Snake And Its Young.

        There is a peculiar snake,
            You might almost call it squatter,
        It loves to dive in pond or lake,
            At home on either land or water.

        But it excited my good dog
            To see small snakes bask in the sun,
        Enjoying themselves on a big log,
            Near into where the water run.

        But their mother she was watching
            Her numerous brood on the log,
        She thought to them was danger hatching,
            When she beheld myself and dog.

        For she gave a hissing sound,
            All her offspring to awake,
        She ope'd her mouth and at a bound,
            Down her throat did rush each snake.

        I scarcely my own eyes could trust,
            To see those small snakes disappear,
        I really thought that she would burst,
            For the sake of her offspring dear.

        But I soon hid among the brakes,
            To view the young ones leave their prison,
        Will you believe this tale of snakes,
            If I did count right just four dozen.

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

Baby Darling.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Hunters And Trappers.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Brain Engravings.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Fighting For Conquest.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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The Grateful Snake.

Ingratitude! of earth the shame!
Thou monster, at whose hated name,
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The tale is antient, and is sweet,
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The reptile, whom thy beauties raise,
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The Muses, with a graceful pride,
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In Arcady, grave authors write,
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Far away in the twilight time
Of every people, in every clime,
Dragons and griffins and monsters dire,
Born of water, and air, and fire,
Or nursed, like the Python, in the mud
And ooze of the old Deucalion flood,
Crawl and wriggle and foam with rage,
Through dusk tradition and ballad age.
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And its time of fable the tale comes down
Of a terror which haunted bush and brake,
The Amphisbaena, the Double Snake!

Thou who makest the tale thy mirth,
Consider that strip of Christian earth
On the desolate shore of a sailless sea,
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Old Snake-Doctor

I.

Once I found an ant-lion's hole
And an ant-lion in it: nippers
Like a pair of rusty clippers.
And I saw a red ant roll
In its pit, and, quick as Ned,
This old ant-lion fanged its head,
Held it till the ant was dead.

II.

And I told my father: he
Smiled and said, "He beats the dickens,
With his pinchers; even chickens
Have n't his voracity.
Think now what he would have done
Had you been an ant, my son,
Fallen in that pit like one.

III.

"Daniel in the lion's den!
Guess you'd come home good and gory.
But now here's another story:
You should see these ant-lions when
They have wings; and, blue and green,
Ponds and pools they fly between:
Prettiest things I've ever seen.

IV.

"Lo...

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What The Snake Saw (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

    A little girl and a big ugly man
        Went down the road.    The girl was crying
    And asking to go home, but when she ran
        He hit her on the head and sent her flying,
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        Her neck unless she went with him, and then
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        At that time crawling through a robber's den,
    And diamonds were sticking to my tongue,
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    He beat the little girl I up and flung
        A stone at him.    My aim was bad that day
    Because I hit the girl ... and she did sing!
    But he jumped round and cursed like anything.

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The Serpents.

Now blest be Providence divine,
    Surpassing human skill!
That often takes from things malign,
    The privilege of ill.

Good folks! who love a simple strain.
    That seems like fancy's sound;
Rejoicing, when in nature's reign,
    The marvellous is found,

As strange a tale, as history knows,
    Accept in artless rhyme:
An honest Greek relates in prose,
    This wonder of old time.

The antients gloried to describe,
    And held such wonders dear;
For of the Psylli's signal tribe,
    'Twas their delight to hear.

The Psylli were an Afric clan,
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    They could with ease divest.

This gift they boasted with delight,
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Snake

A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.

In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second-comer, waiting.

He lifted his he...

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