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Title: Snubbing (Tying-Up) The Raft
Author: William Henry Drummond [
More Titles by Drummond]
Las' night dey 're passin', de golden plover,
Dis mornin' I 'm seein' de bluebird's wing,
So if not'ing go wrong, de winter 's over,
An' not very long till we got de spring.
An' nex' t'ing de reever she 'll start a-hummin',
An' den you 'll hear it, de song an' laugh,
Is tellin' de news, de boys are comin'
Home again on de saw-log raf'.
All very well for see dem swingin'
Roun' de beeg islan' dere on de bay,
Nice t'ing too, for to hear dem singin',
'Cos it mak' me t'ink of de good ole day.
An' me--I could lissen dem song forever,
But it is n't so pleasan' w'en evenin' fall,
An' dey 're lookin' for place to stay, an' never
Snub de raf' on ma place at all---
Dat 's de fine cove if dey only know it--
Hard to fin' better on St. Maurice,
Up de reever or down below it,
An' house on de hill only leetle piece.
W'at is de reason den, w'en dey fin' dem
Raf' comin' near me, dey all get scare,
An' pull lak de devil was close behin' dem,
An' 'way down de reever to Joe Belair?
Two mile more, wit' de rock an' stone dere,
An' water so shallow can't float canoe,
But ev'ry boy of de gang, he 's goin' dere,
Even de cook, an' de captain too--
W'at is de reason, I lak to know--me--
Ma own leetle cove 's lyin' empty dere,
An' nobody stop till dey go below me,
Snubbin' de raf' on Joe Belair?
Not'ing lak dat twenty year ago, sir,
W'en voyageurs' comin' from up above,
Dere 's only wan place us feller know, sir,
W'en dey 're goin' ashore, an' dat's de cove.
An' dere on door of de house she 's stan'nin'
To welcome us back, Madame Baribeau,
An' Pierre hese'f, he was on de lan'nin',
Ready for ketchin' de rope we t'row.
An' oh! de girl use to mak' us crazy--
For many a fine girl Pierre has got--
Right on de jomp too--never lazy,
But Sophie 's de fines' wan of de lot.
Me--I was only a comon feller,
An' love--wall! jus' lak de leetle calf,
An' it's true, I 'm sure, w'at dey offen tell her,
I 'm de uglies' man on boar' de raf'.
But Sophie 's so nice an' good shese'f too,
De uglies' man upon all de worl'
Forget hees face an' forget hese'f too,
T'ree minute affer he see dat girl--
An' dat 's de reason de chance is better,
For you must n't be t'ink of you'se'f at all,
But t'ink of de girl if you want to get her,
An' so we 're marry upon de fall.
An' purty soon den dey all get started,
For marryin' fever come so strong
W'en de firse wan go, dat dey 're broken-hearted
An' tak' mos' anyt'ing come along.
So Joe Belair, w'en hees house is buil' dere,
He go down de reever wit' Eugenie,
An' place I settle on top de hill dere,
De ole man geev' it to Sophie an' me.
An' along dey come, wan foller de oder,
Dozen o' girl--not a boy at all--
Never a girl tak' affer de moder,
But all lak de fader, beeg an' small--
A dozen o' girl, of course, no wonder
A few of dem look lak me--sapree!
But w'en dey 're comin' dat way, ba tonder!
She 's jus' a leetle too moche for me.
An' Joe Belair, he was down below me,
Funny t'ing too, he is ketch also,
Ev'ryt'ing girl--how it come dunno--me--
But dey 're all lak de familee Baribeau--
Growin' up purty de sam' de moder--
An' soon as dey know it along de shore
De boys stop comin', an' never bodder
For snub de raf' on ma place no more--
So w'at is de chance ma girl she 's gettin',
Don't care w'ere I look, none at all I see,
No use, I s'pose, kipin' on a-frettin',
Dough it's very hard case poor man lak me.
W'at 'll I do for bring dem here,--me?
Can't be blowin' dem to de moon--
Or buil' a dam on de reever near me
For fear we 're sure to be drownin' soon.
To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,
Playin' away on Joe Belair--
Can hear heem holler, "Pass down de middle
An' dance on your partner over dere."
Pleasan' t'ing too, for to smell de w'isky
Off on de leetle back room--ba oui--
Helpin' de ole folk mak' dem frisky,
Very pleasan' for dem, but not for me--
Oh! it mak' me mad, an' I 'm tire tryin'
To show how I feel, an' it 's hard to tell--
So I 'll geev' it up, for dere 's no good cryin';
'Sides w'at is de use of a two-mile smell?
Non!--I don't go dere if dey all invite me,
Or de worl' itse'f--she come to an' en'.
De Bishop hese'f, ba Gosh! can write me,
But Jo-seph Belair, he 's no more ma frien'
Can't fin' me dere if de sky come down, sir,
I rader ma girl she would never dance--
But far away, off on de Yankee town, sir,
I 'll tak' dem w'ere mebbe dey have a chance.
An' reever an' cove, dough I 'll not forget dem,
An' voyageurs too, an' Joe Belair,
Can do w'at dey lak, an' me--I 'll let dem
Go w'ere dey want to, for I don't care.
[The end]
William Henry Drummond's poem: Snubbing (Tying-Up) The Raft
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