Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FIRST ROBIN, by WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FIRST ROBIN, by                
First Line: Oh! It's bad to be unlucky in ev'ryt'ing you do
Last Line: An' he'll never lef' ma garden, so I'll have anoder chance!

OH! it's bad to be unlucky in ev'ryt'ing you do,
An' worse if you can't help it, 'cos I'm de torteen chile,
An' w'en you play for number wan, an' den you're number two,
I wonder w'ere's de feller he don't feel a leetle rile?

Few mont' ago it happen dat I'm goin' walk aroun',
Gettin' ready for de ploughin' is comin' on de spring,
An' soon I wait an' listen, for I t'ink I hear de song
Of de firse, de early robin, as he jus' begin to sing.

It was very, very lucky w'en de firse wan come along --
An' you see upon your farm dere is de place de robin stop,
Settle down to feex hees fedder, an' commence to mak' hees song --
For o' course it's always makin' beeg difference wit' de crop.

So I sneak aroun' so quiet, t'roo de orchard on de hill,
T'roo de fence, along de crik too, w'ere de snow is lyin' yet --
Ev'ry kin' o' luck again me as I travel dere until
Ba de tam de job is finish, golly, I was feelin' wet!

W'at's de matter wit' dat robin, dat he isn't comin' here,
'Stead o' goin' half an acre jus' to tak' de luck away?
No Siree! -- I don't forgive heem, if he leev a honder year,
For dere's hees singin', singin' on de farm of Joe Lahaie.

Joe hese'f is sittin' dere too, lookin' happy on hees face,
For de way dat bird is yellin', is enough to scare de dead;
An' he ax me, "W'at you doin' sneakin' all aroun' ma place?
Don't you know I own dat robin he was singin' overhead?

"Mebbe he was work for not'ing, my leetle boy Louis,
W'en he's startin' out dis mornin' for milkin' on de cow,
An' he fin' dat robin flyin' purty near your apple-tree,
An' he shoo heem up, an' bring heem on de place you see heem now.

"Didn't get heem off too early, for anoder minute more
An' I bet dat robin's singin' among your apple-tree;
But de boy's too smart to let heem, an' he scare heem here before
He begin to mak' de music -- so dat bird belong to me.

"Talk about your lucky season! Wait an' see de wan I got;
Shouldn't wonder if I'm needin' anoder wagon sure.
How I wish de fall would hurry, for de crop your uncle get,
It will mak' dem all go crazy on de market Bonsecours.

"Me -- I lissen many robin, an' de fines' of de crowd
Is de wan dat's sittin' up dere, workin' w'at you call de charm;
Dat's de robin for ma money, he can holler out so loud,
But o' course de res' was alway on some oder feller's farm.

"Only sorry ma ole woman isn't comin' here to see,
For she can't help feelin' happy w'en de firse bird of de spring
Mak' hees choice upon our tree dere, jus' so natural an' free,
Non! She wouldn't tak' a dollar ev'ry tam dat feller sing."

An' he sit an' smoke away dere, Joe Lahaie, an' talk hees fill,
He's all right, an' he don't bodder how de res' de parish go;
Never hear a man so foolish, mak' me feelin' mad until
I could kill dat maudit robin, an' Jo-seph Lahaie also.

An' den bimeby de summer come along, but w'at's de use
Call it summer, for de fine day is w'at we seldom get.
So I tak' it purty easy, for de man mus' be a goose
If he don't kip nice an' quiet, w'en de wedder she's so wet.

But Joe Lahaie, dat feller, he was t'ink so moche, ba gum,
About hees poor ole robin, he forget about de rain;
Ev'ry day you see heem workin', an' w'en de fall is come
He got de fines' crop upon St. Polycarpe de plaine.

An' me -- Wall! I could bet you, w'en de springtam' melt de snow,
I'll never go to bed unless I'm sleepin' on ma pants;
Den w'en I hear de robin, hoopla! off she go,
An' he'll never lef' ma garden, so I'll have anoder chance!

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