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William Henry Drummond - Le Vieux Temps
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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
     An` me!—I`m young an` strong lak moose an` not afraid no t`ing. 
     I close my eye jus` so, an` see de place w`ere I am born—
     I close my ear an` lissen to musique of de horn, 
     Dat `s horn ma dear ole moder blow—an only t`ing she play
     Is "viens donc vite Napoléon—`peche toi pour votre souper."— 
     An` w`en he `s hear dat nice musique—ma leetle dog "Carleau"
    Is place hees tail upon hees back—an` den he `s let heem go—
    He `s jomp on fence—he `s swimmin` crik—he `s ronne two forty gait, 
    He say "dat `s somet`ing good for eat—Carleau mus` not be late." 
    O dem was pleasure day for sure, dem day of long ago
    W`en I was play wit` all de boy, an` all de girl also; 
    An` many tam w`en I `m alone an` t`ink of day gone by
    An` pull latire an` spark de girl, I cry upon my eye. 
    Ma fader an` ma moder too, got nice, nice familee, 
    Dat `s ten garçon an` t`orteen girl, was mak` it twenty t`ree
    But fonny t`ing de Gouvernement don`t geev de firs` prize den
    Lak w`at dey say dey geev it now, for only wan douzaine. 
    De English peep dat only got wan familee small size
    Mus` be feel glad dat tam dere is no honder acre prize
    For fader of twelve chil`ren—dey know dat mus` be so, 
    De Canayens would boss Kebeck—mebbe Ontario. 
    But dat is not de story dat I was gone tole you
    About de fun we use to have w`en we leev a chez nous
    We `re never lonesome on dat house, for many cavalier
    Come at our place mos` every night—especially Sun-day. 
    But tam I `member bes` is w`en I `m twenty wan year—me—
    An` so for mak` some pleasement—we geev wan large soirée
    De whole paroisse she be invite—de Curé he `s come too—
    Wit plaintee peep from `noder place—dat `s more I can tole you. 
    De night she `s cole an` freeze also, chemin she `s fill wit snow
    An` on de chimley lak phantome, de win` is mak` it blow—
    But boy an` girl come all de sam an` pass on grande parloir
    For warm itself on beeg box stove, was mak` on Trois Rivières— 
    An` w`en Bonhomme Latour commence for tune up hees fidelle
    It mak` us all feel very glad—l`enfant! he play so well, 
    Musique suppose to be firs` class, I offen hear, for sure
    But mos` bes` man, beat all de res`, is ole Bateese Latour— 
    An` w`en Bateese play Irish jeeg, he `s learn on Mattawa
    Dat tam he `s head boss cook Shaintee—den leetle Joe Leblanc
    Tak` hole de beeg Marie Juneau an` dance upon de floor
    Till Marie say "Excuse to me, I cannot dance no more."— 
    An` den de Curé `s mak` de speech—ole Curé Ladouceur! 
    He say de girl was spark de boy too much on some cornerre—
    An` so he `s tole Bateese play up ole fashion reel a quatre
    An` every body she mus` dance, dey can`t get off on dat. 
    Away she go—hooraw! hooraw! plus fort Bateese, mon vieux
    Camille Bisson, please watch your girl—dat `s bes` t`ing you can do. 
    Pass on de right an` tak` your place Mamzelle Des Trois Maisons
    You `re s`pose for dance on Paul Laberge, not Telesphore Gagnon. 
    Mon oncle Al-fred, he spik lak` dat—`cos he is boss de floor, 
    An` so we do our possibill an` den commence encore. 
    Dem crowd of boy an` girl I`m sure keep up until nex` day
    If ole Bateese don`t stop heseff, he come so fatigué. 
    An` affer dat, we eat some t`ing, tak` leetle drink also
    An` de Curé, he `s tole story of many year ago—
    W`en Iroquois sauvage she `s keel de Canayens an` steal deir hair, 
    An` say dat `s only for Bon Dieu, we don`t be here—he don`t be dere. 
    But dat was mak` de girl feel scare—so all de cavalier
    Was ax hees girl go home right off, an` place her on de sleigh, 
    An` w`en dey start, de Curé say, "Bonsoir et bon voyage
    Menagez-vous—tak` care for you—prenez-garde pour les sauvages." 
    An` den I go meseff also, an` tak` ma belle Elmire—
    She `s nicer girl on whole Comté, an` jus` got eighteen year—
    Black hair—black eye, an` chick rosée dat `s lak wan fameuse on de fall
    But don`t spik much—not of dat kin`, I can`t say she love me at all. 
    Ma girl—she`s fader beeg farmeur—leev `noder side St. Flore
    Got five-six honder acre—mebbe a leetle more—
    Nice sugar bush—une belle maison—de bes` I never see—
    So w`en I go for spark Elmire, I don`t be mak` de foolish me— 
    Elmire!—she `s pass t`ree year on school—Ste. Anne de la Perade
    An` w`en she `s tak` de firs` class prize, dat `s mak` de ole man glad; 
    He say "Ba gosh—ma girl can wash—can keep de kitchen clean
    Den change her dress—mak` politesse before God save de Queen." 
    Dey `s many way for spark de girl, an` you know dat of course, 
    Some way dey might be better way, an` some dey might be worse
    But I lak` sit some cole night wit` my girl on ole burleau
      Wit` lot of hay keep our foot warm—an` plaintee buffalo— 
    Dat `s geev good chances get acquaint—an` if burleau upset
    An` t`row you out upon de snow—dat `s better chances yet—
    An` if you help de girl go home, if horse he ronne away
    De girl she `s not much use at all—don`t geev you nice baiser! 
    Dat `s very well for fun ma frien`, but w`en you spark for keep
    She `s not sam t`ing an` mak` you feel so scare lak` leetle sheep
    Some tam you get de fever—some tam you `re lak snowball
    An` all de tam you ack lak` fou—can`t spik no t`ing at all. 
    Wall! dat `s de way I feel meseff, wit Elmire on burleau, 
    Jus` lak` small dog try ketch hees tail—roun` roun` ma head she go
    But bimeby I come more brave—an` tak` Elmire she`s han`
    "Laisee-moi tranquille" Elmire she say "You mus` be crazy man." 
    "Yass—yass I say " mebbe you t`ink I `m wan beeg loup garou, 
    Dat `s forty t`ousand `noder girl, I lef` dem all for you, 
    I s`pose you know Polique Gauthier your frien` on St. Cesaire
    I ax her marry me nex` wick—she tak` me—I don`t care." 
    Ba gosh; Elmire she don`t lak dat—it mak` her feel so mad—
    She commence cry, say "`Poleon you treat me very bad—
    I don`t lak see you t`row you`seff upon Polique Gauthier, 
     So if you say you love me sure—we mak` de marieé"— 
     Oh it was fine tam affer dat—Castor I t`ink he know, 
     We `re not too busy for get home—he go so nice an` slow, 
     He `s only upset t`ree—four tam—an` jus` about daylight
     We pass upon de ole man`s place—an` every t`ing `s all right. 
     Wall! we leev happy on de farm for nearly fifty year, 
     Till wan day on de summer tam—she die—ma belle Elmire
     I feel so lonesome lef` behin`—I tink `t was bes` mebbe—
     Dat w`en le Bon Dieu tak` ma famme—he should not forget me. 
     But dat is hees biz-nesse ma frien`—I know dat `s all right dere
     I `ll wait till he call "`Poleon" den I will be prepare—
     An` w`en he fin` me ready, for mak` de longue voyage
     He guide me t`roo de wood hesef upon ma las` portage.
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