"So I fill de glass an' I raise it high
An' drink to de Voyageur."
THE VOYAGEUR
AND OTHER POEMS
By William Henry Drummond, M.D.
Author of "The Habitant," "Johnnie Courteau," etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
Frederick Simpson Coburn
SIXTEENTH THOUSAND
New York and London
G. P. Putnam's Sons
The Knickerbocker Press
COPYRIGHT, 1905
BY
WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND
Fourteenth Printing
TO
WILLIAM HENRY PARKER
LAC LA PÊCHE
Philosopher of many parts,
Beloved of all true honest hearts,
A man who laughs at every ill,
Because "there's corn in Egypt still."
CONTENTS
[THE VOYAGEUR]
[BRUNO THE HUNTER]
[PRIDE]
[DIEUDONNÉ (GOD-GIVEN)]
[THE DEVIL]
[THE FAMILY LARAMIE]
[YANKEE FAMILIES]
[THE LAST PORTAGE]
[GETTING ON]
[PIONEERS]
[NATURAL PHILOSOPHY]
[CHAMPLAIN]
[PRO PATRIA]
[GETTING STOUT]
[DOCTOR HILAIRE]
[BARBOTTE (BULL-POUT)]
[THE ROSSIGNOL]
[MEB-BE]
[SNUBBING (TYING-UP) THE RAFT]
[A RAINY DAY IN CAMP]
[JOSETTE]
[JOE BOUCHER]
[CHARMETTE]
[LAC SOUCI]
[POIRIER'S ROOSTER]
[DOMINIQUE]
[HOME]
[CANADIAN FOREVER]
[TWINS]
[KEEP OUT OF THE WEEDS]
[THE HOLY ISLAND]
[THE RIVIÈRE DES PRAIRIES]
[THE WIND THAT LIFTS THE FOG]
[THE FOX HUNT]
ILLUSTRATIONS
[ THE VOYAGEUR . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece ]
"So I fill de glass an' I raise it high
An' drink to de Voyageur."
[ THE VOYAGEUR ]
"Far, far away from hees own vill-age
An' soun' of de parish bell."
[ BRUNO THE HUNTER ]
"So de devil ketch heem, of course, at las'."
[ THE LAST PORTAGE ]
"De moon an' de star above is gone,
Yet somet'ing tell me I mus' go on."
[ PIONEERS ]
"So we fin' some fence dot's handy for
mese'f an' Rosalie."
[ PRO PATRIA ]
"Jus' tell dem de news of Gédéon Plouffe—
How he jump wit' de familee."
[ MEB-BE ]
"Don't bodder no wan on de school
Unless dey bodder heem."
[ SNUBBING (TYING-UP) THE RAFT ]
"To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,
Playin' away on Joe Belair."
[ JOSETTE ]
"So dat's de reason dey call Josette
Leetle sister of de poor."
[ CHARMETTE (Missing from book) ]
"You see dat lake? Wall! I alway hate
To brag—but she's full of trout."
The Voyageur and Other Poems
The Voyageur
Dere's somet'ing stirrin' ma blood tonight,
On de night of de young new year,
Wile de camp is warm an' de fire is bright,
An' de bottle is close at han'—
Out on de reever de nort' win' blow,
Down on de valley is pile de snow,
But w'at do we care so long we know
We 're safe on de log cabane?
Drink to de healt' of your wife an' girl,
Anoder wan for your frien',
Den geev' me a chance, for on all de worl'
I 've not many frien' to spare—
I 'm born, w'ere de mountain scrape de sky,
An' bone of ma fader an' moder lie,
So I fill de glass an' I raise it high
An' drink to de Voyageur.
For dis is de night of de jour de l'an,[1]
W'en de man of de Grand Nor' Wes'
T'ink of hees home on de St. Laurent,
An' frien' he may never see—
Gone he is now, an' de beeg canoe
No more you 'll see wit' de red-shirt crew,
But long as he leev' he was alway true,
So we 'll drink to hees memory.
Ax' heem de nort' win' w'at he see
Of de Voyageur long ago,
An' he 'll say to you w'at he say to me,
So lissen hees story well—
"I see de track of hees botte sau-vage[2]
On many a hill an' long portage
Far far away from hees own vill-age
An' soun' of de parish bell—
"Far, far away from hees own vill-age
An' soun' of de parish bell."
"I never can play on de Hudson Bay
Or mountain dat lie between
But I meet heem singin' hees lonely way
De happies' man I know—
I cool hees face as he 's sleepin' dere
Under de star of de Red Rivière,
An' off on de home of de great w'ite bear,
I 'm seein' hees dog traineau.[3]
"De woman an' chil'ren 's runnin' out
On de wigwam of de Cree—
De leetle papoose dey laugh an' shout
W'en de soun' of hees voice dey hear—
De oldes' warrior of de Sioux
Kill hese'f dancin' de w'ole night t'roo,
An de Blackfoot girl remember too
De ole tam Voyageur.
"De blaze of hees camp on de snow I see,
An' I lissen hees 'En Roulant'
On de lan' w'ere de reindeer travel free,
Ringin' out strong an' clear—
Offen de grey wolf sit before
De light is come from hees open door,
An' caribou foller along de shore
De song of de Voyageur.
"If he only kip goin', de red ceinture,[4]
I 'd see it upon de Pole
Some mornin' I 'm startin' upon de tour
For blowin' de worl' aroun'—
But w'erever he sail an' w'erever he ride,
De trail is long an' de trail is wide,
An' city an' town on ev'ry side
Can tell of hees campin' groun'."
So dat 's 'de reason I drink to-night
To de man of de Grand Nor' Wes',
For hees heart was young, an' hees heart was light
So long as he 's leevin' dere—
I 'm proud of de sam' blood in my vein
I 'm a son of de Nort' Win' wance again—
So we 'll fill her up till de bottle 's drain
An' drink to de Voyageur.
[1] New Year's day.
[2] Indian boot.
[3] Dog-sleigh.
[4] Canadian sash.
BRUNO THE HUNTER
You never hear tell, Marie, ma femme,
Of Bruno de hunter man,
Wit' hees wild dogs chasin' de moose an' deer,
Every day on de long, long year,
Off on de hillside far an' near,
An' down on de beeg savane?
Not'ing can leev' on de woods, Marie,
W'en Bruno is on de track,
An' young caribou, an' leetle red doe
Wit' baby to come on de spring, dey know
De pity dey get w'en hees bugle blow
An' de black dogs answer back.
No bird on de branch can finish hees song,
De squirrel no longer play—
De leaf on de maple don't need to wait
Till fros' of October is at de gate
'Fore de blood drops come: an' de fox sleeps late
W'en Bruno is pass dat way.
So de devil ketch heem of course at las'
Dat 's w'at de ole folk say,
An' spik to heem, "Bruno, w'at for you kill
De moose an' caribou of de hill
An' fill de woods wit' deir blood until
You could run a mill night an' day?"
"So de devil ketch heem of course at las'."
"Mebbe you lak to be moose youse'f,
An' see how de hunter go,
So I 'll change your dogs into loup garou,[1]
An' wance on de year dey 'll be chasin' you—
An' res' of de tam w'en de sport is troo,
You 'll pass wit' me down below."
An' dis is de night of de year, Marie,
Bruno de hunter wake:
Soon as de great beeg tonder cloud
Up on de mountain 's roarin' loud—
He 'll come from hees grave w'ere de pine tree crowd
De shore of de leetle lake.
You see de lightning zig, zig, Marie,
Spittin' lak' loup cervier,[2]
Ketch on de trap? Oh! it won't be long
Till mebbe you lissen anoder song,
For de sky is dark an' de win' is strong,
An' de chase is n't far away.
W'y shiver so moche, Marie, ma femme,
For de log is burnin' bright?
Ah! dere she's goin', "Hulloo! Hulloo!"
An' oh! how de tonder is roarin' too!
But it can't drown de cry of de loup garou
On Bruno de hunter's night.
Over de mountain an' t'roo de swamp,
Don't matter how far or near,
Every place hees moccasin know
Bruno de hunter he 's got to go
'Fore de grave on de leetle lake below
Close up for anoder year.
But dey say de ole feller watch all night,
So you need n't be scare, Marie,
For he 'll never stir from de rocky cave
W'ere door only open beneat' de wave,
Till Bruno come back to hees lonely grave—
An' de devil he turn de key.
Dat 's way for punish de hunter man
W'en murder is on hees min'—
So he better stop w'ile de work is new,
Or mebbe de devil will ketch heem too,
An' chase heem aroun' wit' de loup garou
Gallopin' close behin'.
[1] Were wolf.
[2] Lynx.
PRIDE
Ma fader he spik to me long ago,
"Alphonse, it is better go leetle slow,
Don't put on de style if you can't afford,
But satisfy be wit' your bed an' board.
De bear wit' hees head too high alway,
Know not'ing at all till de trap go smash.
An' mooshrat dat 's swimmin' so proud to-day
Very often to-morrow is on de hash." [1]
Edouard de Seven of Angleterre,
An' few oder place beside,
He 's got de horse an' de carriage dere
W'enever he want to ride.
Wit' sojer in front to clear de way,
Sojer behin' all dress so gay,
Ev'rywan makin' de grand salaam,
An' plaintee o' ban' playin' all de tam
Edouard de Seven of Angleterre,
All he has got to do,
W'en he 's crossin' de sea, don't matter w'ere,
Is call for de ship an' crew.
Den hois' de anchor from down below,
Vive le Roi! an' away she go,
An' flag overhead, w'en dey see dat sight
W'ere is de nation don't be polite?
An' dere 's de boss of United State,
An' w'at dey call Philippine—
De Yankee t'ink he was somet'ing great,
An' beeg as de king or queen—
So dey geev' heem a house near touch de sky,
An' paint it so w'ite it was blin' de eye
An' long as he 's dere beginnin' to en',
Don't cos' heem not'ing for treat hees frien'.
So dere 's two feller, Edouard de King
An' Teddy Roos-vel' also,
No wonder dey 're proud, for dey got few t'ing
Was helpin' dem mak' de show—
But oh! ma Gosh! w'en you talk of pride
An' w'at dey call style, an' puttin' on side,
W'ere is de man can go before
De pig-sticker champion of Ste. Flore?
Use to be nice man too, dey say,
Jeremie Bonami,
Talk wit' hees frien' in a frien'ly way
Sam' as you'se'f an' me—
Of course it 's purty beeg job he got,
An' no wan expec' heem talk a lot,
But still would n't hurt very moche, I 'm sure,
If wance in a w'ile he 'd say, "Bonjour."
Yi! Yi! to see heem come down de hill
Some mornin' upon de fall,
W'en de pig is fat an' ready to kill,
He don't know hees frien' at all—
Look at hees face an' it seem to say,
"Important duty I got to-day,
Killin' de pig on de contree side,—
Is n't dat some reason for leetle pride?"
Lissen de small boy how dey shout
W'en Jeremie 's marchin' t'roo
De market place wit' hees cane feex out
Wit' ribbon red, w'ite an' blue—
An' den he jomp on de butcher's block,
An' affer de crowd is stop deir talk,
An' leetle boy holler no more "Hooray,"
Dis is de word Jeremie he say—
"I 'm de only man on de w'ole Ste. Flore
Can kill heem de pig jus' right,
Please t'ink of dat, an' furdermore
Don't matter it 's day or night,
Can do it less tam, five dollar I bet,
Dan any pig-sticker you can get
From de w'ole of de worl', to w'ere I leev'—
Will somebody help to roll up ma sleeve?
"Some feller challenge jus' here an' dere,
An' more on deir own contree,
But me—I challenge dem ev'ryw'ere
All over de worl'—sapree!
To geev' dem a chance, for dere might be some
Beeg feller, for all I know,
But if dey 're ready, wall! let dem come,
An' me—I 'm geevin' dem plaintee show."
Challenge lak dat twenty year or more
He 's makin' it ev'ry fall,
But never a pig-sticker come Ste. Flore
'Cos Jeremie scare dem all—
No wonder it 's makin' heem feel so proud,
Even Emperor Germanie
Can't put on de style or talk more loud
Dan Jeremie Bonami.
But Jeremie's day can't las' alway,
An' so he commence to go
W'en he jomp on de block again an' say
To de crowd stan'nin' dere below,
"Lissen, ma frien', to de word I spik,
For I 'm tire of de challenge until I 'm sick,
Can't say, but mebbe I 'll talk no more
For glory an' honor of ole Ste. Flore.
"I got some trouble aroun' ma place
Wit' ma nice leetle girl Rosine,
An' I see w'en I 'm lookin' on all de face,
You 're knowin' jus' w'at I mean—
Very easy to talk, but w'en dey come
For seein' her twenty young man ba Gum!
I tole you ma frien', it was purty tough,
'Sides wan chance in twenty is not enough—
"Now lissen to me, all you young man
Is wantin' ma girl Rosine—
I offer a chance an' you 'll understan'
It 's bes' you was never seen—
Tree minute start I 'll geev'—no more—
An' if any young feller upon Ste. Flore
Can beat me stickin' de pig nex' fall,
Let heem marry ma girl Rosine—dat 's all."
All right—an' very nex' week he start,
De smartes' boy of de lot—
An' he 's lovin' Rosine wit' all hees heart,
De young Adelard Marcotte—
Don't say very moche about w'ere he go,
But I t'ink mese'f it was Buffalo—
An' plaintee more place on de State dat's beeg
W'ere he don't do not'ing but stick de pig.
So of course he 's pickin' de fancy trick
An' ev'ryt'ing else dey got—
Work over tam—but he got homesick
De young Adelard Marcotte
Jus' about tam w'en de fall come along—-
So den he wissle hees leetle song
An' buy tiquette for de ole Ste. Flore,
An' back on de village he come some more.
Ho! Ho! ma Jeremie Bonami,
Get ready you'se'f to-day,
For you got beeg job you was never see
Will tak' all your breat' away—
"Come on! come on!" dey be shoutin' loud,
De Bishop hese'f could n't draw de crowd
Of folk on de parish for mile aroun',
Till dey could n't fin' place upon de groun'.
Hi! Hi! Jeremie, you may sweat an' swear,
Your tam is arrive at las'—
Dere 's no use pullin' out all your hair
Or drinkin' de w'isky glass—
Spit on your han' or hitch de pants—
You 'll never have anyt'ing lak a chance,
Hooraw! Hooraw! let her go wance more,
An' Adelard 's champion of all Ste. Flore!
"Away on de pump!" de crowd is yell,
"No use for heem goin' die."
Dey nearly drown Jeremie on de well
But he 's comin' roun' bimeby
Rosine dat 's laughin' away all day
Is startin' to cry, an' den she say—
"O fader dear, won't you geev' me kiss
For I never s'pose it would come to dis?
"Don't blame de boy over dere, 't was me
Dat sen' away Adelard—
He 's sorry for beat you, I 'm sure, bâ oui,
An' dat 's w'at I 'm cryin' for—
'Cos it 's all ma fault you was lick to-day,
Don't care w'at anywan else can say—
But remember too, an' you 'll not forget
De championship 's still on de familee yet."
An' de ole man smile.
[1] Old proverb of Ste. Flore.
Dieudonné
(GOD-GIVEN)
If I sole ma ole blind trotter for fifty dollar cash
Or win de beeges' prize on lotterie,
If some good frien' die an' lef' me fines' house on St. Eustache,
You t'ink I feel more happy dan I be?
No, sir! An' I can tole you, if you never know before,
W'y de kettle on de stove mak' such a fuss,
Wy de robin stop hees singin' an' come peekin' t'roo de door
For learn about de nice t'ing 's come to us—
An' w'en he see de baby lyin' dere upon de bed
Lak leetle Son of Mary on de ole tam long ago—
Wit' de sunshine an' de shadder makin' ring aroun' hees head,
No wonder M'sieu Robin wissle low.
An' we can't help feelin' glad too, so we call heem Dieudonné;
An' he never cry, dat baby, w'en he 's chrissen by de pries'
All de sam' I bet you dollar he 'll waken up some day,
An' be as bad as leetle boy Bateese.
THE DEVIL
Along de road from Bord à Plouffe
To Kaz-a-baz-u-a
W'ere poplar trees lak sojers stan',
An' all de lan' is pleasan' lan',
In off de road dere leev's a man
Call Louis Desjardins.
An' Louis, w'en he firse begin
To work hees leetle place,
He work so hard de neighbors say,
"Unless he tak's de easy way
Dat feller 's sure to die some day,
We see it on hees face."
'T was lak a swamp, de farm he got,
De water ev'ryw'ere—
Might drain her off as tight as a drum.
An' back dat water is boun' to come
In less 'n a day or two—ba Gum!
'T would mak' de angel swear.
So Louis t'ink of de bimeby,
If he leev' so long as dat,
W'en he 's ole an' blin' an' mebbe deaf,
All alone on de house hese'f,
No frien', no money, no not'ing lef',
An' poor—can't kip a cat.
So wan of de night on winter tam,
W'en Louis is on hees bed,
He say out loud lak a crazy man,
"I 'm sick of tryin' to clear dis lan',
Work any harder I can't stan',
Or it will kill me dead.
"Now if de devil would show hese'f
An' say to me, 'Tiens! Louis!
Hard tam an' work she 's at an' en',
You 'll leev' lak a Grand Seigneur ma frien',
If only you 'll be ready w'en
I want you to come wit' me.'
"I 'd say, 'Yass, yass—'maudit! w'at 's dat?'
An' he see de devil dere—
Brimstone, ev'ryt'ing bad dat smell,
You know right away he 's come from—well,
De place I never was care to tell—
An' wearin' hees long black hair,
Lak election man, de kin' I mean
You see aroun' church door,
Spreadin' hese'f on great beeg speech
'Bout poor man 's goin' some day be reech,
But dat 's w'ere it alway come de heetch,
For poor man 's alway poor.
De only diff'rence—me—I see
'Tween devil an' long-hair man
It 's hard to say, but I know it 's true,
W'en devil promise a t'ing to do
Dere 's no mistak', he kip it too—
I hope you understan'.
So de devil spik, "You 're not content,
An' want to be reech, Louis—
All right, you 'll have plaintee, never fear,
No wan can beat you far an' near,
An' I 'll leave you alone for t'orty year,
An' den you will come wit' me.
"Be careful now—it 's beeg contrac',
So mebbe it 's bes' go slow;
For me—de promise I mak' to you
Is good as de bank Rivière du Loup
For you—w'enever de tam is due,
Ba tonder! you got to go."
Louis try hard to tak' hees tam
But w'en he see de fall
Comin' along in a week or so,
All aroun' heem de rain an' snow
An' pork on de bar'l runnin' low,
He don't feel good at all.
An' w'en he t'ink of de swampy farm
An' gettin' up winter night,
Watchin' de stove if de win' get higher
For fear de chimley go on fire,
It's makin' poor Louis feel so tire
He tell de devil, "All right."
"Correct," dat feller say right away,
"I 'll only say, Au revoir,"
An' out of de winder he 's goin' pouf!
Beeg nose, long hair, short tail, an' hoof,
Off on de road to Bord à Plouffe
Crossin' de reever dere.
W'en Louis get up nex' day, ma frien',
Dere 's lot of devil sign—
Bar'l o' pork an' keg o' rye,
Bag o' potato ten foot high,
Pile o' wood nearly touch de sky,
Was some o' de t'ing he fin'.
Suit o' clothes would have cos' a lot
An' ev'ryt'ing I dunno,
Trotter horse w'en he want to ride
Eatin' away on de barn outside,
Stan' all day if he 's never tied,
An' watch an' chain also.
An' swamp dat's bodder heem many tam,
W'ere is dat swamp to-day?
Don't care if you 're huntin' up an' down
You won't fin' not'ing but medder groun',
An' affer de summer come aroun'
W'ere can you see such hay?
Wall! de year go by, an' Louis leev'
Widout no work to do,
Rise w'en he lak on winter day,
Fin' all de snow is clear away,
No fuss, no not'ing, dere 's de sleigh
An' trotter waitin' too.
W'en t'orty year is nearly t'roo
An' devil 's not come back
'Course Louis say, 'Wall! he forget
Or t'ink de tam 's not finish yet;
I 'll tak' ma chance an' never fret,"
But dat 's w'ere he mak' mistak'.
For on a dark an' stormy night
W'en Louis is sittin' dere,
After he fassen up de door
De devil come as he come before,
Lookin' de sam' only leetle more,
For takin' heem—you know w'ere.
"Asseyez vous, sit down, ma frien',
Bad night be on de road;
You come long way an' should be tire—
Jus' wait an' mebbe I feex de fire—
Tak' off your clothes for mak' dem drier,
Dey mus' be heavy load."
Dat 's how poor Louis Desjardins
Talk to de devil, sir—
Den say, "Try leetle w'isky blanc,
Dey 're makin' it back on St. Laurent—
It 's good for night dat 's cole an' raw,"
But devil never stir,
Until he smell de smell dat come
W'en Louis mak' it hot
Wit' sugar, spice, an' ev'ryt'ing.
Enough to mak' a man's head sing—
For winter, summer, fall an' spring—
It 's very bes' t'ing we got.
An' so de devil can't refuse
To try de w'isky blanc,
An' say, "I 'm tryin' many drink,
An' dis is de fines' I don't t'ink,
De firse, ba tonder! mak' me wink—
Hooraw, pour Canadaw!"
"Merci—non, non—I tak' no more,"
De devil say at las',
"For tam is up wit' you, Louis,
So come along, ma frien', wit' me,
So many star I 'm sure I see,
De storm she mus' be pas'."
"No hurry—wait a minute, please,"
Say Louis Desjardins,
"We 'll have a smoke before we 're t'roo,
'T will never hurt mese'f or you
To try a pipe, or mebbe two,
Of tabac Canayen." [1]
"Wan pipe is all I want for me—
We 'll finish our smoke downstair,"
De devil say, an' it was enough,
For w'en he tak' de very firse puff
He holler out, "Maudit! w'at stuff!
Fresh air! fresh air!! fresh air!!!"
An' oh! he was never sick before
Till he smoke tabac Bruneau—
Can't walk or fly, but he want fresh air,
So Louis put heem on rockin' chair
An' t'row heem off on de road out dere—
An' tole heem go below.
An' he shut de door an' fill de place
Wit' tabac Canayen,
An' never come out, an' dat 's a fac'—
But smoke away till hees face is black—
So dat 's w'y de devil don't come back
For Louis Desjardins.
An' dere he 's yet, an' dere he 'll stay—
So weech of de two 'll win
Can't say for dat—it 's kin' of a doubt,
For Louis, de pipe never leave hees mout',
An' night or day can't ketch heem out,
An' devil 's too scare go in.
[1] Canadian tobacco.
The Family Laramie
Hssh! look at ba-bee on de leetle blue chair,
W'at you t'ink he 's tryin' to do?
Wit' pole on de han' lak de lumberman,
A-shovin' along canoe.
Dere 's purty strong current behin' de stove,
W'ere it 's passin' de chimley-stone,
But he 'll come roun' yet, if he don't upset,
So long he was lef' alone.
Dat 's way ev'ry boy on de house begin
No sooner he 's twelve mont' ole;
He 'll play canoe up an' down de Soo
An' paddle an' push de pole,
Den haul de log all about de place,
Till dey 're fillin' up mos' de room,
An' say it 's all right, for de storm las' night
Was carry away de boom.
Mebbe you see heem, de young loon bird,
Wit' half of de shell hangin' on,
Tak' hees firse slide to de water side,
An' off on de lake he 's gone.
Out of de cradle dey 're goin' sam' way
On reever an' lake an' sea;
For born to de trade, dat 's how dey 're made,
De familee Laramie.
An' de reever she 's lyin' so handy dere
On foot of de hill below,
Dancin' along an' singin' de song
As away to de sea she go,
No wonder I never can lak dat song,
For soon it is comin', w'en
Dey 'll lissen de call, leetle Pierre an' Paul,
An' w'ere will de moder be den?
She 'll sit by de shore w'en de evenin's come,
An' spik to de reever too:
"O reever, you know how dey love you so,
Since ever dey 're seein' you,
For sake of dat love bring de leetle boy home
Once more to de moder's knee."
An' mebbe de prayer I be makin' dere
Will help bring dem back to me.
Yankee Families
You s'pose God love de Yankee
An' de Yankee woman too,
Lak he love de folk at home on Canadaw?
I dunno—'cos if he do,
W'at 's de reason he don't geev' dem familee
Is dere anybody hangin' roun' can answer me
Wile I wait an' smoke dis pipe of good tabac?
An' now I 'll tole you somet'ing
Mebbe help you bimeby,
An' dere 's no mistak' it 's w'at dey call sure sign—
W'en you miss de baby's cry
As you 're goin' mak' some visit on de State
Dat 's enough—you need n't ax if de train 's on tam or late,
You can bet you 're on de Yankee side de line.
Unless dere 's oder folk dere,
Mebbe wan or two or t'ree,
Canayen is comin' workin' on de State—
Den you see petite Marie
Leetle Joe an' Angelique, Hormisdas an' Dieudonné,
But you can't tole half de nam'—it don't matter any way—
'Sides de fader he don't t'ink it's not'ing great.
De moder, you can see her
An' she got de basket dere
Wit' de fine t'ing for de chil'ren nice an' slick—
For dey can't get fat on air—
Cucumber, milk, an' onion, some leetle cake also
De ole gran'moder 's makin' on de farm few days ago—
W'at 's use buy dollar dinner mak' dem sick?
But look de Yankee woman
Wit' de book upon her han',
Readin', readin', an' her husban', he can't get
Any chance at all, poor man,
For sit down, de way de seat's all pile up wit' magazine—
De t'ing lak dat on Canadaw is never, never seen.
Would n't she be better wit' some chil'ren? Wall! you bet!
No wonder dey was bringin'
For helpin' dem along
So many kin' of feller I dunno—
Chinee washee from Kong Kong
An' w'at dey call Da-go, was work for dollar a day,
But w'en dey mak' some money, off dey 're goin', right away—
Dat 's de reason dey was get de nam' Da-go.
Of course so long dey 're comin'
From ev'ry place dey can,
Not knowin' moche, dere 's not'ing fuss about
Only boss de stranger man—
But now dem gang of feller dat 's come across de sea—
He 's gettin' leetle smarter, an' he got de familee—
So Uncle Sam mus' purty soon look out.
I wonder he don't know it—
It 's funny he don't see
Dere 's somet'ing else dan money day an' night—
Non—he 'll work hese'f cra-zee,
Den travel roun' de worl', an' use de money too—
De King hese'f can't spen' lak de Yankee man is do—
But w'ere 's de leetle chil'ren? dat's not right!
W'at 's use of all de money
If dere ain't some boy an' girl
Mak' it pleasan' for de Yankee an' hees wife
W'en dey travel on de worl'?
For me an' Eugenie dere 's not'ing we lak bes'
Dan gader up de chil'ren an' get dem nicely dress—
W'y it 's more dan half de pleasure of our life.
I love de Yankee woman
An' de Yankee man also,
An' mebbe dey 'll be wiser bimeby—
But I lak dem all to know
If dey want to kip deir own, let dem raise de familee—
An' den dey 'll boss de contree from de mountain to de sea,
For dey 're smart enough to do it if dey try.
The Last Portage
I'm sleepin' las' night w'en I dream a dream
An' a wonderful wan it seem—
For I 'm off on de road I was never see,
Too long an' hard for a man lak me,
So ole he can only wait de call
Is sooner or later come to all.
De night is dark an' de portage dere
Got plaintee o' log lyin' ev'ryw'ere,
Black bush aroun' on de right an' lef,
A step from de road an' you los' you'se'f;
De moon an' de star above is gone,
Yet somet'ing tell me I mus' go on.
"De moon an' de star above is gone,
Yet somet'ing tell me I mus' go on."
An' off in front of me as I go,
Light as a dreef of de fallin' snow—
Who is dat leetle boy dancin' dere
Can see hees w'ite dress an' curly hair,
An' almos' touch heem, so near to me
In an' out dere among de tree?
An' den I 'm hearin' a voice is say,
"Come along, fader, don't min' de way,
De boss on de camp he sen' for you,
So your leetle boy 's going to guide you t'roo
It 's easy for me, for de road I know,
'Cos I travel it many long year ago."
An' oh! mon Dieu! w'en he turn hees head
I 'm seein' de face of ma boy is dead—
Dead wit' de young blood in hees vein—
An' dere he 's comin' wance more again
Wit' de curly hair, an' dark-blue eye,
So lak de blue of de summer sky—
An' now no more for de road I care,
An' slippery log lyin' ev'ryw'ere—
De swamp on de valley, de mountain too
But climb it jus' as I use to do—
Don't stop on de road, for I need no res'
So long as I see de leetle w'ite dress.
An' I foller it on, an' wance in a w'ile
He turn again wit' de baby smile,
An' say, "Dear fader, I 'm here you see
We 're bote togeder, jus' you an' me—
Very dark to you, but to me it 's light,
De road we travel so far to-night.
"De boss on de camp w'ere I alway stay
Since ever de tam I was go away,
He welcome de poores' man dat call,
But love de leetle wan bes' of all,
So dat 's de reason I spik for you
An' come to-night for to bring you t'roo."
Lak de young Jesu w'en he 's here below
De face of ma leetle son look jus' so—
Den off beyon', on de bush I see
De w'ite dress fadin' among de tree—
Was it a dream I dream las' night
Is goin' away on de morning light?
Getting On
I know I 'm not too young, an' ma back is not as straight
As it use to be some feefty year ago—
Don't care to go aroun' if de rain is fallin' down
'Less de rheumateez is ketch me on de toe—
But dat is ma beez-nesse, an' no matter how I feel—-
Oder folk dey might look out deir own affair
'Stead o' w'isperin', "Wall! bâ Gosh! lissen poor Maxime Meloche,
How dat leetle drop o' rain is mak' heem swear!
De ole man 's gettin' on!"
Smart folk lak dat, of course, mebbe never hear de news
Of de tam he 's comin' sick Guillaume Laroche,
Who 's tak' heem home to die w'en de rapide's runnin' high,
An' carry heem on hees shoulder t'roo de bush?
Oh! no, it was n't me, only wan of dem young man
Hardly got de baby moustache on de mout',
Dat's de reason w'y I say to mese'f mos' ev'ry day,
"Purty hard dere 's not'ing else dan talk about
'De ole man 's gettin' on.'"
W'at 's mak' me feelin' mad is becos dey don't spik out,
Non! dey 'll sneak aroun' for watch me as I go,
An' if I mebbe spill leetle water on de hill,
W'en I 'm comin' from de well down dere below,
No use for tellin' me—I know too moche mese'f,
Dat 's de tam I 'm very sure dey alway say,
"See heem now, how slow he go—don't I offen tole you so?
We 're sorry, but Maxime is have hees day,
De ole man's gettin' on."
It's foolish t'ing to do, for dere 's alway hang aroun'
Some crazy feller almos' ev'ry day—
So I might a' stay at home 'stead o' tryin' feex de boom,
Dough I 'm sure de win' is blow de oder way;
For I never hear dem shout w'en dey let de water out,
An' de log dey come a-bangin' down de chute,
But leetle Joe Leblanc ketch me on de pant, hooraw!
Den spile de job by w'isperin', "I 'm afraid I spik de trut',
De ole man 's gettin' on."
Only yesterday de pig get loose an' run away,
An' de nex' t'ing he was goin' on de corn—
So I run an' fetch de stick, an' after heem so quick
Jus' to mak' heem feelin' sorry he was born;
An' dat pig he laugh at me, an' he fill hees belly full
'Fore he 's makin' up his min' for come along—
I 'm sure I see heem wink—should n't wonder if he t'ink,
"Very easy see dere 's somet'ing goin' wrong—
De ole man 's gettin on."
If only I can get some doctor feex me up,
Mak' me feel a leetle looser on de knee—
On de shoulder, ev'ryw'ere—ba tonder! I don't care,
I 'le spen' a couple o' dollar, mebbe t'ree—
Jus' to larn dem feller dere how to skip an' how to jomp,
On de way I beat deir fader long ago—
Yass siree! an' purty soon dey 'll sing anoder tune,
An' wonder w'at de devil 's dere to show
De ole man's gettin' on.
Oh! dat maudit rheumateez! now she's ketchin' me again
On de back becos I 'm leetle bit excite,
An' put ma finger down, widout stoopin' on de groun'—
But I 'll do dat trick to-morrow, not to-night—
All de sam' I often t'ink ev'ry dog is got hees day,
Dat 's de lesson I was learnin' on de school;
So I can't help feelin' blue w'en I wonder if it 's true
W'at dey 're sayin'—dough o' course dey 're only fool—
De ole man 's gettin' on.
Pioneers
If dey 're walkin' on de roadside, an' dey 're bote in love togeder,
An' de star of spring is shinin' wit' de young moon in between,
It was purty easy guessin' dey 're not talkin' of de wedder,
W'en de boy is comin' twenty, an' de girl is jus' eighteen.
It 's a sign de winter 's over, an' it 's pleasan' hear de talkin'
Of de bull-frog on de swamp dere wit' all hees familee—
But it 's lonesome doin' not'ing, an' dere 's not moche fun in walkin',
So we fin' some fence dat 's handy for mese'f an' Rosalie.
"So we fin' some fence dat 's handy for mese'f an' Rosalie."
An' I dunno how it happen, w'en her head come on ma shoulder,
An' her black eye on de moonlight, lak de star shine—dat 's de way.
(Mebbe it 's becos de springtam) so I ketch her han' an' tole her
Of how moche I 'd lak to tak' her on some contree far away.
Den she say, I 'll mak' an offer, if you 're sure you want to tak' me
On de place I dunno w'ere—me—you mus' pay beeg price, Jo-seph.
You can carry me off to-morrow, so I 'm never comin' back—me—
But you 'll lose upon de bargain, for de price I want's you'se'f."
I was purty good for tradin', mebbe tak' it from ma fader,
For de ole man 's alway tryin' show me somet'ing dat was new—
But de trade I mak' dat evenin' wit' poor Rosalie, I rader
Not say not'ing moche about it, dough it 's bes' I never do.
So we settle on de reever wit' de bush for miles behin' us—
Here we buil' de firse log shaintee, only me an' Rosalie—
Dat 's de woman help her husban'! an' w'en winter come an' fin' us
We was ready waitin' for heem jus' as happy as could be.
Bar'l o' pork an' good potato, wan or two oder t'ing too
Leetle w'isky, plaintee flour, an' wood-pile stannin' near—
Don't min' de hardes' winter, an' fat enough in spring too—
De folk dat 's comin' handy w'en you want de contree clear!
Rosalie, you see her outside on de porch dere wit' her knittin'—
Yass, of course I know she 's changin' since de day she marry me—
An' she 'll never sit no more dere on de fence lak leetle kitten—
She 'd be safer on a stone wall, but she 's still ma Rosalie.
All alone: de neares' shaintee, over ten mile down de reever—
An' might be only yesterday, I 'member it so well—
W'en I 'm comin' home wan morning affer trappin' on de beaver,
An' ma wife is sayin', "Hurry, go an' fetch Ma-dame Labelle."
If you 're stan'in' on de bank dere, you mus' t'ink I 'm crazy feller
By de way I work de paddle, an' de way canoe she go—
But Ma-dame know all about it, an' I never need to tell her,
An' we jus' get back in tam' dere for welcome leetle Joe.
Dat 's de way dem woman 's doin' for help along each oder,
For Pierre Labelle he 's comin' now an' den for Rosalie—
Of course dere 's many tam too, dey got to be godmoder—
An' w'en dey want godfader, w'y dere 's only Pierre an' me.
Twenty year so hard we 're workin', twenty year reapin', sowin',
Choppin' tree an' makin' portage, an' de chil'ren help us too—
But it 's never feelin' lonesome w'ile de familee is growin',
An' de cradle seldom empty, an' we got so moche to do.
Den w'en all de work is finish, w'at dey 're callin' de surveyor
He 's comin' here an' fin' us, an' of course so well he might—
For it 's easy job to foller, w'en de road is lyin' dere,
So blin' man he can walk it wit' hees eyes closed, darkes' night.
An' de nex' t'ing dere 's a township, an' de township bring de taxes,
An' it 's leetle hard on us too, dat 's way it seem to me—
An' de Gover'ment, I s'pose dey 'll never t'ink at all to ax us
For de small account dey 're owin' mese'f an' Rosalie.
So we 'll see de beeg procession very soon come up de reever—
Some will settle on de roadside, some will stay upon de shore—
But de ole place we be clearin', I don't t'ink we 'll never leave her,
Dough we 're all surroun' by stranger an' we 're
in de worl' wance more.
Natural Philosophy
Very offen I be t'inkin' of de queer folk goin' roun',
And way dey kip a-talkin' of de hard tam get along—
May have plaintee money too, an' de healt' be good an' soun'—
But you 'll fin' dere 's alway somet'ing goin' wrong—
'Course dere may be many reason w'y some feller ought to fret—
But me, I 'm alway singin' de only song I know—
'T is n't long enough for music, an' so short you can't forget,
But it drive away de lonesome, an' dis is how she go,
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
Funny feller 's w'at dey call me—"so diff'ren' from de res',"
But ev'rybody got hees fault, as far as I can see—
An' all de t'ing I 'm doin', I do it for de bes',
Dough w'en I 'm bettin' on a race, dat 's often loss for me—
"Oho!" I say, "Alphonse ma frien', to-day is not your day,
For more you got your money up, de less your trotter go—
But never min' an' don't lie down," dat 's w'at I alway say,
An' sing de sam' ole song some more, mebbe a leetle slow—
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
S'pose ma uncle die an' let me honder-dollar, mebbe two—
An' I don't tak' hees advice—me—for put heem on de bank—
'Stead o' dat, some lot'rie ticket, to see w'at I can do,
An' purty soon I 'm findin' out dey 're w'at you call de blank—
Wall! de bank she might bus' up dere—somet'ing might go wrong—
Dem feller, w'en dey get it, mebbe skip before de night—
Can't tell—den w'ere 's your money? So I sing ma leetle song
An' don't boder wit' de w'isky, an' again I feel all right,
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
If you 're goin' to mak' de marry, kip a look out on de eye,
But no matter how you 're careful, it was risky anyhow—
An' if you 're too unlucky, jus' remember how you try
For gettin' dat poor woman, dough she may have got you now—
All de sam', it sometam happen dat your wife will pass away—
No use cryin', you can't help it—dere 's your duty to you'se'f—
You don't need to ax de neighbor, dey will tell you ev'ry day
Start again lak hones' feller, for dere's plaintee woman lef'—
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
Poor man lak me, I 'm not'ing: only w'en election 's dere,
An' ev'rybody 's waitin' to ketch you by de t'roat—
De money I be makin' den, wall! dat was mon affaire—
An' affer all w'at diff'rence how de poor man mak' de vote?
So I do ma very bes'—me—wit' de wife an' familee—
On de church door Sunday morning, you can see us all parade—
Len' a frien' a half a dollar, an' never go on spree—
So w'en I 'm comin' die—me—no use to be afraid—
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
Champlain
"W'ere 'll we go?" says Pierre de Monts,[1]
To hese'f as he walk de forwar' deck,
"For I got ma share of Trois Rivières
An' I never can lak Kebeck—
Too moche Nort' Pole—maudit! it 's cole
Oh! la! la! de win' blow too.
An' I 'm sure w'at I say, M'sieu Pontgravé
He know very well it 's true.
But here 's de boat, an' we 're all afloat
A honder an' fifty ton—
An' look at de lot of man we got,
No better beneat' de sun—
Provision, too, for all de crew
An' pries' for to say de prayer,
So mes chers amis, dey can easy see
De vessel mus' pass somew'ere.
If I only know de way to go
For findin' some new an' pleasan' lan',"
But jus' as he spik, he turn roun' quick,
An' dere on de front, sir, stan' de Man.
"You was callin' me, I believe," says he,
As brave as a lion—"Tiens!
W'en we reach de sea, an' de ship is free,
You can talk wit' Samuel de Champlain." [2]
Wan look on hees eye an' he know for w'y
Young Samuel spik no more,
So he shake hees han', an' say, "Young man,
Too bad you don't come before;
But now you are here, we 'll geev' t'ree cheer,
An' away w'erever you want to go—
For I lak your look an' swear on de Book
You 'll fin' de good frien' on Pierre de Monts."
So de sail 's set tight, an' de win' is right,
For it 's blowin' dem to de wes'—
An' dey say deir prayer, for God knows w'ere
De anchor will come to res'—
Adieu to de shore dey may see no more—
Good-bye to de song an' dance—
De girl dey love, an' de star above
Kipin' watch on de lan' of France.
Den it 's "Come below, M'sieu Pierre de Monts,"
Champlain he say to de capitaine—
"An' I 'll tell to you, w'at I t'ink is true
Dough purty hard, too, for understan'—
I dream a dream an' it alway seem
Dat God hese'f he was say to me—
'Rise up, young man, de quick you can
An' sail your ship on de western sea.
"'De way may be long, an' de win' be strong,
An' wave sweep over de leetle boat—
But never you min', an' you 're sure to fin',
If you trus' in me, you will kip afloat.'
An' I tak' dat ship, an' I mak' de trip
All on de dream I was tellin' you—
An' oh! if you see w'at appear to me,
I wonder w'at you was a-t'inkin' too?
"I come on de lan' w'ere dere 's no w'ite man—
I come on de shore w'ere de grass is green—
An' de air is clear as de new-born year,
An' of all I was see, dis lan's de Queen—
So I 'm satisfy if we only try
An' fin' if dere 's anyt'ing on ma dream,
An' I 'll show de way," Champlain is say—
Den Pierre de Monts he is answer heem,
"All right, young man, do de bes' you can—
So long you don't bring me near Kebeck—
Or Trois Rivières, not moche I care,
An' I hope your dream's comin' out correc'."
So de brave Champlain he was say, "Tres bien,"
An' soon he was boss of de ship an' crew
An' pile on de sail, wedder calm or gale—
Oh! dat is de feller know w'at to do.
Don't I see heem dere wit' hees long black hair
On de win' blowin' out behin'—
Watchin' de ship as she rise an' dip,
An' always follerin' out de Sign?
An' day affer day I can hear heem say
To de sailor man lonesome for home an' frien',
"Cheer up, mes amis, for soon you will see
De lan' risin' up on de oder en'."
Wall! de tam go by, an' still dey cry
"Oh! bring us back for de familee's sake."
Even Pierre de Monts fin' it leetle slow
An' t'ink mebbe somebody mak' mistake—
But he don't geev' in for he 's boun' to win'—
De young Champlain—an' hees heart grow strong
W'en de voice he hear say, "Never fear;
You won't have to suffer for very long."
Alone on de bow I can see heem now
Wan mornin' in May w'en de sun was rise—
Smellin' de air lak a bloodhoun', dere—
An' de light of de Heaven shine on hees eyes.
A minute or more he is wait before
He tak' off de hat an' raise hees han'—
Den down on de knee, sayin', "Dieu merci!"
He cross hese'f dere, an' I understan'—
"Ho! Ho! De Monts! are you down below,
Sleepin' so soun' on de bed somew'ere?
If you 're feelin' well, come up an' tell
W'at kin' of a cloud you be seein' dere."
Den every wan shout w'en de voice ring out
Of de young Champlain on dat summer day,
"Lan'! it is lan'!" cry de sailor man—
You can hear dem holler ten mile away.
Port Rossignol is de place dey call
(I 'm sorry dat nam' it was disappear);
An' mos' ev'ry tree dem Frenchman see
Got nice leetle bird singin', "Welcome here."
An' happy dey were, dem voyageurs
An' de laugh come out on de sailors' face—
No wonder, too, w'en de shore dey view,
For w'ere can you see it de better place?
******
If you want to fin' w'at is lef' behin'
Of de story I try very hard tell you,
Don't bodder me now or raise de row,
But study de book de sam' I do.
[1] De-mo.
[2] Shaum-pla.
Pro Patria
Was leevin' across on de State Vermont;
W'ere mountain so high you see—
Got plaintee to do, so all I want
Is jus' to be quiet—me—
No bodder, no fuss, only work aroun'
On job I don't lak refuse—
But affer de familee settle down
It 's come w'at dey call war-news.
De Spanish da-go he was gettin' mad,
An' he 's dangerous l'Espagnol!
An' ev'ry wan say it was lookin' bad,
Not safe on de State at all—
So Yankee he 's tryin' for sell hees farm,
An' town 's very moche excite,
Feexin' de gun an' de fire-alarm,
An' ban' playin' ev'ry night.
An' soon dere 's comin', all dress to kill,
Beeg feller from far away,
Shoutin' lak devil on top de hill,
An' dis is de t'ing he say—
"Strike for your home an' your own contree!
Strike for your native lan'!
Kip workin' away wit' de spade an' hoe,
Den jump w'en you hear de bugle blow,
For danger 's aroun', above, below,
But de bugle will tell if it 's tam to go."
An' he tak' de flag wit' de star an' stripe,
An' holler out—"Look at me!
If any wan touch dat flag, bâ cripe!
He 's dead about wan—two—t'ree."
Den he pull it aroun' heem few more tam,
An' sit on de rockin' chair,
Till somebody cheer for hees Uncle Sam,
Dough I don't see de ole man dere.
I got a long story for tell dat night
On poor leetle Rose Elmire,
An' she say she 's sorry about de fight
We 're doin' so well down here—
But it 's not our fault an' we can't help dat,
De law she is made for all,
So our duty is wait for de rat-tat-tat
Of drum an' de bugle call.
An' it 's busy week for Elmire an' me,
I 'm sure you 'd pity us too—
Workin' so hard lak you never see,
For dere 's plaintee o' job to do—
Den half o' de night packin' up de stuff
We got on de small cabane—
An' buyin' a horse, dough he cos' enough,
For Yankee 's a hard trade man.
An' how can I sleep if ma wife yell out—
"Gédéon, dere she goes!"
An' bang an' tear all de house about
W'en Johnnie is blow hees nose?
Poor leetle chil'ren dey suffer too,
Lyin' upon de floor,
Wit' de bed made up, for dey never go
On de worl' lak dat before.
We got to be ready, of course, an' wait—
De chil'ren, de wife, an' me,
For show de Yankee upon de State,
Ba Golly! how smart we be.
You know de game dey call checker-boar'?
Wall! me an' ma wife Elmire,
We 're playin' dat game on de outside door
Wit' leetle wan gader near;
Jus' as de sun on de sky go down
An' mountain dey seem so fine,
Ev'ryt'ing quiet, don't hear a soun',
So I 'm lookin' across de line.
An' I t'ink of de tam I be leevin' dere
On county of Yamachiche,
De swamp on de bush w'ere I ketch de hare
De reever I use to feesh.
An' ma wife Elmire w'en she see de tear,
She cry leetle bit herse'f—
Put her han' on ma neck, an' say, "Ma dear,
I 'm sorry we never lef';
But money 's good t'ing, an' dere 's nice folk too,
Leevin' upon Vermont—
Got plaintee o' work for me an' you—
Is dere anyt'ing more we want?
Dere 's w'at dey 're callin' de war beez-nesse—
It 's troublesome t'ing, of course,
But no gettin' off—mus' strike wit' de res',
No matter—it might be worse—
We 're savin' along—never lose a day,
An' ready w'en bugle blow—"
But dat was de very las' word she say,
For dere it commence to go,
Blowin' away on de mountain dere,
W'ere snow very seldom melts,
Down by de reever an' ev'ryw'ere,
We could n't hear not'ing else—
Nobody stop to fin' out de place,
Too busy for dat to-day—
But we never forget de law in de case
W'en feller he spik dis way—
"Strike for your home an' your own contree!
Strike for your native lan'!
Kip workin' away wit' de spade an' hoe,
Den jump w'en you hear de bugle blow,
For danger 's aroun', above, below,
But de bugle will tell if it 's tam to go."
An' de chil'ren yell, an' de checker-boar'
Don't do her no good at all—
An' nobody never jump before
Lak de crowd w'en dey hear de call,
Dat was de familee,—bet your life
I 'm prouder, bâ Gosh! to-day
Mese'f, de leetle wan, an' de wife,
Dan anyt'ing I can say—
'Cos nobody strike on de way we do—
For home an' deir own contree—
Wit' fedder bed, stove, de cradle too,
An' ev'ryt'ing else we see—
Pilin' de wagon up ten foot high
Goin' along de road—
An' de Yankee say as we 're passin' by
Dey never see such a load—
So dat 's how we 're comin' to Yamachiche—
An' dat 's w'y we 're stayin' here—
Jus' to be quiet an' hunt an' feesh,
Not'ing at all to fear—
An' if ever you lissen de Yankee folk
Brag an' kick up de fuss—
An' say we 're lak cattle upon de yoke,
An' away dey can trot from us—
"Jus' tell dem de news of Gédéon Plouffe—
How he jump wit' de familee."
Jus' tell dem de news of Gédéon Plouffe—
How he jump wit' de familee
An' strike w'en de bugle is raise de roof
For home an' hees own contree.
Getting Stout
Eighteen, an' face lak de—w'at 's de good?
Dere 's no use tryin' explain
De way she 's lookin', dat girl Marie—
But affer it pass, de rain,
An' sun come out of de cloud behin',
An' laugh on de sky wance more—
Wall! dat is de way her eye it shine
W'en she see me upon de door.
An' dere she 's workin' de ole-tam sash,
De fines' wan, too, for sure.
"Who is it for, ma belle Marie—
You 're makin' de nice ceinture?
Come out an' sit on de shore below,
For watchin' dem draw de net,
Ketchin' de feesh," an' she answer, "No,
De job is n't finish yet;
"Stan' up, Narcisse, an' we 'll see de fit.
Dat sash it was mak' for you,
For de ole wan 's gettin' on, you know,
An' o' course it 'll never do
If de boy I marry can't go an' spen'
W'at dey 're callin' de weddin' tour
Wit' me, for visitin' all hees frien',
An' not have a nice ceinture."
An' den she measure dat sash on me,
An' I fin' it so long an' wide
I pass it aroun' her, an' dere we stan',
De two of us bote inside—
"Could n't be better, ma chère Marie,
Dat sash it is fit so well—
It jus' suit you, an' it jus' suit me,
An' bote togeder, ma belle."
So I wear it off on de weddin' tour
An' long after dat also,
An' never a minute I 'm carin' how
De win' of de winter blow—
Don't matter de cole an' frosty night—
Don't matter de stormy day,
So long as I 'm feex up close an' tight
Wit' de ole ceinture fleché.
An' w'ere 's de woman can beat her now,
Ma own leetle girl Marie?
For we 're marry to-day jus' feefty year
An' never a change I see—
But wan t'ing strange, dough I try ma bes'
For measure dat girl wance more,
She say—"Go off wit' de foolishness,
Or pass on de outside door.
"You know well enough dat sash get tight
Out on de snow an' wet
Drivin' along on ev'ry place,
Den how can it fit me yet?
Shows w'at a fool you be, Narcisse,
W'enever you go to town;
Better look out, or I call de pries'
For makin' you stan' aroun'."
But me, I 'm sure it was never change,
Dat sash on de feefty year—
An' I can't understan' to-day at all,
W'at 's makin' it seem so queer—
De sash is de sam', an' woman too,
Can't fool me, I know too well—
But woman, of course dey offen do
Some funny t'ing—you can't tell!
Doctor Hilaire
A stranger might say if he see heem drink till he almos' fall,
"Doctor lak dat for sick folk, he 's never no use at all,"
But wait till you hear de story dey 're tellin' about heem yet,
An' see if you don't hear somet'ing, mebbe you won't forget.