[4] Canadian sash. 

 

 

 

 

 BRUNO THE HUNTER 

 You never hear tell, Marie, ma femme, Of Bruno de hunter man, Wit' hees wild dogs chasin' de moose an' deer, Every day on de long, long year, Off on de hillside far an' near, An' down on de beeg savane? 

Of Bruno de hunter man,

An' down on de beeg savane?

 Not'ing can leev' on de woods, Marie, W'en Bruno is on de track, An' young caribou, an' leetle red doe Wit' baby to come on de spring, dey know De pity dey get w'en hees bugle blow An' de black dogs answer back. 

W'en Bruno is on de track,

An' de black dogs answer back.

 No bird on de branch can finish hees song, De squirrel no longer play— De leaf on de maple don't need to wait Till fros' of October is at de gate 'Fore de blood drops come: an' de fox sleeps late W'en Bruno is pass dat way. 

De squirrel no longer play—

W'en Bruno is pass dat way.

 So de devil ketch heem of course at las' Dat 's w'at de ole folk say, An' spik to heem, "Bruno, w'at for you kill De moose an' caribou of de hill An' fill de woods wit' deir blood until You could run a mill night an' day?" 

Dat 's w'at de ole folk say,

You could run a mill night an' day?"

 

 "So de devil ketch heem of course at las'." 

 Prev. P 7/88 next