En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Red Canoe

De win' is sleepin' in de pine, but O! de
night is black!
An' all day long de loon bird cry on Lac Waya-
gamack-
No light is shinin' by de shore for helpin' steer
heem t'roo
W'en out upon de night, Ubalde he tak' de
red canoe.

I hear de paddle dip, dip, dip! wance more I
hear de loon-
I feel de breeze was show de way for storm
dat 's comin' soon,
An' den de sky fly open wit' de lightning
splittin' t'roo-
An' 'way beyon' de point I see de leetle red
canoe.

It 's dark again, but lissen how across Waya-
gamack
De tonder 's roarin' loud, an' now de mount-
ains answer back-
I wonder wit' de noise lak dat, he hear me, le
bon Dieu
W'en on ma knee I ax Heem save de leetle red
canoe!

Is dat a voice, so far away, it die upon ma hear?
Or only win' was foolin' me, an' w'isperin'
'Belzemire?'
Yaas, yaas, Ubalde, your Belzemire she 's
prayin' hard for you-
An' den again de lightning come, but w'ere 's
de red canoe?

Dey say I 'm mad, dem foolish folk, cos w'en
de night is black
An' w'en de wave lak snow-dreef come on Lac
Wayagamack
I tak' de place w'ere long ago we use to sit, us
two,
An' wait until de lightning bring de leetle red
canoe.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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Leetle Lac Grenier

Leetle Lac Grenier, she 's all alone,
Right on de mountain top,
But cloud sweepin' by, will fin' tam to stop
No matter how quickly he want to go,
So he'll kiss leetle Grenier down below.

Leetle Lac Grenier, she 's all alone,
Up on de mountain high
But she never feel lonesome, 'cos for w'y?
So soon as de winter was gone away
De bird come again an' sing to her ev'ry day.

Leetle Lac Grenier, she 's all alone,
Back on de mountain dere,
But de pine tree an' spruce stan' ev'rywhere
Along by de shore, an' mak' her warm
For dey kip off de win' an' de winter storm.

Leetle Lac Grenier, she 's all alone,
No broder, no sister near,
But de swallow will fly, an' de beeg moose
deer
An' caribou too, will go long way
To drink de sweet water on Lac Grenier.

Leetle Lac Grenier, I see you now,
Onder de roof of spring
Ma canoe 's afloat, an' de robin sing,
De lily's beginnin' her summer dress,
An' trout 's wakin' up from hees long long res'.

Leetle Lac Grenier, I 'm happy now,
Out on de ole canoe,
For I 'm all alone, ma chere, wit' you,
An' if only a nice light rod I had
I 'd try dat fish near de lily pad!

Leetle Lac Grenier, O! let me go,
Don't spik no more,
For your voice is strong lak de rapid 's roar,
An' you know youse'f I 'm too far away,
For visit you now -leetle Lac Grenier!

poem by William Henry Drummond
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Johnnie's First Moose

De cloud is hide de moon, but dere's plain-
tee light above,
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low,
Move de paddle leetle quicker, an' de ole canoe
we'll shove
T'roo de water nice an' quiet
For de place we're goin' try it
Is beyon' de silver birch dere
You can see it lak a church dere
W'en we're passin' on de corner w'ere de lilly
flower grow.

Was n't dat correc' w'at I'm tolin' you jus
now?
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low,
Never min', I'll watch behin'- me - an' you
can watch de bow
An' you'll see a leetle clearer
W'en canoe is comin' nearer-
Dere she is-now easy, easy,
For de win' is gettin' breezy,
An' we don't want not'ing smell us, till de
horn begin to blow-

I remember long ago w'en ma fader tak' me out,
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low,
Jus' de way I'm takin' you, sir, hello! was
dat a shout?
Seems to me I t'ink I'm hearin'
Somet'ing stirrin' on de clearin'
W'ere it stan' de lumber shaintee,
If it's true, den yuo'll have plaintee
Work to do in half a minute, if de moose don't
start to go.

An' now we're on de shore, let us hide de ole
canoe,
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low,
An' lie among de rushes, dat's bes' t'ing we
can do,
For de ole boy may be closer
Dan anybody know, sir,
An' look out you don't be shakin'
Or de bad shot you'll be makin'
But I'm feelin' sam' way too, me, w'en I
was young, also-

You ready for de call? here goes for number
wan,
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low,
Did you hear how nice I do it, an' how it
travel on
Till ir reach across de reever
Dat'll geev' some moose de fever!
Wait now, Johnnie, don't you worry,
No use bein' on de hurry,
But lissen for de answer, it'll come before you
know.

For w'y you jomp lak dat? w'at's matter wit'
your ear?
Steady, Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low-
Tak' your finger off de trigger, dat was only
bird you hear,
Can't you tell de pine tree crickin'
Or de boule frog w'en he's spikin' ?
Don't you know de grey owl singin'
From de beeg moose w'en he's ringin'
Out hees challenge on de message your ole
gran' fader blow?

You're lucky boy to-night, wit' hunter man
lak me!
Steady, Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low-
Can tole you all about it! H-s-s-h! dat's
somet'ing now I see,
Dere he's comin' t'roo de bushes,
So get down among de rushes,
Hear heem walk! I t'ink, by tonder,
He mus' go near fourteen honder!
Dat's de feller I been watchin' all de evening,
I dunno.

I'll geev' anoder call, jus' a leetle wan or
two,
Steady, Johnnie, steady-kip your head dwon
low-
W'en he see dere's no wan waitin' I wonder
w'at he'll do?
But look out for here he's comin'
Sa-pris-ti! ma heart is drummin'!
You can never get heem nearer
An' de moon is shinin' clearer,
W'at a fine shot you'll be havin'! now
Johnnie let her go!

Bang! bang! you got heem sure! an' he'll
never run away
Nor feed among de lily on de shore of Wes-
sonneau,
So dat's your firse moose Johnnie! wall! re-
member all I say-
Does n't matter w'at you 're chasin',
Does n't matter w'at you 're facin',
Only watch de t'ing you're doin'
If you don't, ba gosh! you 're ruin
An' steady, Johnnie, steady-kip your head
down low.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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The Cure Of Calumette

Dere's no voyageur on de reever never
run hees canoe d'ecorce
T'roo de roar an' de rush of de rapide, w'ere it
jump lak a beeg w'ite horse,
Dere's no hunter man on de prairie, never
wear w'at you call racquette
Can beat leetle Fader O'Hara, de Curé of
Calumette.

Hees fader is full-blooded Irish, an' hees moder
is pure Canayenne,
Not offen dat stock go tegedder, but she's
fine combination ma frien'
For de Irish he's full of de devil, an' de French
dey got savoir faire,
Dat's mak'it de very good balance an' tak'
you mos' ev'ry w' ere.

But dere' wan t'ing de Curé wont stan' it;
mak' fun of de Irlandais
An' of course de French we say not'ing,
'cos de parish she's all Canayen,
Den you see on account of de moder, he can't
spik hese'f very moche,
So de ole joke she's all out of fashion, an' wan
of dem t'ing we don't touch.

Wall! wan of dat kin' is de Curé, but w'en he
be comin' our place
De peop' on de parish all w'isper, 'How
young he was look on hees face;
Too bad if de wedder she keel heem de firse
tam he got leetle wet,
An' de Bishop might sen' beeger Curé, for it's
purty tough place, Calumette!'

Ha! ha! how I wish I was dere, me, w'en he
go on de mission call
On de shaintee camp way up de reever, drivin'
hees own cariole,
An' he meet blagger' feller been drinkin', jus'
enough mak' heem ack lak fou,
Joe Vadeboncoeur, dey was call heem, an' he's
purty beeg feller too!

Mebbe Joe he don't know it's de Curé, so he's
hollerin', 'Get out de way,
If you don't geev me whole of de roadside,
sapree! you go off on de sleigh.'
But de Curé he never say not'ing, jus' poule
on de line leetle bit,
An' w'en Joe try for kip heem hees promise,
hees nose it get badly hit.

Maudit! he was strong leetle Curé, an' he go
for Jo-zeph en masse
An' w'en he is mak' it de finish, poor Joe
is n't feel it firse class,
So nex' tam de Curé he's goin' for visit de
shaintee encore
Of course he was mak' beeges' mission never
see on dat place before.

An' he know more, I'm sure dan de lawyer,
an' dere's many poor habitant
Is glad for see Fader O'Hara, an' ax w'at he
t'ink of de law

W'en dey get leetle troub' wit' each oder, an'
don't know de bes' t'ing to do,
Dat's makin' dem save plaintee monee, an'
kip de good neighbor too.

But w'en we fin' out how he paddle till canoe
she was nearly fly
An' travel racquette on de winter, w'en snow-
dreef is pillin' up high
For visit some poor man or woman dat's waitin'
de message of peace,
An' get dem prepare for de journey, we're
proud on de leetle pries'!

O! many dark night w'en de chil'ren is put
away safe on de bed
An' mese'f an' ma femme mebbe sittin' an'
watchin' de small curly head
We hear somet'ing else dan de roar of de ton-
der, de win' an' de rain;
So we're bote passin' out on de doorway, an'
lissen an' lissen again.

An' it's lonesome for see de beeg cloud sweep-
in' across de sky
An' lonesome for hear de win' cryin' lak some-
body's goin'to die,
But de soun' away down de valley, creepin'
around de hill
All de tam gettin' closer. closer, dat's de soun'
mak' de heart stan'still!

It's de bell of de leetle Curé, de music of deat'
we hear,
Along on de black road ringin', an' soon it was
comin' near
Wan minute de face of de Curé we see by de
lantern light,
An' he's gone from us, jus' lak a shadder, into
de stormy night.

An' de buggy rush down de hill an' over
de bridge below,
W'ere creek run so high on de spring-tam,
w'en mountain t'row off de snow,
An' so long as we hear heem goin', we kneel
on de floor an' pray
Dat God will look affer de Curé, an' de poor
soul dat 's passin' away.

I dunno if he need our prayer, but we geev' it
heem jus' de sam',
For w'en a man's doin' hees duty lak de Curé
do all de tam
Never min' all de t'ing may happen, no matter
he's riche or poor
Le bon Dieu was up on de heaven, will look
out for dat man, I'm sure.

I'm only poor habitant farmer, an' mebbe
know not'ing at all,
But dere's wan t'ing I'm always wishin', an'
dat's w'en I get de call
For travel de far-away journey, ev'ry wan on
de worl' mus' go
He 'll be wit' me de leetle Curé 'fore I'm
leffin' dis place below.

For I know I'll be feel more easy, if he's
sittin' dere by de bed
An' he'll geev' me de good-bye message, an'
place hees han' on ma head,
Den I'll hol' if he 'll only let me, dat han' till
de las' las' breat'
An' bless leetle Fader O'Hara, de Curé of
Calumette.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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Little Bateese

1 You bad leetle boy, not moche you care
2 How busy you 're kipin' your poor gran'pere
3 Tryin' to stop you ev'ry day
4 Chasin' de hen aroun' de hay--
5 W'y don't you geev' dem a chance to lay?
6 Leetle Bateese!

7 Off on de fiel' you foller de plough
8 Den w'en you 're tire you scare the cow
9 Sickin' de dog till dey jomp the wall
10 So de milk ain't good for not'ing at all--
11 An' you 're only five an' a half dis fall,
12 Leetle Bateese!

13 Too sleepy for sayin' de prayer to-night?
14 Never min' I s'pose it 'll be all right
15 Say dem to-morrow--ah! dere he go!
16 Fas' asleep in a minute or so--
17 An' he 'll stay lak dat till de rooster crow,
18 Leetle Bateese!

19 Den wake us up right away toute suite
20 Lookin' for somet'ing more to eat,
21 Makin' me t'ink of dem long leg crane
22 Soon as dey swaller, dey start again,
23 I wonder your stomach don't get no pain,
24 Leetle Bateese!

25 But see heem now lyin' dere in bed,
26 Look at de arm onderneat' hees head;
27 If he grow lak dat till he 's twenty year
28 I bet he 'll be stronger dan Louis Cyr
29 An' beat all de voyageurs leevin' here,
30 Leetle Bateese!

31 Jus' feel de muscle along hees back,
32 Won't geev' heem moche bodder for carry pack
33 On de long portage, any size canoe,
34 Dere 's not many t'ing dat boy won't do
35 For he 's got double-joint on hees body too,
36 Leetle Bateese!

37 But leetle Bateese! please don't forget
38 We rader you 're stayin' de small boy yet,
39 So chase de chicken an' mak' dem scare
40 An' do w'at you lak wit' your ole gran'pere
41 For w'en you 're beeg feller he won't be dere--
42 Leetle Bateese!

poem by William Henry Drummond
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Canary Yellow Canoe

In my canary yellow canoe - my yellow canoe
I want to go tripping in my canary yellow canoe
The eastmain, coppermine, back river too
In my canary yellow canoe
In my canary yellow canoe - yellow canoe
I want to run rivers in my canary yellow canoe
The desmoines river, rupert river, george river too
In my canary yellow canoe
In my canary yellow canoe - mellow yellow canoe
I want to go tripping in my canary yellow canoe
Chebugema, peace river, resolute too
In my canary yellow canoe
In my canary yellow canoe - my elephant too
I want to go tripping in my canary yellow canoe
Churchill, yellowknife, ross river too
In my canary yellow canoe

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pelang

Pelang! Pelang! Mon cher garçon,
I t'ink of you--t'ink of you night and day--
Don't mak' no difference, seems to me
De long long tam you're gone away.

* * * * *

De snow is deep on de Grande Montagne--
Lak tonder de rapide roar below--
De sam' kin' night, ma boy get los'
On beeg, beeg storm forty year ago.

An' I never was hear de win' blow hard,
An' de snow come sweesh on de window pane--
But ev'ryt'ing 'pear lak' it's yesterday
An' whole of ma troub' is come back again.

Ah me! I was foolish young girl den
It's only ma own plaisir I care,
An' w'en some dance or soirée come off
Dat's very sure t'ing you will see me dere.

Don't got too moche sense at all dat tam,
Run ev'ry place on de whole contree--
But I change beeg lot w'en Pelang come 'long
For I love him so well, kin' o' steady me.

An' he was de bes' boy on Coteau,
An' t'ink I am de bes' girl too for sure--
He's tole me dat, geev de ring also
Was say on de inside 'Je t'aime toujours.'

I geev heem some hair dat come off ma head,
I mak' de nice stocking for warm hees feet,
So ev'ryt'ing's feex, w'en de spring is come
For mak' mariée on de church toute suite.

'W'en de spring is come!' Ah I don't see dat,
Dough de year is pass as dey pass before,
An' de season come, an' de season go,
But our spring never was come no more.

* * * * *

It's on de fête of de jour de l'an,
An' de worl' outside is cole an' w'ite,
As I sit an' watch for mon cher Pelang
For he's promise come see me dis very night.

Bonhomme Peloquin dat is leev near us--
He's alway keep look heem upon de moon--
See fonny t'ing dere only week before,
An' say he's expec' some beeg storm soon.

So ma fader is mak' it de laugh on me'
'Pelang he's believe heem de ole Bonhomme
Dat t'ink he see ev'ryt'ing on de moon
An' mebbe he's feel it too scare for come.'

But I don't spik not'ing I am so sure
Of de promise Pelang is mak' wit' me--
An' de mos' beeg storm dat is never blow
Can't kip heem away from hees own Marie.

I open de door, an' pass outside
For see mese'f how de night is look
An' de star is commence for go couché
De mountain also is put on hees tuque.

No sooner, I come on de house again
W'ere ev'ryt'ing feel it so nice an' warm,
Dan out of de sky come de Nor'Eas' win'--
Out of de sky come de beeg snow storm.

Blow lak not'ing I never see,
Blow lak le diable he was mak' grande tour;
De snow come down lak wan avalanche,
An' cole! Mon Dieu, it is cole for sure!

I t'ink, I t'ink of mon pauvre garçon,
Dat's out mebbe on de Grande Montagne;
So I place chandelle we're it's geev good light,
An' pray Le Bon Dieu he will help Pelang.

De ole folk t'ink I am go crazee,
An' moder she's geev me de good night kiss;
She say 'Go off on your bed, Marie,
Dere's nobody come on de storm lak dis.'

But ma eye don't close dat long long, night
For it seem jus' lak phantome is near,
An' I t'ink of de terrible Loup Garou
An' all de bad story I offen hear.

Dere was tam I am sure somet'ing call 'Marie'
So plainly I open de outside door,
But it's meet me only de awful storm,
An de cry pass away--don't come no more.

An' de morning sun, w'en he's up at las',
Fin' me w'ite as de face of de snow itse'f,
For I know very well, on de Grande Montagne,
Ma poor Pelang he's come dead hese'f.

It's noon by de clock w'en de storm blow off,
An' ma fader an' broder start out for see
Any track on de snow by de Mountain side,
Or down on de place w'ere chemin should be.

No sign at all on de Grande Montagne,
No sign all over de w'ite, w'ite snow;
Only hear de win' on de beeg pine tree,
An' roar of de rapide down below.

An' w'ere is he lie, mon cher Pelang!
Pelang ma boy I was love so well?
Only Le Bon Dieu up above
An' mebbe de leetle snow bird can tell.

An I t'ink I hear de leetle bird say,
'Wait till de snow is geev up it's dead,
Wait till I go, an' de robin come,
An' den you will fin' hees cole, cole bed.'

An' it's all come true, for w'en de sun
Is warm de side of de Grande Montagne
An' drive away all de winter snow,
We fin' heem at las', mon cher Pelang!

An' here on de fête of de jour de l'an,
Alone by mese'f I sit again,
W'ile de beeg, beeg storm is blow outside,
An' de snow come sweesh on de window pane.

Not all alone, for I t'ink I hear
De voice of ma boy gone long ago;
Can hear it above de hurricane,
An' roar of de rapide down below.

Yes--yes--Pelang, mon cher garçon!
I t'ink of you, t'ink of you night an' day,
Don't mak' no difference seems to me
How long de tam you was gone away.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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My Little Cabane

I'm sittin' to-night on maleetle ca-
bane, more happier dan de king,
An' ev'ry corner 's singin' out wit'
musique de ole stove sing
I hear de cry of de winter win', for de storm-
gate 's open wide
But I don't care not'ing for win'or storm, so
long I was safe inside.

Viens 'ci, mon chien, put your head on dere,
let your nose res' on ma knee-
You 'member de tam we chase de moose back
on de Lac Souris
An' de snow come down an' we los' ourse'f
till mornin' is bring de light,
You t'ink we got place to sleep, mon chien,
lak de place we got here to-night

Onder de roof of de leetle cabane, w'ere fire
she's blazin' high
An' bed I mak' of de spruce tree branch, is lie
on de floor close by,
O! I lak de smell of dat nice fresh bed, an' I
dream of de summer tam
An' de spot w'ere de beeg trout jomp so
moche down by de lumber dam.

But lissen dat win', how she scream outside,
mak me t'ink of de loup garou,
W'y to-night, mon chien, I be feelin' glad if
even de carcajou
Don't ketch hese'f on de trap I set to-day on
de Lac Souris
Let heem wait tili to-morrow, an' den if he
lak, I geev heem good chance, sapree!

I see beeg cloud w'en I'm out to-day, off on
de nor'-eas' sky,
An' she block de road, so de cloud behin',
don't get a chance passin' by,
An' I t'ink of boom on de grande riviere, w'en
log 's fillin' up de bay,
Wall! sam' as de boom on de spring-tam
flood, dat cloud she was sweep away.

Dem log 's very nice an' quiet, so long as de
boom 's all right,
But soon as de boom geev way, l'enfant! it's
den is begin de fight.
Dey run de rapide, an' jomp de rock', dey leap
on de air an' dive,
Can hear dem roar from de reever shore, jus'
lak dey was all alive.

An' dat was de way wit' de cloud to-day, de
res' of dem push aside,
For dey 're comin' fas' from de cole nor'-eas'
an' away t'roo de sky dey ride
Shakin' de snow as along dey go, lak grain
from de farmer's han'
Till to-morrow you can't see not'ing at all, but
smoke of de leetle cabane.

I'm glad we don't got no chimley, only hole
on de roof up dere,
An'spark fly off on w'ole of de worl', so dere 's
no use gettin' scare,
Mus' get more log! an' it's lucky too, de wood
pile is stannin' near
So blow away storm, for harder you go, de
warmer she's comin' here-

I wonder how dey get on, mon chien, off on de
great beeg town,
W'ere house is so high, near touch de sky,
mus' be danger of fallin' down.
An' worser too on de night lak dis, ketchin'
dat terrible win',
O! leetle small place lak de ole cabane was de
right place for stayin' in.

I s'pose dey got plaintee bodder too, dem
feller dat's be riche man,
For dey 're never knowin' w'en t'ief may come
an' steal all de t'ing he can
An' de monee was kip dem busy too, watchin'
it night an' day,
Dunno but we're better off here, mon chien,
wit' beeg city far away.

For I look on de corner over dere, an' see it
ma birch canoe,
I look on de wall w'ere ma rifle hang along wit'
de good snowshoe,
An' ev'ry t'ing else on de worl' I got, safe on
dis place near me.
An' here you are too, ma brave ole dog, wit'
your nose up agen ma knee.

An' here we be stay t'roo de summer day,
w'en ev'ry t'ing 's warm an' bright
On winter too w'en de stormy win' blow lak
she blow to-night
Let dem stay on de city, on great beeg house,
dem feller dat 's be riche man
For we're happy an' satisfy here, mon chien,
on our own leetle small cabane.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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The Windigo

Go easy wit' de paddle, an' steady wit' de
oar
Geev rudder to de bes' man you got among
de crew,
Let ev'ry wan be quiet, don't let dem sing no
more
W'en you see de islan' risin' out of Grande
Lac Manitou
Above us on de sky dere, de summer cloud
may float
Aroun' us on de water de ripple never show,
But somet'ing down below us can rock de
stronges' boat,
W'en we 're comin' near de islan' of de
spirit Windigo!

De carcajou may breed dere, an' otter sweem
de poole
De moosh-rat mak' de mud house, an' beaver
buil' hees dam
An' beeges' Injun hunter on all de Tête de
Boule
Will never set hees trap dere from spring
to summer tam.

But he 'll bring de fines' presen' from upper
St. Maurice
De loup marin an' black-fox from off de
Hodson Bay
An' hide dem on de islan' an' smoke de pipe
of peace
So Windigo will help heem w'en he travel
far away.

We shaintee on dat islan' on de winter seexty-
nine
If you look you see de clearin' aroun' de
Coo Coo Cache,
An' pleasan' place enough too among de spruce
an' pine
If foreman on de shaintee is n't Cyprien
Palache.

Beeg feller, alway watchin' on hees leetle
weasel eye,
De gang dey can't do not'ing but he see dem
purty quick
Wit' hees 'Hi dere, w'at you doin' ?' ev'ry
tam he 's passin' by
An' de bad word he was usin' , wall! it offen
mak' me sick.

An' he carry silver w'issle wit' de chain aroun'
hees neck
For fear he mebbe los' it, an' ev'ry body say
He mus' buy it from de devil w'en he 's
passin' on Kebeck
But if it 's true dat story, I dunno how
moche he pay.

Dere 's plaintee on de shaintee can sing lak
rossignol
Pet Clancy play de fiddle, an' Jimmie Char-
bonneau
Was bring hees concertina from below St.
Fereol
So we get some leetle pleasure till de long,
long winter go.

But if we start up singin' affer supper on de
camp
'Par derriere chez ma tante,' or 'Mattawa
wishtay,'
De boss he 'll come along den, an' put heem
out de lamp,
An' only stop hees swearin' w'en we all go
marche coucher.

We 've leetle boy dat winter from Po-po-lo-be-
lang
Hees fader an' hees moder dey're bote
A-ben-a-kee
An' he 's comin' , Injun Johnnie, wit' some
man de lumber gang
Was fin' heem nearly starvin' above on Lac
Souris.

De ole man an' de woman is tryin' pass de Soo
W'en water 's high on spring tam, an' of
course dey 're gettin' drown',
For even smartes' Injun should n't fool wit'
birch canoe,
W'ere de reever lak toboggan on de hill is
runnin' down.

So dey lef' de leetle feller all alone away up
dere
Till lumber gang is ketchin' him an' bring
him on de Cache,
But better if he 's stayin' wit' de wolf an' wit'
de bear
Dan come an' tak' hees chances wit' Cyprien
Palache.

I wonder how he stan' it, w'y he never run
away
For Cyprien lak neeger he is treat heem all
de sam'
An' if he 's wantin' Johnnie on de night or on
de day
God help heem if dat w'issle she was below
de secon'tam!

De boy he don 't say not'ing, no wan never see
heem cry
He 's got de Injun in heem, you can see it
on de face,
An' only for us feller an' de cook, he 'll surely
die
Long before de winter 's over, long before
we lef' de place,

But I see heem hidin' somet'ing wan morning
by de shore
So firse tam I was passin' I scrape away de
snow
An' it 's rabbit skin he 's ketchin' on de swamp
de day before,
Leetle Injun Johnnie 's workin' on de spirit
Windigo.

December's come in stormy, an' de snow-dreef
fill de road
Can only see de chimley an' roof of our
cabane,
An' stronges' team on stable fin' it plaintee
heavy load
Haulin' sleigh an' two t'ree pine log t'roo
de wood an' beeg savane.

An' I travel off wan day me, wit' Cyprien
Palache
Explorin' for new timber, w'en de win' be-
gin to blow,
So we hurry on de snow-shoe for de camp on
Coo Coo Cache
If de nor' eas' storm is comin', was de bes'
place we dunno-

An' we 're gettin' safe enough dere wit' de
storm close on our heel,
But w'en our belt we loosen for takin' off de
coat
De foreman commence screamin' an' mon Dieu
it mak' us feel
Lak he got t'ree t'ousan' devil all fightin' on
hees t'roat.

Cyprien is los' hees w'issle, Cyprien is los' hees
chain
Injun Johnnie he mus' fin' it, even if de win'
is high

He can never show hese'f on de Coo Coo
Cache again
Till he bring dat silver w'issle an' de chain
it 's hangin' by.

So he sen' heem on hees journey never knowin'
he come back
T'roo de rough an' stormy wedder, t'roo de
pile of dreefin' snow
'Wat 's de use of bein' Injun if you can 't
smell out de track?'
Dat 's de way de boss is talkin' , an' poor
Johnnie have to go.

If you want to hear de musique of de nort' win'
as it blow
An' lissen to the hurricane an' learn de way
it sing
An' feel how small de man is w'en he 's
leevin' here below,
You should try it on de shaintee w'en she 's
doin' all dem t'ing!

W'at 's dat soun' lak somet'ing cryin' all
aroun' us ev'ryw'ere?
We never hear no tonder upon de winter
storm!
Dey 're shoutin' to each oder dem voices on
de air,
An' it 's red hot too de stove pipe, but no
wan 's feelin' warm!

'Get out an' go de woodpile before I freeze
to deat''
Cyprien de boss is yellin' an' he 's lookin'
cole an' w'ite
Lak dead man on de coffin, but no wan go,
you bet,
For if it 's near de woodpile, 't is n't close
enough to-night!

Non! we ain't afraid of not'ing, but we don 't
lak takin' chance,
An' w'en we hear de spirit of de wil' A-ben-
a-kee
Singin' war song on de chimley, makin' all dem
Injun dance
Raisin' row dere, you don't ketch us on no
woodpile -no siree!

O! de lonesome night we 're passin' w'ile
we 're stayin' on dat place!
An' ev'rybody sheever when Jimmie Char
bonneau
Say he 's watchin' on de winder an' he see de
Injun face
An' it 's lookin' so he tole us, jus' de sam'
as Windingo.

Den again mese'f I 'm hearin' somet'ing
callin', an' it soun'
Lak de voice of leetle Johnnie so I'm
passin' on de door

But de pine stump on de clearin' wit' de w'ite
sheet all aroun'
Mak' me t'ink of churchyar' tombstone, an'
I can't go dere no more.

Wat's de reason we 're so quiet w'ile our
heart she 's goin' fas'
W'y is no wan ax de question? dat we're
all afraid to spik?
Was it wing of flyin' wil' bird strek de winder
as it pass,
Or de sweesh of leetle snow-ball w'en de win'
is playin' trick?

W'en we buil' de Coo Coo shaintee, she's as
steady as a rock,
Did you feel de shaintee shakin' de sam,
she's goin' to fall?
Dere's somet'ing on de doorway! an' now we
hear de knock
An' up above de hurricane we hear de w'issle
call.

Callin', callin' lak a bugle, an' he's jompin' up
de boss
From hees warm bed on de corner an' open
wide de door-
Dere's no use foller affer for Cyprien is los'
An' de Coo Coo Cache an' shaintee he'll
never see no more.

At las' de morning's comin', an' storm is blow
away
An' outside on de shaintee young Jimmie
Charbonneau
He's seein' track of snowshoe, 'bout de size of
doulbe sleigh
Dere's no mistak' it's makin' by de spirit
Windigo.

An' de leetle Injuin Johnie, he's all right I
onderstan'
For you'll fin' heem up de reever above de
Coo Coo Cache
Ketchin' mink and ketchin' beaver, an' he's
growin' great beeg man
But dat's de las' we're hearin' of Cyprien
Palache.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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The Habitants Summer

O, who can blame de winter, never min'
de hard he 's blowin'
'Cos w'en de tam is comin' for passin' on
hees roun'
De firse t'ing he was doin' is start de sky a
snowin'
An' mak' de nice w'ite blanket, for cover up
de groun' .

An' de groun' she go a'sleepin' t'roo all de
stormy season,
Restin' from her work las' summer, till she 's
waken by the rain
Dat le bon Dieu sen' some morning, an' of
course dat 's be de reason
Ev'ry year de groun' she 's lookin' jus' as
fresh an' young again.

Den you geev her leetle sunshine, w'en de snow
go off an' leave her
Let de sout' win' blow upon her, an' you see
beeg changes now
Wit' de steam arisin' from her jus' de sam' she
got de fever,
An' not many day is passin' w'en she 's
ready for de plow.

We don't bodder wit' no spring-tam w'ere de
rain she 's alway fallin' ,
Two, t'ree mont' , or mebbe longer, on de
place beyon' de sea,
W'ere some bird he 's nam' de cuckoo, spen'
de mos' hees tam a-callin'
But for fear he wet hees fedder, hide away
upon de tree.

On de swamp beside de reever, mebbe jus'
about de fly-tam
W'ere it 's very hard to see heem, we hear
de wo-wa-raw,
Dat 's w'at you call de bull-frog, singin'
'more rum', all de night-tam.
He 's only kin' of cuckoo we got on Cana-
daw

No, we have n't got dat feller, but we got some
bird can beat heem,
An' we hear dem, an' we see dem, jus' so
soon de winter go,
So never min' de cuckoo for we 're not afraid
to meet heem,
W'enever he was ready, wit' our own petits
oiseaux.

An' dey almos' come togeder, lak de spring
an' summer wedder,
Blue-bird wan day, pie-blanche nex' day,
geevin' out deir leetle note,
Affer dat we see de robin' , an' de gouglou on
de medder,
Den le roi, de red bird 's comin' , dressim on
hees sojer coat.

W 'en de grosbec on de pine tree, wak' you
early wit' hees singin' ,
W'en you lissen to de pa'tridge a-beatin'on
hees drum,
W'en de w'ole place roun' about you wit'
musique is a-ringin' ,
Den you know de winter 's over, an' de
summer day is come.

See de apple blossom showin' , see de clover
how it 's growin'
Watch de trout, an' way dey 're playin' on
de reever down below,
Ah! de cunning leetle feller, easy see how well
dey 're knowin'
We 're too busy now for ketch dem an' dat 's
w'y dey 're jompin' so.

For de mos' fine summer season don't las' too
long, an' we know it,
So we 're workin' ev'rybody, w'ile de sun is
warm and clear,
Dat 's de tam for plant de barley, an' de injun
corn we sow it,
W'en de leaf upon de maple 's jus' de size
of squirrel's ear.

'Noder job is feexin' fences, if we don 't be lak
de las' year,
W'en de Durham bull he 's pullin' nearly all
de fence away,
An' dat sapree champion taureau let de cattle
out de pasture
So dey 're playin' on de devil wit' de oat
an' wit' de hay.

Yass, de farmer 's offen worry, an' it some-
tam mak' heem snappy,
For no sooner wan job's finish, dan he got
two t'ousan' more,
But he 's glad for see de summer, w'en all de
worl' she 's happy,
An' ev'ryt'ing aroun' heem was leevin' out
o'door.

Now de ole sheep 's takin' young wan up de
hillside, an' dey feed dem
W'ere de nice short grass is growin' sweeter
dan it grow below,
Ev'ry morning off dey're goin' an' it 's
pleasan' t'ing to see dem
Lookin' jus' lak leetle snow-ball all along de
green coteau.

Dere 's de hen too, wit' her chicken, O how
moche dey mak' her bodder
Watchin' dem mos' ev'ry minute, fearin' dey
was go astray
But w'en mountain hawk he 's comin' den
how quick dey fin' de moder
An' get onderneat' her fedder till de dan-
ger 's pass away.

An' jus' see de turkey gobbler, an' lissen' to
heem talkin'
No wonder he 's half crazee, an' spikin' out
so loud,
W'en you meet heem on de roadside wit' hees
wife an' chil'ren walkin',
It 's kipin' heem so busy lookin' affer such
a crowd.

Dat 's about de way we 're leevin' , dat 's a
few t'ing we 're seein' ,
W'en de nice warm summer sun is shinin'
down on Canadaw,
An' no matter w'at I'm hearin' , still I never
feel lak bein'
No oder stranger feller, me, but only habi-
tant.

For dere 's no place lak our own place, don't
care de far you 're goin'
Dat 's w'at de whole worl's sayin', w'enever
dey come here,
'Cos we got de fines' contree, an' de beeges'
reever flowin'
An' le bon Dieu sen' de sunshine nearly
twelve mont' ev'ry year.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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The Rose Delima

You can sew heem up in a canvas sack,
An' t'row heem over boar'
You can wait till de ship she 's comin' back
Den bury heem on de shore
For dead man w'en he 's dead for sure,
Ain't good for not'ing at all
An' he 'll stay on de place you put heem
Till he hear dat bugle call
Dey say will soun' on de las', las' day
W'en ev'ry t'ing 's goin' for pass away,
But down on de Gulf of St. Laurent
W'ere de sea an' de reever meet
An' off on St. Pierre de Miquelon,
De chil'ren on de street
Can tole you story of Pierre Guillaume,
De sailor of St. Yvonne
Dat 's bringin' de Rose Delima home
Affer he 's dead an' gone.
______

He was stretch heem on de bed an' he could
n't raise hees head
So dey place heem near de winder w'ere he
can look below,
An' watch de schooner lie wit' her topmas' on
de sky,
An' oh! how mad it mak' heem, ole Cap-
tinne Baribeau.

For she 's de fines' boat dat never was afloat
From de harbour of St. Simon to de shore of
New-fun-lan'
She can almos' dance a reel, an' de sea shell on
her keel
Wall! you count dem very easy on de finger
of your han'.

But de season 's flyin' fas', an' de fall is nearly
pas'
An' de leetle Rose Delima she 's doin' not-
'ing dere
Only pullin' on her chain, an' wishin' once
again
She was w'ere de black fish tumble, an jomp
upon de air.

But who can tak' her out, for she 's got de
tender mout'
Lak a trotter on de race-course dat's mebbe
run away
If he 's not jus' handle so-an' ole Captinne
Baribeau
Was de only man can sail her, dat 's w'at
dey offen say.

An' now he's lyin' dere, w'ere de breeze is
blow hees hair
An' he's hearin' ev'ry morning de Rose
Delima call,
Sayin', 'Come along wit' me, an' we 'll off
across de sea,
For I'm lonesome waitin' for you, Captinne
Paul.

'On Anticosti shore we hear de breaker roar
An' reef of dead Man's Islan' too we know,
But we never miss de way, no matter night or
day,
De Rose Delima schooner an' Captinne
Baribeau.'

De Captinne cry out den, so de house is shake
again,
'Come here! come here, an' quickly, ma
daughter Virginie,
An' let me hol' your han', for so long as I
can stan'
I'll tak' de Rose Delima, an' sail her off to
sea.'

'No, no, ma fader dear, you 're better stayin'
here
Till de cherry show her blossom on de
spring,
For de loon he 's flyin' sout' an' de fall is
nearly out,
W'en de wil' bird of de nort' is on de wing.

'But fader dear, I know de man can go below
Wit' leetle Rose Delima on St.Pierre de
Miquelon
Hees nam' is Pierre Guillaume, an' he 'll bring
de schooner home
Till she 's t'rowin' out her anchor on de port
of St. Simon.'

'Ha!Ha! ma Virginie, it is n't hard to see
You lak dat smart young sailor man youse'f,
I s'pose he love you too, but I tole you w'at
I do
W'en I have some leetle talk wit' heem
mese'f.

'So call heem up de stair' : an' w'en he 's
stannin' dere,
De Captinne say, 'Young feller, you see
how sick I be?
De poor ole Baribeau has n't very much below
Beside de Rose Delima, an' hees daughter
Virginie.

'An' I know your fader well, he 's fine man
too, Noël,
An' hees nam' was comin' offen on ma
prayer-
An' if your sailor blood she 's only half as good
You can sail de Rose Delima from here to
any w'ere.

'You love ma Virginie? wall! if you promise
me
You bring de leetle schooner safely home
From St. Pierre de Miquelon to de port of St.
Simon
You can marry on my daughter, Pierre Guil-
laume.'

An' Pierre he answer den, 'Ma fader was your
frien'
An' it 's true your daughter Virginie I love,
Dat schooner she 'll come home, or ma nam' 's
not Pierre Guillaume
I swear by all de angel up above.'

So de wil' bird goin' out sout', see her shake de
canvas out,
An' soon de Rose Delima she 's flyin' down
de bay
An' poor young Virginie so long as she can see
Kip watchin' on dat schooner till at las'
she 's gone away.

Ho! ho! for Gaspé cliff w' en de win' is blowin'
stiff,
Ho! ho! for Anticosti w'ere bone of dead
man lie!
De sailor cimetiere! God help de beeg ship dere
if dey come too near de islan' w'en de wave
she 's runnin' high.

It 's locky t' ing he know de way he ought to
go
It 's locky too de star above, he know dem
ev'ry wan
For God he mak' de star, was shinin' up so far,
So he trus no oder compass, young Pierre
of St. Yvonne.

An' de schooner sail away pas' Wolf Islan' an'
Cape Ray-
W'ere de beeg wave fight each oder roun' de
head of ole Pointe Blanc
Only gettin' pleasan' win'. till she tak' de
canvas in
An' drop de anchor over on St. Pierre de
Miquelon.

We're glad to see some more, de girl upon de
shore
An' Jean Barbette was kipin' Hotel de Sans-
souci

He 's also glad we come, 'cos we mak' de rafter
hum;
An' w'en we 're stayin' dere, ma foi! we
spen' de monee free.

But Captinne Pierre Guillaume, might jus' as
well be home,
For he don 't forget his sweetheart an' ole
man Baribeau,
An' so he stay on boar', an' fifty girl or more
Less dey haul heem on de bowline, dey
could n't mak' heem go.

Wall! we 're workin' hard an' fas', an' de
cargo 's on at las'
Two honder cask of w'isky, de fines' on de
worl'!
So good-bye to Miquelon, an' hooraw for St.
Simon-
An' au revoir to Jean Barbette, an' don 't
forget de girl.

You can hear de schooner sing, w'en she open
out her wing
So glad to feel de slappin' of de sea wave on
her breas'
She did n't los' no tam, but travel jus' de
sam',
As de small bird w'en he 's flyin' on de even-
ing to hees nes'.

But her sail 's not blowin' out wit' de warm
breeze out de sout'
An' it 's not too easy tellin' w'ere de snow-
flake meet de foam
Stretchin' out on ev'ry side, all across de Gulf
so wide
W'en de nor'- eas' win' is chasin' de Rose
Delima home.

An' we 're flyin' once again pas' de Isle of
Madeleine
An' away for Anticosti we let de schooner
go
Lak a race-horse on de track, we could never
hol' her back-
She mebbe hear heem callin' her, ole Cap-
tinne Baribeau!

But we 're ketchin' it wan night w'en de star
go out of sight
For de storm dat 's waitin' for us, come be-
fore we know it 's dere-
An' it blow us near de coas' w'ere dey leev'
de sailor's ghos'
On de shore of Dead Man 's Islan' till dey
almos' fill de air.

So de Captinne tak' de wheel, an' it mak' de
schooner feel
Jus' de sam' as ole man Baribeau is workin'
dere hese'f
Well she know it 's life or deat', so she 's
fightin' hard for breat'
For wit' all dem wave a chokin' her, it 's
leetle she got lef'.

Den de beeges' sea of all, stannin' up dere lak
a wall
Come along an' sweep de leetle Rose De-
lima for an' af'
An' above de storm a cry, 'Help, mon Dieu!
before I die.'
An' dere 's no wan on de wheel house, an'
we hear dem spirit laugh.

Dey 're lookin' for dead man, an' dey 're
shoutin' all dey can
Don 't matter all de pile dey got dey want
anoder wan-
An' now dey 're laughin' loud, for out of all
de crowd
Dey got no finer sailor boy dan Pierre of St.
Yvonne!

But look dere on de wheel! a'at 's dat was
seem to steal
From now'ere, out of not'ing, till it reach de
pilot 's place
An' steer de rudder too, lak de Captinne used
to do
So lak' de Captinne 's body, so lak de Cap-
tinne's face.

But well enough we know de poor boy's gone
below,
W'ere hees bone will join de oder on de
place w'ere dead man be-
An' we only see phantome of young captinne
Pierre Guillaume
Dat sail de Rose Delima all night along de
sea.

So we help heem all we can, kip de schooner
off de lan'
W'ere bad spirit work de current dat was
pullin' us inside-
But we fool dem all at las', an' we know de
danger 's pas'
W'en de sun come out an' fin' us floatin'
on de morning tide.

So de Captinne's work is done, an' nex' day de
schooner run
Wit' de sail all hangin' roun' her, to de port
of St. Simon.
Dat 's de way young Pierre Guillaume bring
de Rose Delima home
T'roo de wil' an' stormy wedder from St.
Pierre de Miquelon.

An' de leetle Virginie never look upon de sea
Since de tam de Rose Delima 's comin'
home,
For she 's lef' de worl' an' all! but behin' de
convent wall
She don 't forget her fader an' poor young
Pierre Guillaume.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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Missing Couple

Beginning unknown:
Still the canoe floated
The calluses paddled.

Sunny days and moonless nights
I have watched them floating
On the river meandering.

The canoe rose and fell
On the wavelets ten thousand times
During the springs.

Black the hairs were;
Many winters passed;
Now snow white being exposed.

Narrow escapes
From the maelstroms unexpected,
And forward floated.

A long voyage; two together;
Funeral feast smells;
They drink to the lees.

A long missing; I think I see them again
Rest under the holy banyan tree;
Empty canoe tied to the tree.

poem by Fabiyas M V
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The Canadian Magpie

Mos' ev'ryman lak de robin
An' it's pleasan' for hear heem sing,
Affer de winter 's over
An' it 's comin' anoder spring.
De snow 's hardly off de mountain
An' it's cole too among de pine
But you know w'en he sing, de sout' win'
Is crowdin' heem close behin' .

An' mebbe you hear de grosbec
Sittin' above de nes'-
An' you see by de way he 's goin'
De ole man 's doin' hees bes'
Makin' de wife an' baby
Happy as dey can be-
An' proud he was come de fader
Such fine leetle familee.

De gouglou of course he 's nicer
Dan many bird dat fly,
Dunno w'at we do widout heem,
But offen I wonder w'y
He can't stay quiet a minute
Lak res' of de small oiseaux
An' finish de song he's startin'
Till whish! an' away he go!

Got not'ing to say agen dem,
De gouglou an' all de res'-
'Cept only dey lak de comfort,
An' come w'en it suit dem bes'-
For soon as de summer 's passin'
An' leaf is begin to fall-
You'll wálk t'roo de wood an' medder
An' never hear wan bird call.

But come wit' me on de winter
On place w'ere de beeg tree grow
De smoke of de log house chimley
Will tole you de way to go-
An' if you 're not too unlucky
De w'iskey jack dere you'll see
Flyin' aroun' de shaintee
An' dat was de bird for me.

You 'll mebbe not lak hees singin'
Dough it 's better dan not'ing too,
For affer he do hees bes', den
W'at more can poor Johnnie do?
It 's easy job sing on summer
De sam ' as de rossignol-
But out of door on de winter
Jus' try youse'f -dat 's all.

See heem dere, now he's comin'
Hoppin' an' hoppin' aroun'
W'en we start on de morning early
For work till de sun go down-
T'row heem hees piece of breakfas'
An' hear heem say 'merci bien',
For he's fond on de pork, ba golly!
Sam ' as de Canayen.

De noise of de axe don't scare heem
He stay wit' us all de day,
An' w'en he was feelin' lak' it
Ride home wit' de horse an' sleigh.
Den affer we reach de shaintee
He 's waitin' to see us back
Jompin' upon de log dere
Good leetle w'iskey lack!

So here 's to de bird of winter
Wearin' de coonskin coat,
W'enever it 's bird election
You bet he can get ma vote-
Dat 's way I be feel about it,
Voyageurs let her go today!
W'iskey jack, get ready, we drink you
Toujours à vot' bonne santé!
Baptême!

poem by William Henry Drummond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Lac Sainte Ireneé

ON Lac Sainte Ireneé the morn
Lay rimmed with pine and roped with mist.
The old moon hid her silver horn
In shadow that the sun had kissed.
One went by like a wandering soul,
And followed ever,
By reed and river,
The silent canoe of the lake patrol.

On Lac Sainte Ireneé the noon
Lay wolf-like waiting by her hills.
No voice was heard but the sad loon
And the wild-throated whip-poor-wills.
But one went by on the bitter flaw,
And followed ever,
By rapid and river,
The swift canoe of the white man's law.

On Lac Sainte Ireneé the moose
Broke from his balsams, breathing hot.
The bittern and the great wild goose
Pled south before the sudden shot.
One fled with them like a hunted soul,
And followed ever,
By ford and river,
The little canoe of the lake patrol.

On Lac Sainte Ireneé the blue
Vast arch of night was starred and deep.
No footsteps scared the caribou
Nor waked the wolverine from his sleep.
Loosed indeed was the hunted soul,
And homeward ever,
By rapid and river,
Slipped the canoe of the lake patrol.

poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bateese And His Little Decoys

O I'm very very tire Marie,
I wonder if I'm able hol' a gun
An' me dat 's alway risin' wit' de sun
An' travel on de water, an' paddle ma canoe
An' trap de mink an' beaver de fall an' winter
t'roo,
But now I t'ink dat fun is gone forever.

Wall! I'm mebbe stayin' long enough,
For eighty-four I see it on de spring;
Dough ma fader he was fellin' purty tough
An' at ninety year can do mos' ev'ry t'ing,
But I never know de feller, don't care how ole
he come,
Dat is n't sure to t'ink he 's got anoder year,
ba gum!
Before he lif' de anchor for de las' tam!

It 's not so easy lyin' on de bed,
An' lissen to de wil' bird on de bay,
Dey know dat poor bateese is nearly dead,
Or dey would n't have such good fun ev'ry
day!
Put ma gun upon de piller near de winder, jus'
for luck,
Den bring w'ere I can see dem, ma own nice
leetle duck
So I have some talk wit' dem mese'f dis
morning.

Ah! dere you 're comin' now! mes beaux
canards!
Dat 's very pleasan'day, an' how you feel?
Of course you dunno w'at I want you for,
Wall! lately I've been t'inkin a good deal
Of all de fuss I 'm havin' show you w'at you
ought to do
W'en de cole win' of October de blin' is blow-
ing t'roo
An' de bluebill 's flyin' up an' down de reever.

O! de bodder I 'm havin' wit' you all!
It 's makin' me feel ole before ma tam!
Stan' over dere upon de right again de wall,
Ma-dame Lapointe - I'm geevin' you Ma-
dame
'Cos you walk aroun' de sam' way as ma cousin
Aurelie
An' lak youse'f she 's havin' de large large
familee,
Now let us see you don 't forget your lesson!

Qu a-a-ck! you 're leetle hoarse to-day, don't
you t'ink?
Quack! quack! quack! dat 's right Mam-
zelle Louise!
You go lak dat, an' quicker dan a wink,
It 'll ring across de lake along de breeze,
Till de wil' bird dey will lissen up de reever
far an' near,
An' tole de noder wan too, de musique dey was
hear
An' dey 'll fly aroun' our head before we know
it.

Come here, Francois, an' min' you watch
yourse'f!
You can 't forget de las' day we was out,
Your breat'dere's very leetle of it lef'
An' tole you it was better shut your mout'
W'en you start dat fancy yellin', for it soun'
de sam' to me
Lak de devil he was goin' on de beeges' kin'
of spree,
Francois! dat 's not de way for mak'de
shootin' !

Wan-two-t'ree, -now let us hear you please,
It is n't vey hard job if you try,
Purten' you 're feelin' lonesome lak Louise
An' want to see de sweetheart bimeby,
Quack! quack! quack!
O! stop dat sreechin', don 't never spik no
more
For if anyt'ing, sapree, tonnerre! you're worser
dan before,
I wonder w'at you do wit' all your schoolin'!

Come out from onderneat' de bed, Lisette,
I believe you was de fattes' of de lot;
It 's handy too of course, for you never feel de
wet,
An' w'en you lak to try it, O! w'at a voice
you got!
So let us play it's blowin' hard, an' duck is up
de win'
An' you want to reach dem- sure- now we're
ready for begin,
Hooraw! an' never min' de noise dat you 're
makin'.

Quack! quack! quack! quack! O! let me
tak' de gun
For I would n't be astonish w'en Lisette is
get de start,
Roun' de house dey 'll come a-flyin', an' den
we 'll have de fun!
Yass, yass, kip up de flappin' , O! ain 't
she got the heart!
Not many duck can beat her, an' I wish I had
some more,
Can mak'de song lak dat upon de water!

Dat 's very funny how it ketch de crowd!
An' now dey 're goin, all de younger wan!
But if you don 't stop singin' out so loud,
I 'm sorry I mus' tole you all begone,
'Cos I want to go to sleep. for I ', very very
tire,
An' de shiver 's comin' on me! so Marie poke
up de fire
An' mebber I 'll feel better on de morning.

De leetle duck may call on de spring tam an'
de fall
W'en dey see de wil' bird flyin' on de air
Dey may cry aroun' hees door, but he 'll never
come no more
For showin' dem de lesson! ole Jean Bateese
Belair.

poem by William Henry Drummond
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Great Lake Canoe

Paddlin down the michigan
Catchin all the fish I can
Breathin holy air in my canoe
Groovin down superior
Takin taboos easier
Talkin with the lord in my canoe
Send me no pillows I can dream on
Ive seen all the nightmares I can bear to see
Gotta find the river to your kingdom in my canoe
Many moons on erie lake
Not a bottle of beer to break
Heaven knows I try best I can do
Maybe lake ontario
Gonna take me where I hope
Got to find the lord in my canoe
Paddlin down the michigan
Catchin all the fish I can
Breathin holy air in my canoe
Send me no willows I can weep on
Ive done all the crying I can bear to do
Lookin for the tributary to your kingdom
In my canoe.

song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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De Snowbird

O leetle bird dat's come to us w'en stormy win' she's blowin',
An' ev'ry fiel' an' mountain top is cover wit' de snow,
How far from home you're flyin', noboddy's never knowin'
For spen' wit' us de winter tam, mon cher petit oiseau!

We alway know you're comin', w'en we hear de firs' beeg storm,
A sweepin' from de sky above, an' screamin' as she go--
Can tell you're safe inside it, w'ere you're keepin' nice an' warm,
But no wan's never see you dere, mon cher petit oiseau!

Was it 'way behin' de mountain, dat de nort' win' ketch you sleepin'
Mebbe on your leetle nes' too, an' before de wing she grow,
Lif' you up an' bring you dat way, till some morning fin' you peepin'
Out of new nes' on de snow dreef, mon pauv' petit oiseau!

All de wood is full on summer, wit' de many bird is sing dere,
Dey mus' offen know each oder, mebbe mak' de frien' also,
But w'en you was come on winter, never seein' wan strange wing dere
Was it mak' you feelin' lonesome, mon pauv' petit oiseau?

Plaintee bird is alway hidin' on some place no wan can fin' dem,
But ma leetle bird of winter, dat was not de way you go--
For de chil'ren on de roadside, you don't seem to care for min' dem
W'en dey pass on way to schoolhouse, mon cher petit oiseau!

No wan say you sing lak robin, but you got no tam for singin'
So busy it was keepin' you get breakfas' on de snow,
But de small note you was geev us, w'en it join de sleigh bell ringin'
Mak' de true Canadian music, mon cher petit oiseau!

O de long an' lonesome winter, if you're never comin' near us,
If we miss you on de roadside, an' on all de place below!
But le bon Dieu he will sen' you troo de storm again for cheer us,
W'en we mos' was need you here too, mon cher petit oiseau!

poem by William Henry Drummond
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The Lake of the Dismal Swamp

'THEY made her a grave too cold and damp
For a soul so warm and true;
And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
Where all night long, by a firefly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe.

And her firefly lamp I soon shall see,
And her paddle I soon shall hear;
Long and moving our life shall be
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footstep of death is near.'

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, -
His path was rugged and sore,
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.

And when on the earth he sank to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,
He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venemous tear, and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew!

And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake,
And the copper-snake breathed in his ear,
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake,
'Oh when shall I see the dusky Lake,
And the white canoe of my dear?'

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright
Quick over its surface play'd, -
'Welcome,' he said, 'my dear one's light!'
And the dim shore echo'd for many a night
The name of the death-cold maid.

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from the shore;
Far, far he follow'd the meteor spark,
The wind was high and the clouds were dark,
And the boat return'd no more.

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp,
This lover and maid so true
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp
To cross the Lake by a firefly lamp,
And paddle their white canoe!

poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Re-voyage

What of the days when we two dreamed together?
Days marvellously fair,
As lightsome as a skyward floating feather
Sailing on summer air--
Summer, summer, that came drifting through
Fate's hand to me, to you.

What of the days, my dear? I sometimes wonder
If you too wish this sky
Could be the blue we sailed so softly under,
In that sun-kissed July;
Sailed in the warm and yellow afternoon,
With hearts in touch and tune.

Have you no longing to re-live the dreaming,
Adrift in my canoe?
To watch my paddle blade all wet and gleaming
Cleaving the waters through?
To lie wind-blown and wave-caressed, until
Your restless pulse grows still?

Do you not long to listen to the purling
Of foam athwart the keel?
To hear the nearing rapids softly swirling
Among their stones, to feel
The boat's unsteady tremor as it braves
The wild and snarling waves?

What need of question, what of your replying?
Oh! well I know that you
Would toss the world away to be but lying
Again in my canoe,
In listless indolence entranced and lost,
Wave-rocked, and passion tossed.

Ah me! my paddle failed me in the steering
Across love's shoreless seas;
All reckless, I had ne'er a thought of fearing
Such dreary days as these,
When through the self-same rapids we dash by,
My lone canoe and I.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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The Canadian Country Doctor

I s'pose mos'ev'ry body t'ink hees job's
about de hardes'
From de boss man on de Guvernement to
poor man on de town
From de curé to de lawyer, an' de farmer to
de school boy
An' all de noder feller was mak' de worl'
go roun'.

But dere 's wan man got hees han' full t'roo
ev'ry kin' of wedder
An' he 's never sure of not'ing but work
an' work away-
Dat 's de man dey call de doctor, w'en you
ketch heem on de contree
An' he 's only man I know-me, don't got
no holiday.

If you 're comin' off de city spen' de summer-
tam among us
An' you walk out on de morning w'en de
leetle bird is sing
Mebbe den you see de doctor w'en he 's passin
wit' hees buggy
An' you t'ink 'Wall! contree doctor mus'
be very plesan' t'ing

'Drivin' dat way all de summer up an' down
along de reever
W'ere de nice cool win' is blowin' among de
maple tree
Den w'en he 's mak' hees visit, comin' home
before de night tam
For pass de quiet evening wit' hees wife an'
familee.'

An' w'en off across de mountain, some wan 's
sick an' want de doctor
'Mus' be fine trip crossin' over for watch
de sun go down
Makin' all dem purty color lak w'at you call
de rainbow,'
Dat 's de way peop' is talkin' was leevin' on
de town.

But it is n't alway summer on de contree, an'
de doctor
He could tole you many story of de storm
dat he 's been in
How hees coonskin coat come handy, w'en de
win' blow off de reever
For if she 's sam ole reever, she's not
alway sam' old win'.

An' de mountain dat 's so quiet w'en de w'ite
cloud go a-sailin'
All about her on de summer w'ere de sheep
in feedin' high
You should see her on December w'en de snow
is pilin' roun' her
An' all de win' of winter come tearin' t'roo
de sky.

O! le bon Dieu help de doctor w'en de mes-
sage come to call heem
From hees warm bed on de night-tam for
visit some poor man
Lyin' sick across de hill side on noder side de
reever
An' he hear de mountain roarin' lak de beeg
Shawinigan.

Ah! well he know de warning but he can't
stay till de morning
So he's hitchin' up hees leetle horse an' put
heem on burleau
Den w'en he 's feex de buffalo, an' wissle to
hees pony
Away t'roo storm an' hurricane de contree
doctor go.

O! de small Canadian pony! dat 's de horse
can walk de snowdreef.
Dat 's de horse can fin' de road too he 's
never been before
Kip your heart up leetle feller, for dere 's
many mile before you
An' it 's purty hard job tellin' w'en you see
your stable door.

Yass! de doctor he can tole you, if he have de
tam for talkin'
All about de bird was singin' before de sum-
mer lef'
For he got dem on hees bureau an' he 's doin'
it hese'f too
An' de las' tam I was dere, me, I see dem all
mese'f.

But about de way he travel t'roo de stormy
night of winter
W'en de rain come on de spring flood, an'
de bridge is wash away
All de hard work, all de danger dat was offen
hang aroun' heem
Dat 's de tam our contree doctor don 't have
very moche to say.

For it 's purty ole, ole story, an' he alway have
it wit' heem
Ever since he come among us parish Saint
Mathieu
An' do doubt he's feelin' mebbe jus' de
sam' as noder feller
So he rader do hees talkin' about somet'ing
dat was new.

poem by William Henry Drummond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ole Docteur Fiset

Ole Docteur Fiset of Saint Anicet,
Sapré tonnerre! he was leev long tam!
I'm sure he's got ninety year or so,
Beat all on de Parish 'cept Pierre Courteau,
An' day affer day he work all de sam'.

Dat house on de hill, you can see it still,
She's sam' place he buil' de firs' tam' he come
Behin' it dere's one leetle small jardin
Got plaintee de bes' tabac Canayen
Wit' fameuse apple an' beeg blue plum.

An' dey're all right dere, for de small boy's scare
No matter de apple look nice an' red,
For de small boy know if he's stealin' some
Den Docteur Fiset on dark night he come,
An' cut leetle feller right off hees head!

But w'en dey was rap, an' tak' off de cap,
M'sieu' le Docteur he will say 'Entrez,'
Den all de boy pass on jardin behin'
W'ere dey eat mos' ev'ryt'ing good dey fin',
Till dey can't go on school nearly two, t'ree day.

But Docteur Fiset, not moche fonne he get,
Drivin' all over de whole contree,
If de road she's bad, if de road she's good,
W'en ev'ryt'ing's drown on de Spring-tam flood,
An' workin' for not'ing half tam' mebbe!

Let her rain or snow, all he want to know
Is jus' if anywan's feelin' sick,
For Docteur Fiset's de ole fashion kin'
Doin' good was de only t'ing on hees min'
So he got no use for de politique.

An' he's careful too, 'cos firs' t'ing he do,
For fear dere was danger some fever case,
Is tak' w'en he's come leetle w'isky chaud,
Den 'noder wan too jus' before he go,
He's so scare carry fever aroun' de place!

On nice summer day w'en we're makin' hay
Dere's not'ing more pleasant for us I'm sure
Dan see de ole man come joggin' along,
Alway singin' some leetle song,
An' hear heem say 'Tiens, mes amis, Bonjour!'

An' w'en de cole rain was commence again
An' we're sittin' at home on some warm cornerre,
If we hear de buggy an' see de light
Tearin' along t'roo de black, black night,
We know right off dat's de ole Docteur!

An' he's smart horse sure, w'at he call 'Faubourg,'
Ev'ry place on de Parish he know dem all,
An' you ought to see de nice way he go
For fear he's upsettin' upon de snow,
W'en ole man's asleep on de cariole!

I 'member w'en poor Hormisdas Couture
Get sick on hees place twenty mile away
An' hees boy Ovide he was come 'Raquette'
W'at you call 'Snowshoe,' for Docteur Fiset,
An' Docteur he start wit' hees horse an' sleigh.

All de night before, de beeg storm she roar,
An' mos' of de day it's de sam' also,
De drif' was pilin' up ten feet high
You can't see not'ing dis side de sky,
Not'ing but wan avalanche of snow.

I'm hearin' de bell w'en I go on de well
For water de cattle on barn close by,
But I only ketch sight of hees cheval blanc
An' hees coonskin coat wit' de capuchon
An' de storm tak' heem off, jus' de sam' he fly.

Mus' be le Bon Dieu dat is help him t'roo,
Ole Docteur Fiset an' hees horse 'Faubourg,'
'Twas somet'ing for splain-me, wall I don't care,
But somehow or 'noder he's gettin' dere,
An' save de life Hormisdas Couture.

But it's sam' alway, lak' dat ev'ry day,
He never was spare hese'f pour nous autres,
He don't mak' moche monee, Docteur Fiset,
An' offen de only t'ing he was get
Is de prayer of poor man, an' wan bag of oat.

* * * * *

Wall! Docteur Fiset of Saint Anicet
He is not dead yet! an' I'm purty sure
If you're passin' dat place about ten year more
You will see heem go roun' lak' he go before
Wit' de ole cariole an' hees horse 'Faubourg!'

poem by William Henry Drummond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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