William Henry Drummond
My thoughts hold mortal strife; I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries
In dreams of the night I hear the call Of wild duck scudding across the lake, In dreams I see the old convent wall,
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
He's alway ketchin' dor', an'he 's alway ketchin' trout On de place w'ere no wan else can ketch at all He 's alway ketchin' barbotte, dat 's w'at you call bull-pout,
New doth the sun appear, The mountains' snows decay, Crown'd with frail flowers forth comes the baby year.
O memory, take my hand to-day And lead me thro' the darkened bridge Washed by the wild Atlantic spray
Go 'way, go 'way, don't ring no more, ole bell of Saint Michel, For if you do, I can't stay here, you know dat very well, No matter how I close ma ear, I can't shut out de soun',
You 'member de ole log-camp, Johnnie, up on de Cheval Gris, W'ere we work so hard all winter, long ago you an' me? Dere was fourteen man on de gang, den, all from our own paroisse,
De place I get born, me, is up on de reever Near foot of de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc Beeg mountain behin' it, so high you can't climb it
You can pass on de worl' w'erever you lak, Tak' de steamboat for go Angleterre, Tak' car on de State, an' den you come back,
M'sieu Paul Joulin, de Notaire Publique Is come I s'pose seexty year hees life An' de mos' riche man on Sainte Angelique
AN INCIDENT OF THE CANADIAN REBELLION OF 1837. Bon jour, M'sieu', you want to know 'Bout dat ole gun, w'at good she's for?
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'
Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu, W'en ev'ry wan he's go couch', an' dog was quiet, too, Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon,
DONAL' CAMPBELL Donal' Bane sailed away across the ocean With the tartans of Clan Gordon, to the Indies' distant shore,
Doth then the world go thus? doth all thus move? Is this the justice which on earth we find? Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Bord ' Plouffe, Bord ' Plouffe, W'at do I see w'en I dream of you? A shore w'ere de water is racin' by,
The beauty and the life Of life's and beauty's fairest paragon O tears! O grief! hung at a feeble thread
W'en I was young boy on de farm, dat 's twenty year ago I have wan frien' he 's leev near me, call Jean Bateese Trudeau An offen w'en we are alone, we lak for spik about
Phoebus, arise! And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red;
Johnnie Courteau of de mountain Johnnie Courteau of de hill Dat was de boy can shoot de gun
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
Venez ici, mon cher ami, an' sit down by me'so An' I will tole you story of old tam long ago' W'en ev'ryt'ing is happy'w'en all de bird is sing
Leetle Lac Grenier, she 's all alone, Right on de mountain top, But cloud sweepin' by, will fin' tam to stop
YOU bad leetle boy, not moche you care How busy you're kipin' your poor gran'-pere Tryin to stop you ev'ry day
Get along leetle mouse, kick de snow up behin' you For it's fine winter road we 're travelto- night Wit' de moon an' de star shinin' up on de sky dere
THE ADVENTURES OF AN ENGLISHMAN IN THE CANADIAN WOODS. Wan morning de walkim boss say "Damase, I t'ink you're good man on canoe d'ecorce,
I've told you many a tale, my child, of the old heroic days Of Indian wars and massacre, of villages ablaze With savage torch, from Ville Marie to the Mission of Trois Rivieres
Like the Idalian queen, Her hair about her eyne, With neck and breast's ripe apples to be seen,
Dis was de story of boy an' girl Dat 's love each oder above de worl' But it 's not easy job for mak' l'amour
Victoriaw: she have beeg war, E-gyp's de nam' de place, An' neeger peep dat's leev 'im dere, got very black de face, An' so she's write Joseph Mercier, he's stop on Trois Rivieres,
O spirit of the mountain that speaks to us to-night, Your voice is sad, yet still recalls past visions of delight, When 'mid the grand old Laurentides, old when the earth was new,
I'm poor man, me, but I buy las' May Wan horse on de Comp'nie Passengaire, An' auction feller w'at sole heem say
Mon frere Camille he was first class blood W'en he come off de State las' fall, Wearin' hees boot a la mode box toe
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
Oor fader lef' ole France behin', dat's many year ago, An' how we get along since den, wall! ev'ry body know, Few t'ousan' firse class familee was only come dat tam,
Ole Docteur Fiset of Saint Anicet, Sapr' tonnerre! he was leev long tam! I'm sure he's got ninety year or so,
I lak on summer ev'ning, w'en nice cool win' is blowin' An' up above ma head, I hear de pigeon on de roof, To bring ma chair an' sit dere, an' watch de current flowin'
Pelang! Pelang! Mon cher gar'on, I t'ink of you, t'ink of you night and day, Don't mak' no difference, seems to me
A STORY OF THE "CHASSE GALLERIE." In the days of the "Old Regime" in Canada, the free life of the woods and prairies proved too tempting for the young men, who
O Ma ole canoe! w'at's matter wit' you, an' w'y was you be so slow? Don 't I work hard enough on de paddle, an' still you don 't seem to go, No win' at all on de fronte side, an' current she don 't be strong,
A TALE OF THE SAINT MAURICE. You have never hear de story of de young Napoleon Dor'? Los' hees life upon de reever w'en de lumber drive go down?
The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,
That zephyr every year So soon was heard to sigh in forests here, It was for her: that wrapp'd in gowns of green
Alexis, here she stay'd; among these pines, Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair; Here did she spread the treasure of her hair,
Sweet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train, Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs: The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,
O I was thine, and thou wert mine, and ours the boundless plain, Where the winds of the North, my gallant steed, ruffled thy tawny mane, But the summons hath come with roll of drum, and bugles ringing shrill,
Phoebus, arise! And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red:
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 cur' to de lawyer, an' de farmer to de school boy
Mos' ev'ryman lak de robin An' it's pleasan' for hear heem sing, Affer de winter 's over
De corduroy road go bompety bomp, De corduroy road go jompety jomp, An' he' s takin'beeg chances upset hees load
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
Here's to you, Uncle Kruger! slaint'! an' slaint' galore. You 're a dacint ould man, begorra; never mind if you are a Boer. So with heart an' a half ma boucahl, we 'll drink to your health to-night
To the hut of the peasant, or lordly hall, To the heart of the king, or humblest thrall, Sooner or late, love comes to all,
I read on de paper mos' ev'ry day, all about Jubilee An' grande procession movin' along, an' passin' across de sea, Dat's chil'ren of Queen Victoriaw comin' from far away
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'
I ought to feel more satisfy an' happy dan I be, For better husban' dan ma own, it 's very hard to fin' An' plaintee woman if dey got such boy an' girl as me
Dere 'a s beeg jam up de reever, w'ere rapide is runnin' fas', An' de log we cut las' winter is takin' it all de room; So boss of de gang is swearin', for not'ing at all can pass
Is it only twelve mont' I play de fool, You're sure it 'scorrec' , ma dear? I 'm glad for hearin' you spik dat way
"Listen my child," said the old pine tree, to the little one nestling near, "For the storm clouds troop together to-night, and the wind of the north I hear And perchance there may come some echo of the music of long ago,
I know very well t'was purty hard case If dere 's not on de worl' some beeger place Dan village of Cote St. Paul,
W'at's all dem bell a ringin' for, a can hear dem ev'ry w'ere? W'at's bring de peop' togeder on de w'arf at Trois Rivieres, Dat happy crowd is look so glad, w'y are dey comin' dere?
De win' is sleepin' in de pine, but O! de night is black! An' all day long de loon bird cry on Lac Wayagamack, No light is shinin' by de shore for helpin' steer heem t'roo
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
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
On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, De win' she blow, blow, blow, An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"
This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children's breath,
My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious winds but made thee move,
Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours Of winters past or coming, void of care, Well pleased with delights which present are,
Two honder year ago, de worl' is purty slow Even folk upon dis contree 's not so smart, Den who is travel roun' an' look out de pleasan' groun'
Was workin' away on de farm dere, wan morning not long ago, Feexin' de fence for winter, 'cos dat's w'ere we got de snow! W'en Jeremie Plouffe, ma neighbor, come over an' spik wit' me,
