Along de road from Bord à Plouffe
To Kaz-a-baz-u-a
W'ere poplar trees lak sojers stan',
An' all de lan' is pleasan' lan',
In off de road dere leev's a man
Call Louis Desjardins.
An' Louis, w'en he firse begin
To work hees leetle place,
He work so hard de neighbors say,
"Unless he tak's de easy way
Dat fellers sure to die some day,
We see it on hees face."
'T was lak a swamp, de farm he got,
De water ev'ryw'ere--
Might drain her off as tight as a drum.
An' back dat water is boun' to come
In less 'n a day or two--ba Gum!
'T would mak' de angel swear.
So Louis t'ink of de bimeby,
If he leev' so long as dat,
W'en hes ole an' blin' an' mebbe deaf,
All alone on de house hese'f,
No frien', no money, no not'ing lef',
An' poor--can't kip a cat.
So wan of de night on winter tam,
W'en Louis is on hees bed,
He say out loud lak a crazy man,
"Im sick of tryin' to clear dis lan',
Work any harder I can't stan',
Or it will kill me dead.
"Now if de devil would show hese'f
An' say to me, 'Tiens! Louis!
Hard tam an' work shes at an' en',
Youll leev' lak a Grand Seigneur ma frien',
If only youll be ready w'en
I want you to come wit' me.'
"I 'd say, 'Yass, yass--'maudit! w'ats dat?'
An' he see de devil dere--
Brimstone, ev'ryt'ing bad dat smell,
You know right away hes come from--well,
De place I never was care to tell--
An' wearin' hees long black hair,
Lak election man, de kin' I mean
You see aroun' church door,
Spreadin' hese'f on great beeg speech
'Bout poor mans goin' some day be reech,
But dats w'ere it alway come de heetch,
For poor mans alway poor.
De only diff'rence--me--I see
'Tween devil an' long-hair man
Its hard to say, but I know its true,
W'en devil promise a t'ing to do
Deres no mistak', he kip it too--
I hope you understan'.
So de devil spik, "You 're not content,
An' want to be reech, Louis--
All right, youll have plaintee, never fear,
No wan can beat you far an' near,
An' Ill leave you alone for t'orty year,
An' den you will come wit' me.
"Be careful now--its beeg contrac',
So mebbe its bes' go slow;
For me--de promise I mak' to you
Is good as de bank Rivière du Loup
For you--w'enever de tam is due,
Ba tonder! you got to go."
Louis try hard to tak' hees tam
But w'en he see de fall
Comin' along in a week or so,
All aroun' heem de rain an' snow
An' pork on de bar'l runnin' low,
He don't feel good at all.
An' w'en he t'ink of de swampy farm
An' gettin' up winter night,
Watchin' de stove if de win' get higher
For fear de chimley go on fire,
It's makin' poor Louis feel so tire
He tell de devil, "All right."
"Correct," dat feller say right away,
"Ill only say, Au revoir,"
An' out of de winder hes goin' pouf!
Beeg nose, long hair, short tail, an' hoof,
Off on de road to Bord à Plouffe
Crossin' de reever dere.
W'en Louis get up nex' day, ma frien',
Deres lot of devil sign--
Bar'l o' pork an' keg o' rye,
Bag o' potato ten foot high,
Pile o' wood nearly touch de sky,
Was some o' de t'ing he fin'.
Suit o' clothes would have cos' a lot
An' ev'ryt'ing I dunno,
Trotter horse w'en he want to ride
Eatin' away on de barn outside,
Stan' all day if hes never tied,
An' watch an' chain also.
An' swamp dat's bodder heem many tam,
W'ere is dat swamp to-day?
Don't care if you 're huntin' up an' down
You won't fin' not'ing but medder groun',
An' affer de summer come aroun'
W'ere can you see such hay?
Wall! de year go by, an' Louis leev'
Widout no work to do,
Rise w'en he lak on winter day,
Fin' all de snow is clear away,
No fuss, no not'ing, deres de sleigh
An' trotter waitin' too.
W'en t'orty year is nearly t'roo
An' devils not come back
'Course Louis say, 'Wall! he forget
Or t'ink de tams not finish yet;
Ill tak' ma chance an' never fret,"
But dats w'ere he mak' mistak'.
For on a dark an' stormy night
W'en Louis is sittin' dere,
After he fassen up de door
De devil come as he come before,
Lookin' de sam' only leetle more,
For takin' heem--you know w'ere.
"Asseyez vous, sit down, ma frien',
Bad night be on de road;
You come long way an' should be tire--
Jus' wait an' mebbe I feex de fire--
Tak' off your clothes for mak' dem drier,
Dey mus' be heavy load."
Dats how poor Louis Desjardins
Talk to de devil, sir--
Den say, "Try leetle w'isky blanc,
Dey 're makin' it back on St. Laurent--
Its good for night dats cole an' raw,"
But devil never stir,
Until he smell de smell dat come
W'en Louis mak' it hot
Wit' sugar, spice, an' ev'ryt'ing.
Enough to mak' a man's head sing--
For winter, summer, fall an' spring--
Its very bes' t'ing we got.
An' so de devil can't refuse
To try de w'isky blanc,
An' say, "Im tryin' many drink,
An' dis is de fines' I don't t'ink,
De firse, ba tonder! mak' me wink--
Hooraw, pour Canadaw!"
"Merci--non, non--I tak' no more,"
De devil say at las',
"For tam is up wit' you, Louis,
So come along, ma frien', wit' me,
So many star Im sure I see,
De storm she mus' be pas'."
"No hurry--wait a minute, please,"
Say Louis Desjardins,
"Well have a smoke before were t'roo,
'T will never hurt mese'f or you
To try a pipe, or mebbe two,
Of tabac Canayen."
"Wan pipe is all I want for me--
Well finish our smoke downstair,"
De devil say, an' it was enough,
For w'en he tak' de very firse puff
He holler out, "Maudit! w'at stuff!
Fresh air! fresh air!! fresh air!!!"
An' oh! he was never sick before
Till he smoke tabac Bruneau--
Can't walk or fly, but he want fresh air,
So Louis put heem on rockin' chair
An' t'row heem off on de road out dere--
An' tole heem go below.
An' he shut de door an' fill de place
Wit' tabac Canayen,
An' never come out, an' dats a fac'--
But smoke away till hees face is black--
So dats w'y de devil don't come back
For Louis Desjardins.
An' dere hes yet, an' dere hell stay--
So weech of de two 'll win
Can't say for dat--its kin' of a doubt,
For Louis, de pipe never leave hees mout',
An' night or day can't ketch heem out,
An' devils too scare go in.
