The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
The Wreck of the ‘Julie Plante’William Henry Drummond (1854–1907)
O
De win’ she blow, blow, blow,
An’ de crew of de wood-scow Julie Plante
Got scar’t an’ run below—
For de win’ she blow lik’ hurricane,
Bimeby she blow some more,
An’ de scow bus’ up on Lac St. Pierre
Wan arpent from de shore.
An’ walk de hin’ deck too—
He call de crew from up de hole,
He call de cook also.
De cook she’s name was Rosie,
She come from Montreal,
Was chambermaid on lumber-barge
On de Grande Lachine Canal.
De sout’ win’ she blow too,
W’en Rosie cry, ‘Mon cher captinne,
Mon cher, w’at I shall do?’
De captinne t’row de beeg ankerre,
But still de scow she dreef:
De crew he can’t pass on de shore
Becos’ he los’ hees skeef.
De wave run high an’ fas’,
W’en de captinne tak’ de Rosie girl
An’ tie her to de mas’.
Den he also tak’ de life-preserve,
An’ jomp off on de lak’,
An’ say, ‘Good-bye, my Rosie dear,
I go drown for your sak’!’
’Bout ha’f pas’ two—t’ree—four—
De captinne—scow—an’ de poor Rosie
Was corpses on de shore.
For de win’ she blow lak’ hurricane,
Bimeby she blow some more,
An’ de scow bus’ up on Lac St. Pierre
Wan arpent from de shore.
Tak’ warning by dat storm,
An’ go an’ marry some nice French girl
An’ leev on wan beeg farm.
De win’ can blow lak’ hurricane,
An’ s’pose she blow some more,
You can’t get drown’ on Lac St. Pierre
So long you stay on shore.