Canadian Rivers And Lakes.

        We have here a sight as fair
        As bonnie Doon or banks of Ayr,
        Like modest worth meandering slow
        The quiet waters gently flow,
        Rose, thistle, shamrock, all combine,
        Around the maple leaf to twine,
        Whose outstretched arms so gigantic
        Clasp Pacific and Atlantic,
        Embracing lakes like burnished gold,
        With joy a Shakespeare might behold,
        For either Poet Burns or Moore[B]
        Such scenery they would adore.

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

Castle Gordon.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Fertile Lands And Mammoth Cheese.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Lines Read At A Scottish Anniversary At Embro.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Snake And Its Young.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

English Names On Canadian Thames.

        England has given us the names
        To adorn Canadian Thames,
        And charms to them she has lent
        In Oxford, Middlesex and Kent,
        She Essex kisseth in her mouth,
        And Scottish names, one north, one south,
        And London now it justly claims
        'Tis capital of vale of Thames,
        And her strong castellated tower
        Doth on the river frowning lower,
        And Chatham is the river's port,
        There slaves for freedom did resort,
        And they did industrious toil,
        And now many own the soil,
        Stratford now shall be our theme,
        On Avon tributary stream,
        And its clear waters it doth launch
        Into the Thames northern branch,
        Near that substantial ston...

James McIntyre

Lines On Thorold.

McCready, the great Irish tragedian, said that the view from Thorold was the finest in America.


        Thorold is famous for its mills,
        And the grand view from off its hills,
        A view so charming and extended,
        Nature's beauties sweetly blended.

        Poetic thoughts it doth awake
        To view Ontario's broad lake,
        And husbandmen have their reward in
        Fruits of this Provincial garden.

        For from the hill you see below
        Gardens where choice fruits do grow,
        The landscape all within your reach
        Doth both produce the grape and peach.

        McCready said in the New World
        The finest view was from Thorold,
        You see St. Catharines thriving town
        ...

James McIntyre

Holland River And Its Tributaries.

Meanderings of a stream rises twenty miles north of Toronto and sweeps around the whole of Southern Ontario.


        We love to sing of tiny stream,
            Through the lowland meadows running,
        To us it is a pleasing theme,
            Tracing it from first beginning.

        'Tis strange how far a brook will roam,
            Moving onwards in its motion,
        And not content till it reaches home,
            Two thousand miles to distant ocean.

        In county York springs a small brook,
            A few miles north of Ontario,
        But it doth take a wondrous crook,
            It northward many miles doth flow.

        Brook's progress south is stopped by ridge,
            Doth debar its southern course,
     ...

James McIntyre

A Summer Evening Scene in Chateauguay

    Written In Montreal.

    Often, when the sun is sinking
        O'er the mountain's glowing crest,
    When the earth and heaven are linking
        In that bond of peaceful rest;
    Then, the weary city spurning,
        On this grand repose I gaze,
    And my mind, in fancy turning,
        Dwells on scenes of childhood's days.

    And I float upon the river
        At the selfsame time of day,
    When the sparkling waters quiver
        'Neath the slanting evening ray.
    Day's harsh memories forsaking
        With its jarring and its jest,
    For the soul is but awaking
        As the day is lulled to rest.

    Glimpse of even's glory getting
        As the summer sun serene,
    In his softened splendour setting,

W. M. MacKeracher

River Clyde.

        The Glasgow people do take pride
        In their river both deep and wide,
        In early times the youth and maid
        Did o'er its shallow waters wade.

        But city money did not grudge,
        And dug it deep with the steam dredge,
        And now proudly on its bosom floats
        The mighty ships and great steamboats.

        No wonder citizens take pride
        For they themselves have made the Clyde,
        Great and navigable river,
        Where huge fleets will float forever.

        Dunbarton's lofty castle rock[G]
        Which oft' has stood the battle's shock,
        The river it doth boldly guard,
        So industry may reap reward.

        But more protection still they deem
        Is yet re...

James McIntyre

The Banks Of The Devon.

Tune. - "Bhannerach dhon na chri."


I.

    How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
        With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
    But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
        Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
    Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
        In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
    And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
        That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

II.

    O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
        With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn;
    And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
        The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!
    Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies,...

Robert Burns