Things Should Be Judged By Merit.

        A picture hung in a public hall,
        And it was much admired by all,
        Painted by a true artist's hand,
        The subject it was truly grand.

        Its fame o'er the whole world resounds,
        Valued at ten thousand pounds,
        Beauteous lady none 'ere passed her,
        She was the work of an old master.

        At last a critic keen did gaze
        And saw 'twas work of modern days,
        Then quick it was pronounced a daub,
        And artist but a money grab.

        The true, the noble and the grand,
        Will lend to struggling helping hand,
        Then let no man of dues be shorn,
        If he a subject doth adorn.

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

Elf Shot.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

St. Andrew.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Canada Before The Confederation Of The Provinces.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Life In The Woods.

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.

The Unsatisfactory Painter.

        Lest captious men suspect your story,
        Speak modestly its history.
        The traveller, who overleaps the bounds
        Of probability, confounds;
        But though men hear your deeds with phlegm,
        You may with flattery cram them.
        Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
        Will yet come short of self-conceit.

        A painter drew his portraits truly,
        And marked complexion and mien duly; -
        Really a fellow knew the picture,
        There was nor flattery nor delicture.
        The eyes, and mouth, and faulty nose,
        Were all showed up in grim repose;
        He marked the dates of youth and age -
        But so he lost his clientage:
        The which determined to recover,
        He turned i...

John Gay

The Two Painters.

In Art some hold Themselves content
If they but compass what they meant;
Others prefer, their Purpose gained,
Still to find Something unattained--
Something whereto they vaguely grope
With no more Aid than that of Hope.
Which are the Wiser? Who shall say!
The prudent Follower of GAY
Declines to speak for either View,
But sets his Fable 'twixt the two.

Once--'twas in good Queen ANNA'S Time--
While yet in this benighted Clime
The GENIUS of the ARTS (now known
On mouldy Pediments alone)
Protected all the Men of Mark,
Two Painters met Her in the Park.
Whether She wore the Robe of Air
Portrayed by VERRIO and LAGUERRE;
Or, like BELINDA, trod this Earth,
Equipped with Hoop of monstrous Girth,
And armed at every Point for Slaughter
With ...

Henry Austin Dobson

The Reward Of Merit.

Dr. Belville was regarded as the Crichton of his age:
His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage;
His poems held a noble rank, although it's very true
That, being very proper, they were read by very few.
He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the "line,"
And even Mr. Ruskin came and worshipped at his shrine;
But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high
The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy
And everybody said
"How can he be repaid
This very great this very good this very gifted man?"
But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!

He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all alone,
A plan for making everybody's fortune but his own;
For, in business, an Inventor's little better than a fool,
And my highly gifted frie...

William Schwenck Gilbert

To His Serene Highness The Duke Of Montpensier On His Portrait Of The Lady Adelaide Forbes.

Donington Park, 1802


To catch the thought, by painting's spell,
    Howe'er remote, howe'er refined,
And o'er the kindling canvas tell
    The silent story of the mind;

O'er nature's form to glance the eye,
    And fix, by mimic light and shade,
Her morning tinges ere they fly,
    Her evening blushes, ere they fade;

Yes, these are Painting's proudest powers,
    The gift, by which her art divine
Above all others proudly towers,--
    And these, oh Prince! are richly thine.

And yet, when Friendship sees thee trace,
    In almost living truth exprest,
This bright memorial of a face
    On which her eye delights to rest;

While o'er the lovely look serene,
    The smile of peace, the bloom of youth,
The ch...

Thomas Moore

To Sir Godfrey Kneller, Principal Painter To His Majesty.[1]

    Once I beheld the fairest of her kind,
    And still the sweet idea charms my mind:
    True, she was dumb; for Nature gazed so long,
    Pleased with her work, that she forgot her tongue;
    But, smiling, said, She still shall gain the prize;
    I only have transferr'd it to her eyes.
    Such are thy pictures, Kneller: such thy skill,
    That Nature seems obedient to thy will;
    Comes out and meets thy pencil in the draught;
    Lives there, and wants but words to speak her thought.
    At least thy pictures look a voice; and we
    Imagine sounds, deceived to that degree,
    We think 'tis somewhat more than just to see.

        Shadows are but privations of the light;
    Yet, when we walk, they shoot before the sight;
    With us approach, retir...

John Dryden

The Dilettant.

The most oppressive Form of Cant
Is that of your Art-Dilettant:--
Or rather "was." The Race, I own,
To-day is, happily, unknown.

A Painter, now by Fame forgot,
Had painted--'tis no matter what;
Enough that he resolved to try
The Verdict of a critic Eye.
The Friend he sought made no Pretence
To more than candid Common-sense,
Nor held himself from Fault exempt.
He praised, it seems, the whole Attempt.
Then, pausing long, showed here and there
That Parts required a nicer Care,--
A closer Thought. The Artist heard,
Expostulated, chafed, demurred.

Just then popped in a passing Beau,
Half Pertness, half Pulvilio;--
One of those Mushroom Growths that spring
From Grand Tours and from Tailoring;--
And dealing much in terms of Art
Pi...

Henry Austin Dobson