James Hogg.

        The wondrous shepherd James Hogg
        Was happy with his good sheep dog,
        Meditating o'er his sweet lays
        While his fleecy flocks did graze.

        His education it came late
        After he reached to man's estate,
        While his flocks were busy feeding
        His favourite authors he was reading.

        Wondrous tales he did rehearse
        Of witches both in prose and verse,
        And he in fairy tales did glory
        Traditions of each shepherd's story.

        The shepherd he sang late and early
        Of the deeds of bold Prince Charley,
        And how the charming bonnie Flora
        Soothed the Prince when in his sorrow.

        Few songs possess so much vigor
        As his gathering of McGregor,
        The lover's heart is all aflame
        To meet lassie when the kye comes hame.

        But one who loved the shepherd's songs
        And sang them unto countless throngs,
        Great Kennedy has passed away
        Now mournful is our Scottish lay.

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

Child Made Happy.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Captain's Adventure.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Help In Need.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Credit Valley Trip.

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.

My Hoggie.

Tune - "What will I do gin my Hoggie die?"


    What will I do gin my Hoggie die?
        My joy, my pride, my Hoggie!
    My only beast, I had nae mae,
        And vow but I was vogie!
    The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld,
        Me and my faithfu' doggie;
    We heard nought but the roaring linn,
        Amang the braes sae scroggie;
    But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa',
        The blitter frae the boggie,
    The tod reply'd upon the hill,
        I trembled for my Hoggie.
    When day did daw, and cocks did craw,
        The morning it was foggie;
    An' unco tyke lap o'er the dyke,
        And maist has kill'd my Hoggie.

Robert Burns

Poets And Philosophers.

Bacon, Hogg, Lamb and Shakespeare.

        Bacon, philosopher profound,
        With mighty thoughts his works abound,
        Reflections did his mind engage
        Were in advance of his own age.

        And Hogg the Ettrick shepherd bard,
        High honors all do him award,
        Great fame and glory he did reap
        While tending to his flock of sheep.

        And Lamb, the gentle and the good,
        His works all show a happy mood;
        About these names there is no waste,
        Pleasing to fancy and to taste.

        Some critics think they do make clear
        The fact that Bacon wrote Shakespeare,
        But a gent lives in New York
        Asks what effect will it have on pork.

        Of course it w...

James McIntyre

Reply To The Toast Of Scottish Poets.

        Burns sang so sweet behind the plow,
        Daisies we'll wreath around his brow,
        Musing on thee what visions throng,
        Of floods you poured of Scottish song.
        Scott he did write romancing rhymes
        Of chivalry of ancient times;
        For tender feeling none can cope
        With Campbell the sweet Bard of hope.
        Eye with sympathetic tear in
        Will shed it for Exile of Erin,
        And Tannahill while at his loom
        Wove flowers of song will ever bloom.
        Hogg, Ettrick Shepherd, did gain fame
        By singing when the kye comes hame,
        With good time coming Bard McKay
        Still merrily doth cheer the way.

James McIntyre

Donald Ross.

        By the side of a moss
        Lived young Donald Ross,
        Among the heathery hills
        And the mountain rills,
        In a snug little cot
        Content with his lot
        He never knew sorrow
        With his wife and wee Flora.

        But an order went forth
        O'er the land of the north,
        To burn many a home
        So the wild deer might roam,
        With grief he then did toss
        Every night Donald Ross,
        And sad seemed the morrow
        For his wife and sma' Flora.

        O it was a cruel deed
        But nobles do not heed
        The sorrows of the poor
        Drove on a barren moor,
        Where he wove a wreath
        Of the blooming heath,
        For to c...

James McIntyre

The Shires On The Moray Frith.

        Worthy of either song or story
        Are the shires round frith of Moray,
        Here lies the valley of Strathspey,
        Famed for its music, lively, gay,
        Elgin cathedral's 'prentice aisle
        Is glory of that ruined pile.
        What modern chisel now could trace
        Fine sculpture of that ancient place,
        And Forres famed for Sweno's stane
        In honor of that kingly Dane,
        'Graved with warriors runes and rhymes,
        Long prior to historic times,
        For a thousand years its been forgot
        Who was victor Dane or Scot,
        It is the country of McBeth
        Where good King Duncan met his death,
        And barren heath that place of fear
        Stood witches cauldron of Shakespeare,

James McIntyre

Extempore Effusion Upon The Death Of James Hogg

When first, descending from the moorlands,
I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide
Along a bare and open valley,
The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide.

When last along its banks I wandered,
Through groves that had begun to shed
Their golden leaves upon the pathways,
My steps the Border-minstrel led.

The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer,
'Mid mouldering ruins low he lies;
And death upon the braes of Yarrow,
Has closed the Shepherd-poet's eyes:

Nor has the rolling year twice measured,
From sign to sign, its stedfast course,
Since every mortal power of Coleridge
Was frozen at its marvellous source;

The rapt One, of the godlike forehead,
The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth:
And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,
Has vanished from h...

William Wordsworth