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le Voyageur

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Who's peekin' out from under a stairway

Calling a name that's lighter than air

Who's bending down to give me a rainbow

Everyone knows it's OldGreyEagle

 

Who's tripping down the streets of the city

Smilin' at everybody he sees

Who's reachin' out to capture a moment

Everyone knows it's it's OldGreyEagle

 

And OldGreyEagle has stor-my eyes

That flash at the sound of lies

And OldGreyEagle has wings to fly

Above the clouds (above the clouds)

Above the clouds (above the clouds)

 

Who's tripping down the streets of the city

Smilin' at everybody he sees

Who's reachin' out to capture a Moment

Everyone knows it's OldGreyEagle

 

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I have been forty-two years in this country. For twenty-four I was a light canoeman; I required but little sleep, but sometimes got less than required. No portage was too long for me; all portages were alike. My end of the canoe never touched the ground until I saw the end of it. Fifty songs a day were nothing to me. I could carry, walk, and sing with any man I ever saw. During that period I saved the lives of ten Bourgeois, and was always the favorite, because when others stopped to carry at a bad spot, and lost time, I pushed on-over the rapids, over the cascades, over chutes; all were the same for me. No water, no weather ever stopped the paddle or the song. My eyes have seen lands that no Jesuit ever saw. I have had twelve wives in the country; and was once possessed of fifty horses and six running dogs, trimmed in the finest style. I was then like a Bourgeois, rich and happy; no Bourgeois had better dressed wives than I, no Indian chief finer horses; no whiteman better harnessed or swifter dogs. I beat all Indians at the race, and no white man ever passed me in the chase. I wanted for nothing; and spent all my earnings in the enjoyment although I now have not a spare shirt on my back, nor a penny to buy one. Yet, were I young, I should glory in commencing the same career again. I would spend another half century in the same way. There is no life so happy as a Voyageur's; none so independent, no place where a man enjoys so much variety and freedom as in the Indian country. Huzza! Huzza! Por de pays Sauvage.

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Dere's somet'ing stirrin' ma blood tonight,

On de night of de young new year,

Wile de camp is warm an' de fire is bright,

An' de bottle is close at han'--

Out on de reever de nort' win' blow,

Down on de valley is pile de snow,

But w'at do we care so long we know

We 're safe on de log cabane?

 

Drink to de healt' of your wife an' girl,

Anoder wan for your frien',

Den geev' me a chance, for on all de worl'

I 've not many frien' to spare--

I 'm born, w'ere de mountain scrape de sky,

An' bone of ma fader an' moder lie,

So I fill de glass an' I raise it high

An' drink to de Voyageur.

 

For dis is de night of de jour de l'an,[1]

W'en de man of de Grand Nor' Wes'

T'ink of hees home on de St. Laurent,

An' frien' he may never see--

Gone he is now, an' de beeg canoe

No more you 'll see wit' de red-shirt crew,

But long as he leev' he was alway true,

So we 'll drink to hees memory.

 

Ax' heem de nort' win' w'at he see

Of de Voyageur long ago,

An' he 'll say to you w'at he say to me,

So lissen hees story well--

"I see de track of hees botte sau-vage[2]

On many a hill an' long portage

Far far away from hees own vill-age

An' soun' of de parish bell--

 

"I never can play on de Hudson Bay

Or mountain dat lie between

But I meet heem singin' hees lonely way

De happies' man I know--

I cool hees face as he 's sleepin' dere

Under de star of de Red Rivire,

An' off on de home of de great w'ite bear,

I 'm seein' hees dog traineau.[3]

 

"De woman an' chil'ren 's runnin' out

On de wigwam of de Cree--

De leetle papoose dey laugh an' shout

W'en de soun' of hees voice dey hear--

De oldes' warrior of de Sioux

Kill hese'f dancin' de w'ole night t'roo,

An de Blackfoot girl remember too

De ole tam Voyageur.

 

"De blaze of hees camp on de snow I see,

An' I lissen hees 'En Roulant'

On de lan' w'ere de reindeer travel free,

Ringin' out strong an' clear--

Offen de grey wolf sit before

De light is come from hees open door,

An' caribou foller along de shore

De song of de Voyageur.

 

"If he only kip goin', de red ceinture,[4]

I 'd see it upon de Pole

Some mornin' I 'm startin' upon de tour

For blowin' de worl' aroun'--

But w'erever he sail an' w'erever he ride,

De trail is long an' de trail is wide,

An' city an' town on ev'ry side

Can tell of hees campin' groun'."

 

So dat 's 'de reason I drink to-night

To de man of de Grand Nor' Wes',

For hees heart was young, an' hees heart was light

So long as he 's leevin' dere--

I 'm proud of de sam' blood in my vein

I 'm a son of de Nort' Win' wance again--

So we 'll fill her up till de bottle 's drain

An' drink to de Voyageur.

 

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