the year.

Whoa!

The week's rest had

recuperated the dogs

and put them in thorough trim.

Good day's run,

Francois.

All right.

Go on.

Ah, damn.

What are you

doing?

They must be

tired of salmon.

A little rabbit

might taste good, eh?

And you two...

I hear them.

Leave them be.

It's nice to have

some quietness here.

There had been

no hope for Spitz.

Mercy was a thing reserved

for gentler climes.

Instincts long dead

became alive again in Buck.

The domesticated generations

were falling from him.

Looks like he put up

a hell of a fight.

Damn it.

It's tough enough

on the trail.

Now this.

I'm glad

it's finally over.

You're glad we lost a dog?

Buck's worth two dogs.

We're gonna

make better time.

No more Spitz.

No more trouble.

Hope you're right.

Come on, Solecks.

Come on!

Got a new job for you.

Come on, Solecks.

Buck, go away!

So, you think you should

take Spitz place, eh?

Go away. Go!

Solecks will lead.

Stay!

I've had enough.

By God, Buck, I'm gonna

teach you your place.

Damn you, Buck!

Buck...

So... what do we do?

I say give Buck

a chance.

He fought for it.

All right, Monsieur Perrault.

maybe you're right.

It was a hard trip

with the trail behind them,

and the heavy work

wore them down.

Since the beginning

of winter,

they had traveled 1,800 miles,

dragging sleds the whole

weary distance.

Buck stood it, keeping his mates

up to their work

and maintaining discipline,

though he, too,

was very tired.

Monsieur Perrault.

No broken bones.

Put him back

in the traces.

No, he's too weak

to pull.

Then you know

what we have to do.

He might recover.

We'll make him

run behind.

Come on.

All right.

Let's get going.

Come on, Dave.

Mush!

Come on, Dave,

you can do it.

Wait!

Ho!

I'll do it.

Pull the dogs ahead.

Mush! Mush!

Buck knew, and every dog knew,

what had taken place behind

that belt of river trees,

and they knew that this thing

was very close to them.

30 days from the time

it left Dawson,

the mail with Buck and his mates

at the fore

arrived back

in a wretched state,

worn out and worn down.

Dyea.

Thank God.

Sounds like you're

both lucky to be alive.

Too bad you're gonna

have to go back to Dawson.

What?

Urgent mail for

the Northwest Police.

No way we can make it

to Dawson right now.

The dogs

are exhausted.

They need a week

to rest up.

Sorry, you're the only

messengers in town.

Silas O'Neill's got

got some fresh dogs

you can buy.

Yeah, but what am I

gonna do with my dogs?

Sell 'em.

Dyea's crawling

with Southerners,

half of them

looking for dogs.

350.

Mm-hmm.

And 400.

That right?

Yes, it is, Evans.

Hmm.

And give the dogs

a good rest.

They need it.

Hmm.

Where are the dogs?

Come this way.

Good-bye, my friends.

You're a good dog, Buck.

Au revoir, mon ami.

Ah.

Buck listened to his new masters

apprehensively

as they proceeded

to load the sled.

There was a great deal of effort

about their manner,

but no businesslike method.

And we're done.

No, that one should

go on top, please.

All right.

Yes, dear.

There.

Okay.

I-I wouldn't tote that tent

along, if I were you.

Undreamed of.

How in the world would

we manage without a tent?

It's almost spring.

You can get along

without it.

That's for the advice, mister.

Think it'll ride?

And why not?

Well, it seems a might

top-heavy, that's all.

Oh.

Ah!

Well then.

All right, listen up,

you mutts.

I'm your new master.

And I demand obedience.

Stand.

Stand, I say!

I-I said stand up.

Oh, you lazy brute.

No, Hal, no.

You mustn't.

No, you mustn't be

so harsh with him,

or we won't

move a step.

You have

to whip the dogs

if you want anything

out of them.

Ask any one of those men,

go ahead!

They're weak

as water, friend.

They just got off the trail.

They need a rest.

Well, just

look at them.

Well, it's the--

it's the big one here.

He's... he's lazy.

What's his name?

Uh, Buck.

Okay, Buck... up!

You're crazy, mister!

Don't you talk to my brother

in that tone of voice, sir.

Now, you do what

you think is necessary.

Why don't you get up

and pull on the sled?

What a good boy.

Back away, Mercedes.

We need to get going!

Come on! Let's go!

Come on, doggie!

Hello, Yukon! Hah!

Hyah! Hyah!

Hyah! Giddap!

Hyah!

Hal?

Are you all right?

Here, let me... oh.

Whew.

Uh...

Whew.

Well, we'll just

have to...

take a few things off.

Well, now...

feeling better?

No, how can I feel better

leaving all my things behind?

Oh, but sweet beet,

with all the gold

we're going to find,

I'll buy you every new dress

in Dawson City.

Well, everyone just relax.

With seven dogs,

we're really gonna fly.

This is a lot harder

than you told me, Charles.

Well, you didn't

think getting rich

would be easy,

did you, dear?

All right?

All aboard

The Gold Express!

We're all set.

Ready?

Yes.

All right,

you mangy mutts.

Mush!

Uhh!

Mush!

What...

Uh...

What now?

Well, perhaps I should

walk for a while, eh?

All right, here we go.

Mush! Mush on!

There we go.

Hurrah for the Klondike!

If this is spring,

I'm glad we missed winter.

Eat heartily, lads.

You've earned it.

But, Hal...

we didn't get

very far today.

It's not bad

for a first day,

especially

considering Cleopatra

sat on the barge

the entire way.

A woman can only

walk so far in one day.

Now, sweetheart,

don't be like that.

Perhaps we should

shore them up.

She's your wife.

I can hear you, Hal!

What's wrong?

Ah, we got a problem.

See, I thought we had passed

Lake Bennett yesterday.

No, no, that

was Lake Harris.

Oh, you poor doggies.

You look so tired.

Well, what if we

went this way?

If we meet up with

the White Pass Trail, here...

...we'd cut our distance

by a third.

But... but in Dyea

they said

that trail was dangerous

this time of year.

No, dear!

Don't do that!

You mustn't

overfeed the dogs.

Oh, no, no.

Don't be so cruel, Charles.

They need their sustenance.

But we'll run out of food

halfway to Dawson.

No, we're taking

the White Pass Trail,

and we're cutting

the dog's rations.

Buck felt vaguely that there

was no depending upon

these two men

and the woman.

They didn't know

how to do anything.

And as the days went by,

it became apparent

that they couldn't learn.

This way!

Come on!

Let's go.

This way. Mush!

Up here, Buck!

No, go up! Go up!

Mush! Mush!

Mush!

Mush!

Hyah! Mush, dog!

Uhh!

Help me!

Hal! Help me!

Freezing!

How could you leave me

back there? I almost died!

Why aren't you wearing

your snow shoes?

They're back there.

Why don't you go back there

and find them

if they're so precious?!

Charles, would you

please inform my sister

that this is not Milwaukee.

That this is, in fact,

the middle of the damn Yukon!

Why don't you tell

my foul-mouthed brother...

that I am trying my best...

but I just can't

walk anymore.

I just can't!

By this time, all the amenities

and gentlenesses

of the Southland

fell away

from the three people.

Shorn of its glamour

and romance,

arctic travel became to them

a reality too harsh for them.

Hah! Mush on!

I think this trail

is slower than the other ones.

Hyah! Agh.

Come on.

Hyah! Mush!

And through it all,

Buck staggered along

at the head of the team

as in a nightmare.

Stop!

Whoa!

Whoa! Whoa, whoa,

whoa, whoa, whoa!

Ho, ho!

What?!

Look!

Oh, Lord.

How are we going

to get across?!

Just don't panic.

Just...

We'll follow the river

upstream till it's frozen.

Come on, let's go!

Stop! Stop!

Stop, stop!

Oh, God, look he's-- look!

Whoa! Whoa!

Don't!

For God's sake!

He's dead.

Let's just keep moving!

Hyah! Mush!

Hah, mush!

What does he want?

I think he's trying to

tell you something, dear.

He wants you

off the sled.

But I'm freezing.

Get off!

Or we're not

going anywhere.

I didn't want to come

on this trip, you know.

I didn't want

to look for gold.

I only came because I wanted to

be near you, because I love you.

And now everything

is ruined!

Ahh.

Hyah! Mush!

Hyah!

It was spring,

but neither dogs nor humans

were aware of it.

From every hill came

the trickle of running water.

All things were thawing.

The Yukon was straining

to break loose the ice

that bound it down.

Thin sections of ice fell

through bodily into the river.

And amid all this throbbing

of awakening life,

through the rushing

of the swollen river,

like wayfarers to death,

the two men, the woman,

and the dogs

staggered into

John Thornton's camp

at the mouth of White River.

Thank God.

We're traveling

upstream,

looking for

some ice to cross.

Well, there's lots of ice.

But it's about to break.

I wouldn't call it safe.

We made it this far.

We'll find

a way across.

Could be.

You look frozen stiff.

No, we...

we're j-just fine.

Come on.

Up.

Up!

Come on, Buck,

let's get up.

We gotta

keep going now.

Come on, let's--

Come on, Buck! Up.

Come on, let's...

Come on, Buck!

Look at me,

I said stand.

Up. Up!

Buck, I said up!

You listen to me, Buck.

When I say up...

Come on, when I say up...

Like his mates, Buck

was barely able to get up.

But unlike them,

he had made up his mind

not to get up.

He sensed disaster

close at hand

out there ahead on the ice,

where his master

was trying to drive him.

This dog's finished.

Give me the gun,

Charles.

No, Hal!

Give me the damn gun!

No!

Uhh!

You finish the dog,

I'll finish you.

Got that?

He's my dog.

You mind your own business.

Come on, come on.

Well, take him!

He's nearly dead anyway.

Let's go.

Come on.

Let's go, come on.

Let's take a look

at you.

By the time

John Thornton's search

had disclosed nothing more

than many bruises

and as state of

terrible starvation,

the sled was a quarter

of a mile away.

A bunch of idiots.

Wanna try this?

Come on.

Help!

When John Thornton froze his

feet in the previous December,

his partners, Hans and Pete,

had made him comfortable

and left him to get well,

going on themselves up the river

with a boat of skins for Dawson.

He was still weak at the time

he rescued Buck,

but with the continued

warm weather,

the weakness had left him.

And here beside the riverbank,

through the long days

of approaching spring,

listening lazily

to the songs of birds

and the hum of nature,

Buck slowly won back

his strength.

And then, one day,

decided he might trust

John Thornton.

Hi. How are ya?

What?

Hey...

Yeah...

Buck romped through

his convalescence

and into

a new existence: love.

Genuine, passionate love

was his for the first time.

This he had never experienced

down at Judge Miller's.

Theirs had been a stately

and dignified friendship,

but love that was feverish

and burning--

that was adoration,

that was madness--

it had taken John Thornton

to arouse.

This man had saved his life.

For a long time

after his rescue,

Buck didn't let Thornton

out of his sight.

Since he had

come into the Northland

he had feared that no master

could be permanent.

He was afraid that Thornton

would pass out of his life, too.

But in spite of this great love

Buck bore John Thornton,

the strain of the primitive

which the Northland

had aroused in him

remained alive and active.

Each day, mankind

and the claims of mankind

slipped farther from him.

Deep in the forest,

a call was sounding.

And as often as Buck

heard the call,

mysteriously thrilling

and luring,

he felt compelled to turn

his back upon the campsite

and the beaten earth around it

and to plunge

into the forest...

and on and on.

He knew

not where or why.

But as often as he gained

the soft, unbroken earth

and the dark forest shade,

the love for John Thornton

drew him back again.

Thornton alone held him.

The rest of mankind

was as nothing.

Convalescence was over.

Along a bad stretch of rapids

on the Forty-Mile Creek,

Thornton's two partners,

Hans and Pete,

were moving along the bank

with ropes.

They were getting ready

to guide Thornton in the boat,

which was loaded with the skins

they would sell in Dawson.

Pete! Pete!

Come on, Hans!

Agh!

Hold on!

Come here, Buck.

Come here.

Come on!

Hang on, John!

Go get him, Buck.

Okay, pull!

Agh! Gah!

John... John...

You're all right.

It's me, Hans!

John...

Hold on.

He's all right.

You okay?

I could use

a whisky right now.

Charlie, don't you

be cheatin' again.

Don't say hello,

John.

All right.

How are things

with you?

You strike it rich yet?

No.

I just look

that way.

Who's your friend?

My partner.

That's a pretty

fine-lookin' dog, mister.

Hey, John... over here.

Excuse us.

That looks pretty strong.

You know, I got a dog

can break out a sled

with 500 pounds

and walk right off with it.

Oh, yeah?

Well, my boy Duggan

can do the same...

with 600 pounds.

Well, my boy Buck

can do 800 pounds.

800 pounds?

And walk with it

for 100 feet?

And walk off

with it...

for 100 feet.

You know,

I'd like to see that.

I got $1,000 worth

of gold dust

that says

that he can't.

Stay.

That dog? Yeah,

I'll put one down.

I got 100 bucks

says he can't.

I have a-- a bet

that I wanna make.

I got a sled waitin'

right outside.

Okay.

Done!

Two-to-one Thornton's dog

can't meet the challenge.

In this deep mud?

I say it ought

to be three-to-one.

I'll take those

three-to-one odds.

And I'll lay you

another 1,000!

At those odds,

any takers? Come on!

You got any more money?

All we got.

Ah, Buck'll triple it

for us anyway.

John...

I'll put my money

on you.

200 more.

Against my 600.

Done.

Do this for me.

Don't let me down.

Okay.

Come on.

Hey! Hey. Ho!

Come on!

Come on...

Come on.

You can do it.

Come on! Come on.

Come on, come on.

Hey! Hey! Ho!

You can do it,

come on!

Come on!

Come on! Pull!

Yeah! Come on!

There, there.

Come on.

Go! Go!

Come on! Pull!

Come on.

Yeah! Yeah, come on.

Sir! I'll give you

$1,000 for your dog!

1,200!

He's not for sale.

Your share.

And... 150.

Thanks for

the support.

When are you gonna leave?

Pretty soon.

Listen,

why don't, uh...

you just think

about it, huh?

And sleep on it.

Maggie...

Hmm?

Why do you have to give me

such a hard time?

When Buck earned $1,600

in five minutes

for John Thornton,

he made it possible

for his master

to pay off certain debts

and to journey into the east

after a fabled lost mine,

the history of which was as old

as the history of the country.

Many men had sought it,

few had found it,

and more

than a few there were

who had never returned

from the quest.

Good-bye.

Good luck.

From the beginning,

there had been

an ancient

and ramshackle cabin.

Dying men had sworn to it

and to the mine which it marked,

clinching their testimony

with nuggets

that were unlike any known

grade of gold in the Northland.

John Thornton asked little

of man or nature.

He was unafraid of the wild,

with a handful of salt

and a rifle,

he could plunge

into the wilderness

and fare wherever he pleased

and as long as he pleased.

This was Indian country,

and, being in no haste,

Indian fashion,

he hunted and fished

for his dinner

in the course

of the day's travel.

Lying next to Thornton,

dozing lazily

in the heat of the day,

irresistible impulses

were beginning to seize Buck.

Let's see.

Let's see here.

Mm-hmm.

Whoa.

The months came and went,

and at the end

of all their wandering,

they found not the lost cabin,

but a shallow mine

in a broad valley.

They sought no further.

Let's see.

The call was still sounding

in the depths

of the forest.

It filled Buck

with a great unrest

and strange desires,

and he was aware

of wild yearnings and stirrings

for he knew not what.

He pursued the call

into the forest,

running in the dim twilight,

seeking for

the mysterious something

that called for him to come.

Oh, there you are.

I guess now it's time

for breakfast, huh?

From the forest

came the call.

Distinct and definite

as never before.

A long-drawn howl like,

yet unlike,

any noise made by a dog.

And he knew it

in the old familiar way

as a sound heard before.

Buck was wildly glad.

He knew he was at last

answering the call,

running by the side

of his wood brother

toward the place from where

the call surely came.

He had done this thing before,

somewhere in that

dimly-remembered world,

and he was doing it again now.

Then... Buck remembered

John Thornton.

If you think you're

gonna sleep here,

you got another thing

coming.

Get out.

Buck never left camp,

never let Thornton

out of his sight.

But after a while, his

restlessness came back on him.

He was a thing of the wild,

come in from the wild

to sit by John Thornton's fire,

and he was haunted

by recollections

of the wild brother.

Once again, he took to wandering

in the woods,

but the wild brother

came no more.

There's no gold here.

We go home tomorrow.

Let's call it a day.

Buck had lessoned well.

He must be master

or be mastered,

while to show mercy

was a weakness.

Mercy did not exist

in primordial life.

It was misunderstood for fear,

and such misunderstandings

made for death.

Kill or be killed,

eat or be eaten

was the law.

Whoa.

Buck!

Whoo hoo hoo!

Hoo hoo.

Yeah!

We're gonna be...

We're gonna be

pretty rich.

Huh? Let's see...

Here.

Buck!

Gah!

Uhh! Ohh...

Gah!

Buck?

All day, Buck brooded

by Thornton's body.

Death, as a cessation

of movement,

as a passing out and away

from the lives of the living,

he knew...

and he knew John Thornton

was dead.

It left a great void in him,

somewhat akin to hunger,

but a void

which ached and ached

and which food could not fill.

And with

the coming of night,

brooding and mourning

by the river,

buck became alive to a stirring

of the new life in the forest.

It was the call...

sounding more luring

and compelling than ever before.

And, as never before,

he was ready to obey.

John Thornton

was dead.

The last tie was broken.

Man and the claims of man

no longer bound him.

And here may well end

the story of Buck.

The years were not many

when the Yeehat Indians

noted a change in the breed

of timber wolves,

for some were seen with splashes

of brown on head and muzzle

and with a rift of gold

centering down the chest.

But more remarkable than this,

the Yeehats

tell of a ghost dog

that runs with the pack.

They are afraid

of this ghost dog,

for it has cunning

greater than they,

stealing from their camps

in fierce winters,

robbing their traps,

slaying their dogs,

defying their bravest hunters,

and there is a certain valley

which they never enter.

When the long winter nights

come on,

and the wolves

follow their meat,

he may be seen running

at the head of the pack

through the pale moonlight,

leaping gigantic

above his fellows,

his great throat a-bellow

as he sings a song

of the younger world,

which is the song of the pack.