The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
The HabitantWilliam Henry Drummond (18541907)
D
Near foot of de rapide dat ’s call Cheval Blanc.
Beeg mountain behin’ it, so high you can’t climb it,
An’ whole place she ’s mebbe two honder arpent.
Ma gran’fader too, an’ hees fader also,
Dey don’t mak’ no monee, but dat isn’t fonny
For it ’s not easy get ev’ryt’ing, you mus’ know.
Dat ’s plaintee good healt’, wat de monee can’t geev,
So I’m workin’ away dere, an’ happy for stay dere
On farm by de reever, so long I was leev.
W’en snow go away, an’ de sky is all blue—
W’en ice lef’ de water, an sun is get hotter,
An back on de medder is sing de gou-glou—
Deir nice leetle tail stickin’ up on deir back,
Dey ronne wit’ deir moder, an’ play wit’ each oder,
An’ jomp all de tam jus’ de sam’ dey was crack—
So she kick herse’f up, an’ start off on de race
Wit’ de two-year-ole heifer, dat ’s purty soon lef’ her,
W’y ev’ryt’ing ’s crazee all over de place!
Along by de shore leetle san’ piper ronne—
De bullfrog he ’s gr-rompin’ an’ doré is jompin’—
Dey all got deir own way for mak’ it de fonne.
An’ firs’ t’ing we know, she go off till nex’ year;
Den bee commence hummin’, for summer is comin’,
An’ purty soon corn ’s gettin’ ripe on de ear.
An’ lissen de rossignol sing ev’ry place,
Feel sout’ win’ a-blowin’, see clover a-growin’,
An’ all de worl’ laughin’ itself on de face.
De voyageur singin’ some ole chanson
’Bout girl down de reever—too bad dey mus’ leave her,
But comin’ back soon wit’ beaucoup d’argent.
An’ bird of de summer is all fly away,
W’en mebbe she ’s snowin’, an’ nort’ win’ is blowin’,
An’ night is mos’ t’ree tam so long as de day.
Not at all—he is happy an’ feel satisfy,
An’ cole may las’ good w’ile, so long as de wood pile
Is ready for burn on de stove by an’ bye.
So de sheep an’ de cow, dey got no chance to freeze,
An’ de hen all togedder—I don’t min’ de wedder—
De nort’ win’ may blow jus’ so moche as she please.
W’en I smoke on de pipe, an’ de ole woman sew
By de stove of Tree Reever—ma wife’s fader geeve her
On day we get marry, dat ’s long tam ago.
De cat on de corner she ’s bite heem de pup,
Ole ‘Carleau’, he ’s snorin’, an’ beeg stove is roarin’
So loud dat I’m scare purty soon she bus’ up.
An’ kip jus’ so quiet lak wan leetle mouse,
She say de more finer moon never was shiner—
Very fonny, for moon isn’t dat side de house.
An’ some wan is place it hees han’ on de latch:
Dat ’s Isidore Goulay, las’ fall on de Brulé
He ’s tak’ it firs’ prize on de grand ploughin’ match.
Come help de young feller tak’ snow from hees neck:
Dere ’s not’ing for hinder you come off de winder
W’en moon you was look for is come, I expec’.
’Bout hees Lajeunesse Colt—travel two forty, sure,
’Bout Jeremie Choquette, come back from Woonsocket,
An’ t’ree new leetle twin on Madam Vaillancour’!
Mese’f an’ ole woman can’t stay up no more;
So alone by de fire—’cos dey say dey ain’t tire—
We lef’ Philomene an’ de young Isidore.
’Bout all de nice moon dey was see on de sky;
For Philomene ’s takin’ long tam get awaken
Nex’ day, she ’s so sleepy on bote of de eye.
An’ ’bout nices’ t’ing dat was never be seen.
Got not’ing for say me—I spark it sam’ way me
W’en I go see de moder, ma girl Philomene.
Don’t put on sam’ style lak’ de big village;
W’en we don’t get de monee you t’ink dat is fonny
An’ mak’ plaintee sport on de Bottes Sauvages.
If you geev de fine house an’ beaucoup d’argent—
I rader be stay me, an’ spen’ de las’ day me
On de farm by de rapide dat ’s call Cheval Blanc.