But w'at is dat soun' mak' de hair stan' up,
w'at is it mean, dat cry?
Comin' over de high tree top, out of de
nor'-wes' sky
Lak cry of de wil' goose w'en she pass on
de spring tam an' de fall,
But wil' goose fly on de winter night!
I never see dat at all.
On, on t'roo de night, she is quickly come,
more closer all de tam,
But not lak de cry of some wil' bird now,
don't seem it at all de sam';
An' den wit' de rush of de win', I hear
somebody sing chanson
An' de song dey sing is de ole, ole song,
"Le Canayen Errant."'
But it's mak' me lonesome an' scare also, jus'
sam' I be goin' for die
W'en I lissen dat song on night lak dis, so
far away on de sky,
Don't know w'at to do at all mese'f, so I go
w'ere I have good view,
An' up, up above t'roo de storm an' snow, she's
comin' wan beeg canoe.
Den somebody call it ma nam' out loud, firs' tam
it was scare me so,
"We know right away, dat was you be dere, hello
Phil-o-rum, hello!"
An' soon I see him dat feller spik, I 'member him
too mese'f,
We go de sam' school twenty year before, hees
nam's Telesphore Le Boeuf.
But I know on de way canoe she go, dat de crowd
he mus' be dead man
Was come from de Grande Riviere du Nord, come
from Saskatchewan,
Come too from all de place is lie on de Hodson
Bay Contree,
An' de t'ing I was see me dat New Year night,
is le phantome Chasse Gal'rie.
An' many de boy I was see him dere, I know him
so long before
He's goin' away on de far contree—for never
return no more—
An' now on phantome he is comin' home—t'roo
de storm an' de hurricane
For kiss him de girl on jour de l'an, an' see
de ole peep again.
De beeg voyageur w'at is steer canoe, wit'
paddle hol' on hees han'
Got very long hair was hang down hees neck,
de sam' as wil' Injin man
Invite me on boar' dat phantome canoe, for
show it dead man de way—
Don't lak it de job, but no use refuse,
so I'll mak' it de embarquer.
Den wan of de gang, he mus' be foreman, say
it's tam for have leetle drink,
So he pass heem black bottle for tak' un "coup,"
an' it's look lak ma own I t'ink,
But it can't be de sam', I'll be swear for dat,
for w'en I was mak' de go,
I fin' dere is not'ing inside but win', an'
de whiskey's phantome also.
Dey be laugh affer dat, lak dey tak' some fit,
so de boss spik him, "Tiens Phil-o-rum,
Never min' on dem feller—mus' have leetle sport,
dat's very long way we come,
Will you ketch it de paddle for steer us quick
on place of Maxime Baribault?"
An' he's ax me so nice, I do as he please',
an den away off she go.
Wan minute—two minute—we pass on dere,
Maxime he is all hooraw!
An' we know by musique dat was play inside,
mus' be de great Joe Violon,
Dat feller work fiddle on very bes' way,
dat nobody never see
Mak' de boy an' de girl, ole peep also,
dance lak dey was go crazee.