When I began this weekly poetry project last fall, I said that I intended to "present the works of many authors from all over the world, some famous, some obscure, some great, some not-so-great . . ." Frank Roberts is very obscure, and would most probably be classed as "not so great' by critics. But I like him, and I especially like this particular poem of his.

Roberts is so obscure that I know virtually nothing about him, except that he was born in 1861; that he was a big, barrel-chested, handsome man with a full mustache; and that he loved the Canadian wilderness. I know the year of his birth because this is given in the only reference to him that I can find on the Internet, which notes only that he wrote a volume of poetry entitled Dat Rivaar Metabatchuan and other outdoor verse.

The site doesn't say so, but this book was privately published by Frank Roberts himself. It is a beautiful little leather bound volume, printed on excellent paper, with gilt edges and gold lettering on the front and spine. I checked the popular used book sites on the web and found no copies listed. I bought my copy in a used book store years ago. The name Florence Wallace Dalrymple is embossed on the cover, and there is a handwritten note to her by Roberts inside, which says, "with sincere appreciation of her loyal service," signed and dated June 25, 1924.

The book is dedicated to a man named Robert Hobson of Hamilton, Ont., Canada, with the following statement: "To whose sympathy and companionship I am indebted for much of the enjoyment and pleasure that has come to me out of the wild but restful forests of Canada." It contains a photograph of Roberts in an expensive, well tailored suit with vest and stickpin. It also contains 11 photos of the Canadian lakes, woods, campsites and canoeing scenes.

Finally, the book includes a note to the reader with the dateline May 1924, "Pen-y-Bryn" (quotes in the original), Wynnewood, Pennsylvania. This note acknowledges that Roberts' poems "follow in the footsteps of that master of Canadian habitant verse, the late Dr. Drummond."

William Henry Drummond, M.D. (1854-1907) is a minor Canadian poet who wrote many poems, like this one by Roberts, in the patois of the French-Canadian people. I have one volume of Drummond's poems, and while I like his work, I must say I like Roberts' better. I hope you enjoy this poem. It's a lot of fun. By the way, a "tamarac" is a tree, not a town in Florida.