The Last Portage

The Last Portage
I'm sleepin' las' night w'en I dream a dream An' a wonderful wan it seem – For I 'm off on de road I was never see, Too long an' hard for a man lak me, So ole he can only wait de call Is sooner or later come to all.

De night is dark an' de portage dere Got plaintee o' log lyin' ev'ryw'ere, Black bush aroun' on de right an' lef, A step from de road an' you los' you'se'f; De moon an' de star above is gone, Yet somet'ing tell me I mus' go on.

An' off in front of me as I go, Light as a dreef of de fallin' snow – Who is dat leetle boy dancin' dere Can see hees w'ite dress an' curly hair, An' almos' touch heem, so near to me In an' out dere among de tree?

An' den I 'm hearin' a voice is say, "Come along, fader, don't min' de way, De boss on de camp he sen' for you, So your leetle boy 's going to guide you t'roo It 's easy for me, for de road I know, 'Cos I travel it many long year ago."

An' oh! mon Dieu! w'en he turn hees head I 'm seein' de face of ma boy is dead – Dead wit' de young blood in hees vein – An' dere he 's comin' wance more again Wit' de curly hair, an' dark-blue eye, So lak de blue of de summer sky –

An' now no more for de road I care, An' slippery log lyin' ev'ryw'ere – De swamp on de valley, de mountain too But climb it jus' as I use to do – Don't stop on de road, for I need no res' So long as I see de leetle w'ite dress.

An' I foller it on, an' wance in a w'ile He turn again wit' de baby smile, An' say, "Dear fader, I 'm here you see We 're bote togeder, jus' you an' me – Very dark to you, but to me it 's light, De road we travel so far to-night.

"De boss on de camp w'ere I alway stay Since ever de tam I was go away, He welcome de poores' man dat call, But love de leetle wan bes' of all, So dat 's de reason I spik for you An' come to-night for to bring you t'roo."

Lak de young Jesu w'en he 's here below De face of ma leetle son look jus' so – Den off beyon', on de bush I see De w'ite dress fadin' among de tree – Was it a dream I dream las' night Is goin' away on de morning light?

--- William Henry Drummond, Christmas 1904 from The Voyageur and Other Poems, 1905