Quebec City, 

Queen

of

La Belle Province

 

Little John was a trapper who didn’t know how to walk on the pavement, poor, unlettered, but he was handsome as a prince. Lithe, tall, and bearded, we all called him Little Johnny Beard.  He carried the lakes in his eyes, and the sun in his blood.  He had a fine singing voice, planted houses along his way like a gardener plants cabbages.  His heart, like his voice, flowed over the land, covered it.  He was a maker of villages.  A builder by trade.... 
 

HOP LÀ!  COURAGE!  DEBOUT!

There's six old lakes I've got to move,

And three new waterfalls to bed,

And eighteen swamps to scrub and broom,

A town to build before day's end!

HOP LÀ!  COURAGE!  DEBOUT!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  



 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The language of this country was virile, the faces human.  Poetry, like perfume under the brambles, was hidden deep beneath many a wrinkle.  The oar had led them to a safe and rugged port. These people knew how to sing and how to build a dike….these men who came rolling in, portaging want and misery, for the sole purpose of shaping fortune and happiness for innumerable sons and daughters....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 The majestic Saint Lawrence River,

great swallower, treasurer, and distributor

of the waters of Quebec...

 

HOP LÀ!  COURAGE!  DEBOUT!  

Two mountains to cross, but I'll get through,

Two rivers, I'll drink them dry!

So onward ax and onward shoes!

At home her love abides....

 

HOP LÀ!  COURAGE!  DEBOUT!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

All text from Pieds nus dans l’aube
by Félix Leclerc.

English translation, adaptation,

and all photographs:

© Copyright 2016 by Cary Kamarat .

All rights reserved.

 

 

 

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