William Henry Drummond

(13 April, 1854 – 6 April, 1907 / Mohill, County Leitrim)

The Hill Of San Sebastian - Poem by William Henry Drummond

I ought to feel more satisfy an' happy dan
I be,
For better husban' dan ma own, it 's very
hard to fin'
An' plaintee woman if dey got such boy an'
girl as me
Would never have no troub' at all, an'
not'ing on deir min'
But w'ile dey're alway wit' me, an' dough I
love dem all
I can't help t'inkin' w'en I watch de chil'ren
out at play
Of tam I'm jus' lak dat mese'f, an' den de
tear will fall
For de hill of St. Sebastien is very far away!

It seem so pleasan' w'en I come off here ten
year ago
An' hardes' work I 'm gettin' den, was never
heavy load,
De roughes' place is smoot' enough, de
quickes' gait is slow
For glad I am to foller w'ere Louis lead de
road
But somet'ing 's comin' over me, I feel it
more an' more
It 's alway pullin' on de heart, an' stronger
ev'ry day,
An' O! I long to see again de reever an' de
shore
W'ere de hill of St. Sebastien is lookin' on
de bay!

I use to t'ink it 's fine t'ing once, to stan' upon
de door
An' see de great beeg medder dere, stretchin'
far an' wide,
An' smell de pleasan' flower dat grow lak star
on de prairie floor,
An' watch de spotted antelope was feedin'
ev'ry side,
How did we gain it, man an' wife, dis lan' was
no man 's lan'?
By rifle, an' harrow an' plow, shovel an'
spade an' hoe
De blessin' of good God up above, an' work of
our own strong han'
Till it stan' on de middle, our leetle nes',
w'ere de wheat an' cornfiel' grow.

An' soon de chil'ren fill de house, wit' musique
all day long,
De sam' ma moder use to sing on de cradle
over me,
I'm almos' sorry it 's be my fault dey learn
dem ole tam song
W'at good is it tak' me off lak dat back on
ma own countree?
Till de reever once more I see again, an' lissen
it 's current flow
An' dere's Hercule de ferry man cmoin'
across de bay!
Wat' s use of foolin' me lak dat? for surely I
mus' know
de hill of St. Sebastien is very far away!

W'en Louis ketch me dat summer night
watchin' de sky above,
Seein' de mountain an' de lake, wit' small
boat sailin' roun'
He kiss me an' say - 'Toinette, I'm glad dis
prairie lan' you love
For travel de far you can, ma belle, it 's
fine 's on top de groun'!'
Jus' w'en I 'm lookin' dat beeg cloud too,
standin' dere lak a wall!
Sam' as de hill I know so well, home on ma
own countree.

Good job I was cryin' quiet den, an' Louis
can't hear at all
But I kiss de poor feller an' laugh, an' never
say not'ing-me.

W'at can you do wit' man lak dat, an' w'y am
I bodder so?
De firse t'ing he might fin' it out, den hees
heart will feel it sore
An' if he say 'Come home Toinette,' I 'm
sure I mus' answer 'No',
For if I 'm seein' dat place again, I never
return no more!
So let de heart break-I don't care, I won't
say not'ing-me-
I'll mak' dat promise on mese'f, an' kip it
night an' day
But O! Mon Dieu! how glad, how glad, an'
happy I could be
If de hill of St. Sebastien was not so far
away!


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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 12, 2010



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