William Henry Drummond Poems

De place I get born, me, is up on de reever
Near foot of de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc
Beeg mountain behin' it, so high you can't climb it
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THE last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King,
Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,
Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,
Which he than man more harmless found and mild.
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My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
When immelodious winds but made thee move,
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow.
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MY thoughts hold mortal strife;
   I do detest my life,
   And with lamenting cries
   Peace to my soul to bring
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In dreams of the night I hear the call
Of wild duck scudding across the lake,
In dreams I see the old convent wall,
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PHOEBUS, arise!
   And paint the sable skies
With azure, white, and red;
Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed,
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O I'm very very tire Marie,
I wonder if I'm able hol' a gun
An' me dat 's alway risin' wit' de sun
An' travel on de water, an' paddle ma canoe
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Dere 'a s beeg jam up de reever, w'ere rapide is runnin' fas',
An' de log we cut las' winter is takin' it all de room;
So boss of de gang is swearin', for not'ing at all can pass
An' float away down de current till somebody break de boom.
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O leetle bird dat's come to us w'en stormy win' she's blowin',
An' ev'ry fiel' an' mountain top is cover wit' de snow,
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De cloud is hide de moon, but dere's plain-
tee light above,
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low,
...