The Voyageur and Other Poems Part 11

Divil a dacint situation Monty got, but dhrive a hack, At the Bonaventure station-- 'T was the name that kept him back-- Till his friend, John Reilly, tould him, "Change the haythen name for Pat--"

Pathrick Joseph--now behould him Walkin' dillygate! think o' that!

So be careful, Master Francis, An' ye 'll bless yer uncle James-- Don't be takin' any chances With thim G.o.d-forsaken names!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Border]

Keep Out of the Weeds

No smarter man you can never know W'en I was a boy, dan Pierre Nadeau, An' quiet he 's too, very seldom talk, But got an eye lak de mountain hawk, See all aroun' heem mos' ev'ryw'ere, An' not many folk is foolin' Pierre.

Offen I use to be t'inkin'--me-- How on de worl' it was come to be He know so moche, w'en he never go On college or school, ole Pierre Nadeau, Feesh on de reever de summer t'roo, An' trap on de winter--dat 's all he do.

"Hi! boy--Hi! put your book away, An' come wit' your uncle Pierre to-day, Ketch hol' of de line an' hang on tight, An' see if your moder won't cook to-night Some nice fresh feesh for de familee,"

Many a tam he was say to me--

An' den I 'm quiet, too scare to spik, Wile Pierre he paddle me down de crick, Easy an' nice he mak' her go Close to de sh.o.r.e w'ere de bulrush grow, W'ere de pike an' de beeg feesh lak to feed, Deir nose stickin' out w'ere you see de weed--

"Lissen, ma boy," say Pierre Nadeau, "To some of de t'ing you ought to know: Kip a lookout on de hook an' line, In case dey 're gettin' too far behin'; For it 's purty hard job know w'at to do, If de reever weed 's ketchin' hol' of you.

"But if you want feesh, you mus' kip leetle close, For dat 's w'ere de beeg feller come de mos', Not on de middle w'ere water 's bare, But near to de rushes over dere, 'Cos dat was de spot dey alway feed-- All de sam' you got to look out for weed.

"Ho! Ho! a strike! let heem have it now-- Gos.h.!.+ ain't he a'kickin' heem up de row, Pullin' so hard, never min', ma son, W'en he go lak dat he was nearly done, But he 's all right now, so don't be afraid, Jus' hit heem again wit' de paddle blade.

"Ya.s.s! over an' over, it 's good advice, An' me, I know, for I pay de price On w'at you call compoun' interes' too, For larnin' de lesson I geev' to you, Close as you lak, but, ma boy, tak' heed You don't run into de beeg long weed.

"An' by an' by w'en you 're growin' up, An' mebbe drink of de black, black cup Of trouble an' bodder an' dunno w'at, You 'll say to you'se'f, 'Wall! I forgot De lesson ole Pierre he know I need,'

W'en he say to me, 'Boy, look out for weed'--

"For de worl 's de sam' as de reever dere, Plaintee of weed lyin' ev'ryw'ere, But work aroun' or your life is gone, An' tak' some chance or you won't get on, For if you don't feesh w'ere de weed is grow, You 'll only ketch small leetle wan or so--

"Dere 's no use sayin', 'I 'll wait an' see If some of dem feesh don't come to me, I 'll stay outside, for it 's pleasan' here, W'ere de water 's lookin' so nice an' clear,'

Dat 's way you 'll never get w'at you need-- Keep fees.h.i.+n' away, but look out for weed."

Dat was de lesson ole Pierre Nadeau Tell to me offen, so long ago-- Poor ole Pierre! an' I 'm tryin' too, Tak' hees advice, for I know it 's true, But far as it goes we 're all de same breed, An' it 's not so easy kip out de weed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Honey bee]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Border]

The Holy Island

Dey call it de Holy Islan'

W'ere de lighthouse stan' alone, Lookin' across w'ere de breaker toss, Over de beeg grey stone; Dey call it de Holy Islan,'

For wance, on de day gone by, A holy man from a far-off lan'

Is leevin' dere, till he die.

Down from de ole, ole people, Scatter upon de sh.o.r.e, De story come of Fader Jerome, De pries' of Salvador Makin' hees leetle house dere, Wit' only hees own two han', Workin' along, an' singin' de song n.o.body understan'.

"All for de s.h.i.+p an' sailor Out on de stormy sea, I mak' ma home," say Fader Jerome, "W'ere de rock an' de beeg wave be De good G.o.d up on de Heaven Is answer me on de prayer, An' bring me here, so I 'll never fear, But foller heem ev'ryw'ere!"

Lonely it was, dat islan', Seven league from de coas', An' only de cry, so loud an' high, Of de poor drown sailors' ghos'

You hear, wit' de screamin' sea gull; But de man of G.o.d he go An' anchor dere, an' say hees prayer For ev'rywan here below.

Night on de ocean 's fallin', Deep is de fog, an' black, As on dey come, to deir islan' home, De sea-bird hurryin' back; W'at is it mak' dem double An' stop for a minute dere, As if in fear of a soun' dey hear, Meetin' dem on de air?

Sweeter dey never lissen, Magic it seem to be, Hangin' aroun', dat wonderful soun', Callin' across de sea; Music of bell 's widin it, An' foller it on dey go High on de air, till de islan' dere Of Salvador lie below.

Dat 's w'ere de bell 's a-ringin'

Over de ocean track, Troo fog an' rain an' hurricane, An' w'enever de night is black; Kipin' de vow he 's makin', Dat 's w'at he 's workin' for, Ringin de bell, an' he do it well, De Fader of Salvador!

An' de years go by, an' quickly, An' many a sailor's wife She 's prayin' long, an' she 's prayin' strong Dat G.o.d he will spare de life Of de good, de holy Fader, Off w'ere de breakers roar, Only de sea for hees companie, Alone on Salvador.

Summer upon de islan', Quiet de sea an' air, But no bell ring, an' de small bird sing, For summer is ev'ryw'ere; A s.h.i.+p comin' in, an' on it De wickedes' capitaine Was never sail on de storm, or gale, From here to de worl's en'!

"Geev' me dat bell a-ringin'

For not'ing at all, mon pere; Can't sleep at night, w'en de moon is bright, For noise she was makin' dere.

I'm sure she was never chrissen, An' we want no heretic bell; W'ere is de book? For you mus' look An' see if I chrissen it well!"

Leevin' heem broken-hearted, For Fader Jerome is done, He sail away wit' de bell dat day, Capitaine Malcouronne; An' down w'ere dead man 's lyin', Down on de ocean deep, He sink it dere, w'ile he curse an' swear, An' tole it to go to sleep.

An' t'ree more year is pa.s.sin', An' now it 's a winter night: Poor Salvador, so bles' before, Is sittin' among de fight Of breaker, an' sea-bird yellin', An' noise of a tousan' gun, W'en troo de fog, lak a dreefin' log, Come Capitaine Malcouronne!

Gropin' along de sea dere, Wonderin' w'ere he be, Prayin' out loud, before all de crowd Of sailor man on hees knee; Callin' upon de devil, "Help! or I 'm gone!" he shout; "Dat bell it go to you down below, So now you can ring me out

"To de open sea, an' affer I promise you w'at I do, Ya.s.s, ev'ry day I 'll alway pray To you, an' to only you-- Kip me in here no longer, Or de sh.o.r.e I won't see again!"

T'ink of de prayer he 's makin' dere, Dat wicked ole capitaine!

An' bell it commence a-ringin', Quiet at firse, an' den Lak tonder crash, de s.h.i.+p go smash, An' w'ere is de capitaine?

An' de bell kip ringin', ringin', Drownin' de breakers' roar, An' dere she lie, w'ile de sea-birds cry, On de rock of Salvador.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Border]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Border]

The Riviere des Prairies

I see de many reever on de State an' ev'ryw'ere, From Maine to California, New York to Michigan, An' wan way an' de oder, I tell you I don't care; I travel far upon dem as moche as any man-- But all de t'ousan' reever I was never pa.s.s along, For w'at dey call de beauty, from de mountain to de sea, Dere 's wan dat I be t'inkin,' de wan w'ere I belong, Can beat dem all, an' easy, too, de Riviere des Prairies!