Henri Leblanc

Well, I go by the name of Henri LeBlanc
And trapping is my trade
Now, my daddy was French and my momma was a squaw;
I was born in the hem-lock shade

Forty-four years in the northern woods
From Quebec to Hudson's Bay
Forty-four years in the northern woods
Where the bear and the bea-ver stay

Well, it ain't very warm in November's storms;
Still, it's off to the traps I'll go
And the whistle of the jay in the trees on the way
Breaks the hush of the fall-ing snow

From my piney log shack with my traps on my back
To the hills of evergreen
The music that I know is the north wind?s blow
And the cry of the wolve-rine

When it's early in the spring and the high geese sing
Heading up to the northern Grounds
When it's early in the spring and the river breaks up
With a moaning, groan-ing sound

Then it's off on the road with my furs in a load
For the ladies around the town
Well, they'll look very nice for a very fine price
And be warm when the wind blows down

And my life goes along like a song and a river
Flowing down along the way
Through the months and the years and the smiles and the tears
I find a friend in every day

Je suis connu par le nom LeBlanc
Et je suis un trappeur
Fils de francais, ma mère était indienne
Je suis né sous les épinettes

Quarante-quatre ans dans les bois du nord
De Québec jusqu'à d?Hudson
Quarante-quatre ans dans les bois du nord
Où se trouve le grand élan

Forty-four years in the northern woods
From Quebec to Hudson's Bay
Forty-four years in the northern woods
Where the bear and the bea-ver stay