Indian Romance.

        We know a hill is smooth and round,
        Where Indian relics may be found,
        This hill it hath a history,
        Though enveloped in mystery.

        All the youth do fondly glory
        For to read an Indian story,
        This hill was ancient camping ground,
        In creek near by did trout abound.

        And from hill top they caught a gleam
        Of the river's broader stream,
        They came in their birch bark canoes
        Into this place of rendezvous.

        When States did Canada invade,
        Great Indian host was here arrayed,
        Here they rallied from near and far,
        In eighteen hundred and twelve war.

        Chief big Wolfe led them on to war,
        And bade farewell to morning star,
        He wedded her one year before,
        And her he fondly did adore.

        To him she never seemed so sweet,
        Her dress had beads worked o'er so neat,
        And her toilet to complete,
        Grand moccasins upon her feet.

        Tribe marches and they boldly fight,
        Longside of Brock on Queenstown height,
        With glory they do return crowned,
        Into the hill so smooth and round.

        Here big Wolfe drank much fire water,
        And it led to his own slaughter,
        His death alas did blast and mar,
        And dimmed the light of morning star.

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

Lines Addressed To An Old Bachelor.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Baby Darling.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

The Vale Of Thames.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Reply To The Toast Of Scottish Poets.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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Where once the red deer, wolf or bear,
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Where once the maple and the beech,
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No harbor then, nor water-break,
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No pennon stream'd from lofty mast,
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Canadian Romance.

        An English youth to Canada came,
        A labourer, John Roe by name,
        His little wealth had made him bold,
        Twenty sovereigns in gold;
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        And e'en small sums did not despise,
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James McIntyre

Fragment of an Indian Poem.

    *        *        *        *        *        *

They come!--Be firm--in silence rally!
The long-knives our retreat have found!
Hark!--their tramp is in the valley,
And they hem the forest round!
The burdened boughs with pale scouts quiver,
The echoing hills tumultuous ring,
While across the eddying river
Their barks, like foaming war-steeds, spring!
The blood-hounds darken land and water;
They come--like buffaloes for slaughter!

See their glittering ranks advancing,
See upon the free winds dancing
Pennon proud and gaudy plume.
The strangers come in evil hour,
In pomp, and panoply, and power!
But, while upon our tribes they lower,
Think they our manly hearts will cower
To meet a warrior's doom?

Right they forget while strengt...

George Pope Morris

Burial Of The Minnisink.

On sunny slope and beechen swell
The shadowed light of evening fell:
And, where the maple's leaf was brown,
With soft and silent lapse came down
The glory, that the wood receives,
At sunset, in its brazen leaves.

Far upward in the mellow light
Rose the blue hills.    One cloud of white,
Around a far uplifted cone,
In the warm blush of evening shone;
An image of the silver lakes,
By which the Indian's soul awakes.

But soon a funeral hymn was heard
Where the soft breath of evening stirred
The tall, grey forest; and a band
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand,
Came winding down beside the wave,
To lay the red chief in his grave.

They sang, that by his native bowers
He stood, in the last moon of flowers,
And thirty snows had ...

William Henry Giles Kingston

Minnetonka[BY]

I sit once more on breezy shore, at sunset in this glorious June,
I hear the dip of gleaming oar, I list the singers' merry tune.
Beneath my feet the waters beat, and ripple on the polished stones,
The squirrel chatters from his seat; the bag-pipe beetle hums and drones.
The pink and gold in blooming wold, the green hills mirrored in the lake!
The deep, blue waters, zephyr-rolled, along the murmuring pebbles break.
The maples screen the ferns, and lean the leafy lindens o'er the deep;
The sapphire, set in emerald green, lies like an Orient gem asleep.
The crimson west glows like the breast of Rhuddin^[CA] when he pipes in May,
As downward droops the sun to rest, and shadows gather on the bay.
In amber sky the swallows fly and sail and circle o'er the deep;
The light-w...

Hanford Lennox Gordon

The Indian Girl's Lament.

An Indian girl was sitting where
Her lover, slain in battle, slept;
Her maiden veil, her own black hair,
Came down o'er eyes that wept;
And wildly, in her woodland tongue,
This sad and simple lay she sung:

"I've pulled away the shrubs that grew
Too close above thy sleeping head,
And broke the forest boughs that threw
Their shadows o'er thy bed,
That, shining from the sweet south-west,
The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.

"It was a weary, weary road
That led thee to the pleasant coast,
Where thou, in his serene abode,
Hast met thy father's ghost:
Where everlasting autumn lies
On yellow woods and sunny skies.

"Twas I the broidered mocsen made,
That shod thee for that distant land;
'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid
Beside ...

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