---

William Henry Drummond - Snubbing (Tying-up) The Raft
Work rating: Low

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--bâ 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.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.