Wild Goose Shot At Midnight, Nov., 1888.

        From the regions of the north
            Where the waters now are frozen,
        Towards the south they issue forth
            A flock of wild geese of four dozen.

        But when they flew o'er the river Thames
            They swooped down to take a dive,
        But sport with shot gun at them aims
            And one at least did not survive.

        And he now says it tasted fine,
            And that it was both fat and big,
        A hungry man did on it dine,
            Satisfied with just one leg.

        He was sorry fowl to kill,
            But they awoke him from his slumber,
        The air with cackle they did fill,
            And thus they lost one of their number.

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

Indian Mutiny.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Canada Our Home, 1883.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Bear Hunt.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

When To Sell Grain And Farm Produce.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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The Goose

I knew an old wife lean and poor,
Her rags scarce held together;
There strode a stranger to the door,
And it was windy weather.

He held a goose upon his arm,
He utterd rhyme and reason:
Here, take the goose, and keep you warm
It is a stormy season.

She caught the white goose by the leg,
A goosetwas no great matter.
The goose let fall a golden egg
With cackle and with clatter.

She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf,
And ran to tell her neighbors,
And blessd herself, and cursed herself,
And rested from her labors;

And feeding high, and living soft,
Grew plump and able-bodied,
Until the grave churchwarden doffd,
The parson smirkd and nodded.

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Golden Egg.

        In ancient times we have been told
        A goose did lay an egg of gold,
        She did produce one every day,
        So regular this goose did lay.

        But her stupid foolish master
        Wanted her to lay them faster,
        And he at last the goose did kill,
        Gold grist no more came to his mill.

        But a strange tale we now unfold,
        In California's mines of gold,
        There they keep both hens and chickens,
        'Mong the gravel scratching pickings.

        But hens do find the golden shiner,
        Is too heavy for their dinner,
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        As it lies solid in their breast.

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James McIntyre

The Unusual Goose And The Imbecilic Woodcutter

A woodcutter bought him a gander,
Or at least that was what he supposed,
As a matter of fact, 'twas a slander
As a later occurrence disclosed;
For they locked the bird up in the garret
To fatten, the while it grew old,
And it laid there a twenty-two carat
Fine egg of the purest of gold!

There was much unaffected rejoicing
In the home of the woodcutter then,
And his wife, her exuberance voicing,
Proclaimed him most lucky of men.
"'Tis an omen of fortune, this gold egg,"
She said, "and of practical use,
For this fowl doesn't lay any old egg,
She's a highly superior goose."

Twas this creature's habitual custom,
This laying of superfine eggs,
And they made it their practice to dust 'em
And pack them by dozens in kegs:
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The Goose

Here is a tale for spinsters at their sewing:
There was a goose, a little gosling surely,
Who went her goose-girl way and looked demurely
As every goose should when 'tis wise and knowing.
Proper was she as every gosling should be,
And innocent as Margarete or Gretchen,
And did her duty in the house and kitchen,
And like a goose was happy as she could be.
Smug was she with a sleek and dove-like dimple,
Great gooseberry eyes and cheeks out of the dairy:
A goose, aye, just a goose, a little dumb thing.
One day the goose was gone. The tale is simple.
She had eloped. 'Twas nothing ordinary.
A married man with children. That was something.

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The Flight

When the grey geese heard the Fool's tread
Too near to where they lay,
They lifted neither voice nor head,
But took themselves away.
No water broke, no pinion whirred,
There went no warning call.
The steely, sheltering rushes stirred
A little, that was all.
Only the osiers understood,
And the drowned meadows spied
What else than wreckage of a flood
Stole outward on that tide.
But the far beaches saw their ranks
Gather and greet and grow
By myriads on the naked banks
Watching their sign to go;
Till, with a roar of wings that churned
The shivering shoals to foam,
Flight after flight took air and turned
To find a safer home;
And, far below their steadfast wedge,
They heard (and hastened on)
Men thresh and clamour through the sedge

Rudyard

Nursery Rhyme. LXIII. Tales.

    Old Mother Goose, when
    She wanted to wander,
    Would ride through the air
    On a very fine gander.

    Mother Goose had a house,
    'Twas built in a wood,
    Where an owl at the door
    For sentinel stood.

    This is her son Jack,
    A plain-looking lad,
    He is not very good,
    Nor yet very bad.

    She sent him to market,
    A live goose he bought,
    Here, mother, says he,
    It will not go for nought.

    Jack's goose and her gander,
    Grew very fond;
    They'd both eat together,
    Or swim in one pond.

    Jack found one morning,
    As I have been told,
    His goose had laid him
    An egg of pure gold.

    Jack rode to his mother,
    The news f...

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