Local Sketches.

        On grassy amphitheatre,
        Spectators sit to view the war,
        'Mong bold contestants on the plain
        Where each doth strive the prize to gain.

        Come witness the great tug of war,
        And see great hammer thrown afar,
        See running, jumping, highland fling,
        At concert hear the skylark sing.

        And the bagpipes will send thrills,
        Like echoes from the distant hills,
        And the bold sound of the pibroch,
        Which does resound o'er highland loch.

        Young men and maids and fine old dames
        Will gather on the banks of Thames,
        And though we have a tug of war
        'Twill leave no wound or deadly scar.

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

James Hogg.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Beachville.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

A Bird's Nest.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Lines On The Death Of A Farmer's Wife.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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Highland Sketches.

        The Romans, Saxons and the Danes
        Did oft o'er run the Scottish plains.
        So daring were those mauraders
        And skilful too were invaders.

        The lowland man enjoyed his farm,
        But oft he was in great alarm,
        When Highlanders o'er plain would sweep
        And drive to hills his steers and sheep.

        For highlandmen were taught in song
        The lowlands to them did belong,
        Each highland chief he ruled like king
        And Bards they did his praises sing,

        In war the chief he led the van,
        Marching to battle with his clan,
        And when the foe attacked their chief
        The clansmen rushed to his relief.

        When they King William's forces mass
    ...

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

Lines Read At A Scottish Anniversary At Embro.

        Scotsmen have wandered far and wide
        From Moray Frith to Frith of Clyde,
        McDonald from his sea girt isle,
        And Campbell from his broad Argyle.

        But chiefly here you have come forth
        From those counties of the north,
        Some oft have trod Dunrobins halls
        And gazed upon its stately walls.

        Here to night in this array
        Is Murray, McKenzie and McKay,
        And there doth around us stand
        The Munroe, Ross and Sutherland.

        Your young men have high honor earned
        In all of the professions learned,
        Your bonnie lasses sung in song,
        And youths are famed for muscle strong.

James McIntyre

In The Pass Of Killicranky

Six thousand veterans practised in war's game,
Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed
Against an equal host that wore the plaid,
Shepherds and herdsmen. Like a whirlwind came
The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;
And Garry, thundering down his mountain-road,
Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load
Of the dead bodies. 'Twas a day of shame
For them whom precept and the pedantry
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.
O for a single hour of that Dundee,
Who on that day the word of onset gave!
Like conquest would the Men of England see;
And her Foes find a like inglorious grave.

William Wordsworth

Flora Macivor's Song

There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.
A stranger commanded - it sunk on the land,
It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand!

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust,
The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust;
On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear,
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.

The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse,
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse!
Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone,
That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown.

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past,
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last;
Glenaladale's peaks are illumined with the rays,
And the stream...

Walter Scott

The Brave Highland Laddies

I had seen our splendid soldiers in their khaki uniforms,
    And their leaders with a Sam Brown belt;
I had seen the fighting Britons and Colonials in swarms,
    I had seen the blue-clad Frenchmen, and I felt
That the mighty martial show
Had no new sight to bestow,
    Till I walked on Piccadilly, and my word!
By the bonnie Highland laddies
In their kilts and their plaidies,
    To a wholly new sensation I was stirred.

They were like some old-time picture, or a scene from out a play,
    They were stalwart, they were young, and debonnair;
Their jaunty little caps they wore in such a fetching way,
    And they showed their handsome legs, and didn't care -
And they seemed to own the town
As they strode on up and down -
    Oh, they surely were a sight fo...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox