Broken Raft Adventure.

        A man on Nova Scotian Bay
        On broken raft was borne away,
        Right out on the open sea
        Where the storm did blow so free,
        No shelter from the wind or wave
        He thought the gulf would be his grave,
        He had no food life to sustain,
        He laid him down there to remain,
        What happened he did know no more,
        But old man on Prince Edward's shore
        Saw raft drifting near his shed
        And thought the poor man was quite dead,
        He called for help and soon they bore
        His lifeless body to the shore,
        But old man he did them desire
        To place the body near the fire,
        And wrap it up in blankets warm,
        Which did act like to a charm,
        And soon the breath it did return,
        With gratitude his heart did burn,
        To think he was again restored
        Unto his friends whom he adored.

James McIntyre

James McIntyre was a Canadian poet, most notable for his poetry concerning cheese, cheese-making, dairying, and dairy products. Often referred to as 'The Cheese Poet,' McIntyre's work is celebrated for its earnestness and unintentional humor, making him both a beloved and an infamous figure in literary circles. He emigrated from Scotland to Canada in 1851 and settled in Ingersoll, Ontario, where he became a successful businessman and community leader.

James McIntyre

A Bird's Nest.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Ode On The Mammoth Cheese.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Oliver Goldsmith.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

St. Catharines.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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Lost Son Found.

        An English ship when homeward bound,
        Near to its port was shipwrecked found,
        For it had struck a sunken rock,
        And was slowly sinking from the shock.

        In port they quick did man life boat,
        Which o'er tempestuous sea did float,
        They rescued all the crew, save one,
        And were content with what they done.

        But they had not their captain, Harry,
        Who on the shore was forced to tarry,
        And knew not of the disaster,
        So crew had worked without a master.

        But when he heard of the shipwreck,
        And that a man was left on deck,
        He quickly hurried the boat's crew
        For to again attempt his rescue.

        But earnestly his old mother,...

James McIntyre

To Cross The Bay

"I wouldn't try a crossing in weather like this," warned the old man. "It's a bad time of year, what with the wind and all. Worse still, the lake water is lethal by November. That means if you capsize it will be the chill that does you in."

The old man stopped short, conscious of the look of defiance in the youth's eyes. Young fool biting the nose to spite his face, he thought.

The marina was closed for the season, but the island's residents made contact with the mainland one way or the other. Until mid-winter there was a ferry service, but that assumed a fair bit of discipline from a resident. He had to go and come when the province obliged. Young bloods off to escape the monotony of Wolfe Island were only marginally willing to conform their Saturday festivities with an arbitrary ruling. No, it was too easy to keep ...

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Bear And Falls.

        Strange incidents do happen ever
        On the famed Niagara river,
        This thought to mind it now recalls
        Event three miles above the falls.

        Thrilling ventures there abound,
        A bear which weighed eight hundred pounds,
        Hunters they do him discover
        As he was swimming down the river.

        They felt he would be glorious prize
        This grand fat bear of mighty size,
        Three men they jump'd into canoe,
        A skilful and determined crew.

        Soon alongside of him they row,
        But kindly feelings he doth show,
        Quick he scrambled o'er the boat side
        For to enjoy a good boat ride.

        And as o'er the side he straddles
        They hit him on he...

James McIntyre

The Dead Stowaway.

    He lay on the beach, just out of the reach
        Of waves that had cast him by:
    With fingers grim they reached for him
        As often as they came nigh.
    The shore-face brown had a surly frown,
        And glanced at the dancing sea,
    As if to say, "Take back the clay
        You tossed this morning at me."
    Great fragments rude, by the shipwreck strewed,
        Had found by this wreck a place;
    He had grasped them tight, and hope-strewn fright
        Sat still on the bloated face.
    Battered and bruised, forever abused,
        He lay by the heartless sea,
    As if Heaven's aid had never been made
        For a villain such as he.
    The fetter's mark lay heavy and dark
        Around the pulseless wrists;
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The Broken Oar

Once upon Iceland's solitary strand
    A poet wandered with his book and pen,
    Seeking some final word, some sweet Amen,
    Wherewith to close the volume in his hand.
The billows rolled and plunged upon the sand,
    The circling sea-gulls swept beyond his ken,
    And from the parting cloud-rack now and then
    Flashed the red sunset over sea and land.
Then by the billows at his feet was tossed
    A broken oar; and carved thereon he read,
    "Oft was I weary, when I toiled at thee";
And like a man, who findeth what was lost,
    He wrote the words, then lifted up his head,
    And flung his useless pen into the sea.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Strange Life Preserver.

        A sailor he was swept from deck,
        In minute he seem'd as a speck,
        Tossing on each briny wave,
        They feared the sea would be his grave.

        Though they full quickly launched the boat,
        They could not see where he did float,
        He now was a long ways astern,
        His whereabouts they could not learn.

        But while he on the waves did toss,
        He was seized by great Albatross,
        Who had been looking round in quest
        Of something whereon it could rest.[I]

        It hover'd o'er him with its wings,
        And its great webb feet on him clings,
        And it tore him with its sharp beak,
        For it was longing for some steak.

        But sailor seized it by the throa...

James McIntyre