The Family Laramie

[1] Canadian tobacco.

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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 beginNo sooner he 's twelve mont' ole;He 'll play canoe up an' down de SooAn' 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' nightWas 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' wayOn 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 dereOn foot of de hill below,Dancin' along an' singin' de songAs away to de sea she go,No wonder I never can lak dat song,For soon it is comin', w'enDey '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 homeOnce more to de moder's knee."An' mebbe de prayer I be makin' dereWill help bring dem back to me.

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You s'pose God love de YankeeAn' 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 famileeIs dere anybody hangin' roun' can answer meWile I wait an' smoke dis pipe of good tabac?

An' now I 'll tole you somet'ingMebbe help you bimeby,An' dere 's no mistak' it 's w'at dey call sure sign—W'en you miss de baby's cryAs you 're goin' mak' some visit on de StateDat '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 MarieLeetle 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 herAn' she got de basket dereWit' 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 alsoDe 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 womanWit' de book upon her han',Readin', readin', an' her husban', he can't getAny 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 alongSo many kin' of feller I dunno—Chinee washee from Kong KongAn' 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 aboutOnly 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 seeDere '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 moneyIf dere ain't some boy an' girlMak' it pleasan' for de Yankee an' hees wifeW'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 womanAn' de Yankee man also,An' mebbe dey 'll be wiser bimeby—But I lak dem all to knowIf 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.

Bird's nest

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I'm sleepin' las' night w'en I dream a dreamAn' 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 callIs sooner or later come to all.

De night is dark an' de portage dereGot 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.""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' dereCan see hees w'ite dress an' curly hair,An' almos' touch heem, so near to meIn 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'rooIt '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 headI 'm seein' de face of ma boy is dead—Dead wit' de young blood in hees vein—An' dere he 's comin' wance more againWit' 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 tooBut 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'ileHe turn again wit' de baby smile,An' say, "Dear fader, I 'm here you seeWe '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 staySince 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 youAn' come to-night for to bring you t'roo."

Lak de young Jesu w'en he 's here belowDe face of ma leetle son look jus' so—Den off beyon', on de bush I seeDe w'ite dress fadin' among de tree—Was it a dream I dream las' nightIs goin' away on de morning light?

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I know I 'm not too young, an' ma back is not as straightAs 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 newsOf 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 manHardly 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 quickJus' 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 showDe ole man's gettin' on.

Oh! dat maudit rheumateez! now she's ketchin' me againOn 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 trueW'at dey 're sayin'—dough o' course dey 're only fool—De ole man 's gettin' on.

Thistle

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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.""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 herOf 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' meOn 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 raderNot 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' usWe was ready waitin' for heem jus' as happy as could be.

Bar'l o' pork an' good potato, wan or two oder t'ing tooLeetle 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 fellerBy 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 surveyorHe '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 usFor 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 'rein de worl' wance more.

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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 songAn' 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 tryFor 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 dayStart 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."

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"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 RivièresAn' I never can lak Kebeck—Too moche Nort' Pole—maudit! it 's coleOh! la! la! de win' blow too.An' I 'm sure w'at I say, M'sieu PontgravéHe know very well it 's true.

But here 's de boat, an' we 're all afloatA honder an' fifty ton—An' look at de lot of man we got,No better beneat' de sun—Provision, too, for all de crewAn' pries' for to say de prayer,So mes chers amis, dey can easy seeDe vessel mus' pass somew'ere.

If I only know de way to goFor 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'yYoung 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 BookYou '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'ereDe 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 aboveKipin' 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 trueDough purty hard, too, for understan'—I dream a dream an' it alway seemDat God hese'f he was say to me—'Rise up, young man, de quick you canAn' 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 tripAll 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 tryAn' 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' crewAn' 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 hairOn 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 sayTo de sailor man lonesome for home an' frien',"Cheer up, mes amis, for soon you will seeDe 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 slowAn' 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 strongW'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 nowWan 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 beforeHe 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' tellW'at kin' of a cloud you be seein' dere."Den every wan shout w'en de voice ring outOf 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 seeGot nice leetle bird singin', "Welcome here."An' happy dey were, dem voyageursAn' 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?

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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.

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Was leevin' across on de State Vermont;W'ere mountain so high you see—Got plaintee to do, so all I wantIs jus' to be quiet—me—No bodder, no fuss, only work aroun'On job I don't lak refuse—But affer de familee settle downIt '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 nightOn poor leetle Rose Elmire,An' she say she 's sorry about de fightWe '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-tatOf 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 stuffWe 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 aboutW'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 goOn 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 doorWit' leetle wan gader near;

Jus' as de sun on de sky go downAn' 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' dereOn county of Yamachiche,De swamp on de bush w'ere I ketch de hareDe 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 caseW'en feller he spik dis way—

An' de chil'ren yell, an' de checker-boar'Don't do her no good at all—An' nobody never jump beforeLak de crowd w'en dey hear de call,Dat was de familee,—bet your lifeI 'm prouder, bâ Gosh! to-dayMese'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 highGoin' along de road—An' de Yankee say as we 're passin' byDey 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 folkBrag 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."

Jus' tell dem de news of Gédéon Plouffe—How he jump wit' de famileeAn' strike w'en de bugle is raise de roofFor home an' hees own contree.

Flower

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