Little Hero.

        'Mong silver hills of Nevada
        There is many a wild bravado,
        Who oft indulge in lawless vice,
        And there are pearls of great price.

        Rough hearts, but true at the core,
        There is the genuine silver ore,
        But it needs skill of the refiner
        To find pure gems in the miner.

        Far from their home two children stray,
        Among the mountains far away,
        The eldest of these travellers bold,
        Jack Smith he was but six years old.

        So far poor children went abroad,
        That both at last they lost their road,
        But their good dog the trusty Rover,
        By scent and search doth them discover.

        Their friends they search for them in vain,
        Dark night comes on and heavy rain;
        And savage wolves around them howl,
        But they fear Rover's bark and growl.

        On the third day the searchers hark
        For sounds and they hear Rover's bark,
        Joyous that boys were alive,
        And that though feeble they survive.

        Miners they left their silver ore,
        And for more precious pearls explore,
        And when the children they discover,
        'Tis unbounded then their pleasure.

        The eldest little hero bold
        Had stripped his coat to keep the cold
        From little brother three years old,
        A worthy deed should be extolled.

        From home they were many a league,
        And weak with hunger and fatigue,
        Each clung upon a miner's back,
        On their way home down mountain track.

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 On The Finding Of A Young Man's Body In Toronto Bay.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Gray Hairs.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Fight Of A Buffalo With Wolves.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Donald Ross.

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.

Baby Darling.

        A miner in California mine,
        For his distant home he did repine,
        In a far off Eastern state,
        Where did live his own dear mate.

        And one great source of all his joy,
        His little darling baby boy,
        One night to drive his cares away
        To concert hall his footsteps stray.

        And loud resounding o'er the hall,
        He heard a little boy squall,
        The sweetest music he e'er heard,
        Sweeter far than singing bird.

        For his thoughts it caused to roam,
        To his distant eastern home,
        Near to the mine there were no trace
        Of baby dear or woman's face.

        When violinist with his bow
        Did make exquisite music flow,
        ...

James McIntyre

The Idle Shepherd Boys

The valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among the hills the echoes play
A never never ending song,
To welcome in the May.
The magpie chatters with delight;
The mountain raven's youngling brood
Have left the mother and the nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;
Or through the glittering vapors dart
In very wantonness of heart.

Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
Two boys are sitting in the sun;
Their work, if any work they have,
Is out of mind, or done.
On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas hymn;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call stag-horn, or fox's tail,
Their rusty hats they trim:
And thus, as happy as the day,
Those Shepherds wear the time away.

Along the river...

William Wordsworth

To The Men Of The Mines

We specked as boys o'er worked-out ground
By littered fiat and muddy stream,
We watched the whim horse trudging round,
And rode upon the circling beam,
Within the old uproarious mill
Fed mad, insatiable stamps,
Mined peaceful gorge and gusty hill
With pan, and pick, and gad, and drill,
And knew the stir of sudden camps.

By yellow dams in summer days
We puddled at the tom; for weeks
Went seeking up the tortuous ways
Of gullies deep and hidden creeks.
We worked the shallow leads in style,
And hunted fortune down the drives,
And missed her, mostly by a mile,
Once by a yard or so. The while
We lived untrammelled, easy lives.

Through blazing days upon the brace
We laboured, and when night had passed
Beheld the glory and the grace

Edward

Providential Escape.

Providential escape of Ruby and Neil McLeod, children of Angus McLeod of this town. Little Neil McKay McLeod, a child of three years of age, was carried under a covered raceway, upwards of one hundred yards, the whole distance being either covered o'er with roadway, buildings or ice.


        A wondrous tale we now do trace
        Of little children fell in race,
        The youngest of these little dears,
        The boy's age is but three years.

        While coasting o'er the treacherous ice,
        These precious pearls of great price,
        The elder Ruby, the daughter,
        Was rescued from the ice cold water.

        But horrid death each one did feel,
        Had sure befallen little Neil,
        Consternation all did fill,
        And they ...

James McIntyre

The Prospector

I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
A-purpose to revisit the old claim.
I kept thinking mighty sadly of the funny ways of Fate,
And the lads who once were with me in the game.
Poor boys, they're down-and-outers, and there's scarcely one to-day
Can show a dozen colors in his poke;
And me, I'm still prospecting, old and battered, gaunt and gray,
And I'm looking for a grub-stake, and I'm broke.

I strolled up old Bonanza. The same old moon looked down;
The same old landmarks seemed to yearn to me;
But the cabins all were silent, and the flat, once like a town,
Was mighty still and lonesome-like to see.
There were piles and piles of tailings where we toiled with pick and pan,
And turning round a bend I heard a roar,
And there a giant gold-ship of...

Robert William Service

The Harbor Lights Of Home.

    J. Thomas Gordon left home one day,
    Left home for good and all -
    A boy has a right to have his own way
    When he's nearly six foot tall;
    At least, this is what J. Thomas thought,
    And in his own young eyes
    There were very few people quite so good,
    And fewer still quite so wise.

    What! tie as clever a lad as he
    Down to commonplace toil?
    Make J. Thomas Gordon a farmer lad,
    A simple son of the soil?
    Not if he knew it - 'twould be a sin;
    He wished to rise and soar.
    For men like himself who would do and dare
    Dame Fortune had much in store.

    The world was in need of brains and brawn,
    J. Thomas said modestly,
    The clever young man was in great demand -
    They would see ...

Jean Blewett