Port Burwell.

The following lines were given at a concert when Port Burwell was a busy port and there had been a race on the ice the day before.


        In winter time who here resort,
        To pay a visit to your busy port,
        They must be clad in fur well,
        For it blows cold at Burwell;
        But when you wish to trot your horse
        You make Lake Erie your race course,
        And we believe at every heat
        All other horses you do beat.

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

Saxe.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Poets And Philosophers.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Niagara Dry.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

St. Catharines.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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Port Stanley.

        In winter time 'tis sad and dreary
        For to gaze on stormy Erie,
        But here in summer time this port
        It is a fashionable resort,
        For then it is always cheery
        For to gaze upon Lake Erie.

        Or on the steamer you can sail
        All independent of the gale,
        Or here the youth can ply the oar
        And view the fast receding shore,
        And be happy with his dearie
        On the bosom of Lake Erie.

        No one here need ever weary
        On the borders of Lake Erie,
        With quadrille parties at Stanley
        And games and sports all so manly,
        Or bathe in waves with friends near thee,
        You fear no storms of Lake Erie.

James McIntyre

St. Catharines.

Lines read at the Welland House, St. Catharines, at a banquet given to the members in attendance at the Oddfellows' Grand Lodge.


        St. Catharines famed for mineral waters
        And for the beauty of her daughters,
        For some do worship at the shrines
        Of the fair St. Catharines.

        St. Catharines your greatness you inherit
        From the genius of a Merritt,
        You still would be a village dreary
        But for this canal from lake Erie.

        For on its bosom there doth float
        Full many a ship and steamboat,
        Brings world's commerce to your doors
        And many gifts on you it pours.

        Among its many great rewards
        It gives you dry docks and ship yards,
        To drive ...

James McIntyre

Tilsonburg.

        After him who did the mills own,
        This place was called in honor Tilson;
        Bright gleaming like to a beaming star,
        Is clear waters of the Otter.

        And it doth form here a vast pond,
        Which extends for miles beyond,
        A fortune on town it will shower,
        This prodigious water power.

        No other spots to youth appear,
        Like lovely little lakes round here,
        And few small towns have fine roadway
        Lined with brick blocks like your broadway.

James McIntyre

Beachville.

        Of Beachville, village of the plain,
        We now will sing a short refrain,
        For here the Thames doth pleasant flow,
        And charm to landscape doth bestow;
        Though river here it is not deep,
        Yet banks slope graceful up the steep,
        And from the summit of the hills
        You look down on the famed lime kilns,
        And 'tis full worthy poet's rhyme
        The whiteness of your pure white lime,
        Your glory never shall be gone
        While you have quarries of this stone,
        In influence you yet will wax
        With mills for flour and also flax.

James McIntyre

The Fishermen

Hurrah! the seaward breezes
Sweep down the bay amain;
Heave up, my lads, the anchor!
Run up the sail again!
Leave to the lubber landsmen
The rail-car and the steed;
The stars of heaven shall guide us,
The breath of heaven shall speed.
From the hill-top looks the steeple,
And the lighthouse from the sand;
And the scattered pines are waving
Their farewell from the land.
One glance, my lads, behind us,
For the homes we leave one sigh,
Ere we take the change and chances
Of the ocean and the sky.
Now, brothers, for the icebergs
Of frozen Labrador,
Floating spectral in the moonshine,
Along the low, black shore!
Where like snow the gannet's feathers
On Brador's rocks are shed,
And the noisy murr are flying,
Like black scuds, overhea...

John Greenleaf Whittier

For The Centennial Dinner Of The Proprietors Of Boston Pier, Or The Long Wharf, April 16, 1873

Dear friends, we are strangers; we never before
Have suspected what love to each other we bore;
But each of us all to his neighbor is dear,
Whose heart has a throb for our time-honored pier.

As I look on each brother proprietor's face,
I could open my arms in a loving embrace;
What wonder that feelings, undreamed of so long,
Should burst all at once in a blossom of song!

While I turn my fond glance on the monarch of piers,
Whose throne has stood firm through his eightscore of years,
My thought travels backward and reaches the day
When they drove the first pile on the edge of the bay.


See! The joiner, the shipwright, the smith from his forge,
The redcoat, who shoulders his gun for King George,
The shopman, the 'prentice, the boys from the lane,

Oliver Wendell Holmes