POEMS
OF
JAMES McINTYRE.

"Fair Canada is our Theme,
Land of rich cheese, milk and cream."

INGERSOLL:
PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE OF THE CHRONICLE.
1889.

Registered, according to Act of Parliament,
in the year 1884, by
JAMES McINTYRE,
In the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.

TO THE PUBLIC.

e received so many kind assurances from friends in this neighborhood and from gentlemen at a distance who had taken an interest in our first little work, that they induce us to issue this more comprehensive volume containing about one hundred new pieces. We have written a number of dairy odes recently; these and our patriotic songs composed during the past year we trust will make the work more interesting. We publish a few short pieces from many letters and poems we received from friends. We hope the public will peruse the poems in a friendly spirit, as a kind feeling towards all of the nationalities forming this young and vigorous Dominion has prompted us to publish these selections from our poetic works.

JAMES McINTYRE,

Ingersoll, Ont.

SHORT EXTRACTS FROM POEMS AND LETTERS RECEIVED BY THE AUTHOR.

The following lines were received from Mr. William Murray of Hamilton:

"In writing you do not pretend
With Tennysonian themes to blend,
It is an independent style
Begotten on Canadian soil."

From one of Toronto's well known citizens, S. H. Janes, Esq., formerly of Oxford:

I wish to express to you my great pleasure in looking over your musings on the Banks of Canadian Thames. It seemed to transport my memory across the chasm of twenty-five years and to call up the scenes, associations and joys of boyhood's happy hour. Literary work of this kind must add greatly to your pleasure and happiness as it certainly does to that of your friends.

The Editor of the Toronto Globe, after reviewing a number of other books pronounced our little volume to be the gem of the table.

Col. Denison, Toronto's police magistrate, "found many most interesting pieces on Canadian subjects in the volume."

Joaquin Miller, the American poet, hailed me as "my dear poet of the Canadian pasture fields," and he said I did wisely in singing of useful themes.

N. C. Thompson of Rockford, Ill., wrote us a large number of verses. We select the following:

"Your poem on the Bard of Ayr,
I like the best, I think it rare,
An equal love of Burns I share,
And read him oft,
O could I write like him 'twould bear
My soul aloft."

Dr. Scadding, the Antiquarian, thought my poem on Father Rannie, the cheese pioneer, "had the ring of a fine old ballad about it."

From a poem by the Rev. John Dunbar, of Toronto, we give this extract:

As other duties made demand
I only got your poems scanned,
Marking the treatment of your pieces
While wonder and surprise increases,
Assured your book its way will win,
So neat without, so nice within,
Reserving as a promised pleasure
The thorough reading at my leisure,
Permit me now to each unknown
To thank you for the kindness shown.

The Hon. Oliver Mowat was pleased with the patriotic spirit displayed in the poems.

From George McIntyre of Conestoga:

Surprised, delighted, beyond measure,
I gazed upon the pretty treasure,
And as it gives me such great pleasure,
My thanks I send
To him who in his hours of leisure
Those verses penned.

A. G. Murray, a prominent clansman of Chicago, sent us the following:—I received your volume and I think a great deal of it. It is one of our family treasures and the reading of it brings before us the genial form of friend McIntyre, who pictures things so vividly, reminding us of days gone by.

From Rev. Robert Cameron of Denver, Colorado:

My whilom friend dear McIntyre,
Your book of rhymes has come,
Take thanks from all around our fire,
For all have said well done;
How many long and toilsome years
Have passed since first we met,
I was a lad twixt hopes and fears,
And you'r a poet yet.

CANADA BEFORE THE CONFEDERATION OF THE PROVINCES.

Canadian provinces they lay
Divided by river and by bay,
Many a separate division,
Among them there was no cohesion.

But statesmen saw that a great nation
Could be formed by federation,
And soon they led public opinion
To favor forming this Dominion.

North-West with its streams and fountains,
With sources in the Rocky Mountains,
It was all a great mystery,
Hunting for furs its history.

Though North-West is filling slow
Yet soon there will be mighty flow,
Millions to North-West will hurry
In last decade of century.

For therein is an opening grand
In great fertile prairie land,
For there the choicest wheat it grows
Near where the Saskatchewan flows.

And on many a river's branch
There is found great grazing ranch,
Favoured districts therein abound
Where cattle graze all the year round.

Protected from the stormy blast
By the Rocky Mountains vast,
Through canon blows no storm terrific,
But balmy breezes from Pacific.

CANADA'S FUTURE.

Canada is a young giant,
Has not yet acquired its strength,
On the arts of peace reliant,
Throughout its vast breadth and length.

Though 'tis not famed for orange bowers
Nor for the products of its vines,
Though other lands have fairer flowers,
Yet it to nobler gifts inclines.

It doth produce the golden grain
And few lands can with it compete,
They often try but all in vain
To produce such splendid wheat.

Our geologists divine,
That ere long we will behold
Many a rich glittering mine
Of copper, silver and of gold.

But we sing more glorious theme,
It is our verdant pasture land,
Where cows produce a flood of cream,
Doth make cheese of the finest brand.

And great thoughts oftentimes awakes
When we reflect on this wondrous land,
With vast rivers and mighty lakes,
All nature here's on scale so grand.

Young Dominion so gigantic,
Where rail cars run at speed terrific,
Thousands of miles from the Atlantic,
Till in the West you reach Pacific.

From balmy breezes of lake Erie
To the far north frozen ocean,
Where it now seems lone and dreary,
All will yet be life and motion.

Though nation's young its powerful fleet
Doth sail on many a distant sea,
For world's commerce to compete
Her sails in all climes flowing free.

BIRTH OF CANADA AS A NATION, JULY FIRST, 1867.

Hail Britannia's noblest daughter,
Who is surrounded by the water
Of many a lake and broad sea,
Land of beaver and of maple tree.

Her lofty brow is wreathed with smiles,
For from the far Atlantic isles
In pomp have come their delegates,
All seeking to unite their fates.

With Canada great northern queen,
And now throughout the land is seen,
High festival and stately dance,
Triumphant nuptials to advance.

And soon shall Red River valley
And distant Vancouver rally,
To form this Empire gigantic
From Pacific to Atlantic.

WELCOME TO THE PRINCE OF WALES.

Lines written when the Prince of Wales was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860.

In his long voyage o'er the sea,
To where doth grow the maple tree,
May he be blest with pleasant gales,
The coming man, the Prince of Wales.

The maple grows but in good soil,
Where nature doth reward for toil
The farmer splitting his fence rails,
He welcome bids the Prince of Wales.

In the woods the axe is ringing
And the yeoman merry singing,
The song resounds o'er hills and dales,
Our future king the Prince of Wales.

Round the brow of our future chief
We'll weave a wreath of maple leaf,
For o'er broad Canada prevails
Kind feelings to the Prince of Wales.

When in this land the Prince arrives,
May he have many pleasant drives,
And on our lakes have merry sails,
Great king of princes, Prince of Wales.

CANADA'S RESOURCES.

Small Scotland nobly held its own
Against the might of England's throne,
And shall this land with its vast bounds
Shrink with fear ere the trumpet sounds.

While British blood doth course each vein,
Proudly this heritage maintain,
With fertile acres by the billions,
Future homes for two hundred millions.

Each son could have a fertile farm,
Brave men who ne'er will feel alarm,
And they have both the nerve and skill
To work land with a right good will.

And she has got within her shores
Renowned mines of many ores,
While her furnaces and forges
Iron in useful shape disgorges.

Her mighty forests they do yield
Lumber, her cities for to build,
But her wealth is not in these alone,
She has great quarries too of stone.

Industry it here doth bloom,
And skilful webs come from each loom,
One of great nations under sun,
A mightier race it yet will run.

For with the Anglo-Saxon race
No other people can keep pace,
Here they have room for to expand
Into a nation mighty grand.

With great railroads and canals,
And care in legislative halls,
A mighty future she will gain,
And highest rank she will obtain.

Canada hopes it will be told,
That she hath patriots brave and bold,
To guide her helm shall be extolled,
As loving country more than gold.

NORTH-WEST REBELLION, 1885.

Hail Canada our young fair land,
The world's respect it doth command;
How quick her sons at war's alarms
Sprang to her rescue with their arms.

In Canada the English rose,
The shamrock and the thistle grows,
United garland they combine
Around the maple tree to twine.

They did march a brave gallant host
From the far East Atlantic coast,
Our Canada so proud and free,
Four thousand miles from sea to sea.

Though skilful rebels did entrench,
But their deadly fires our boys did quench,
And victory it soon was won
By our General Middleton.

And Colonel Williams left a name
For Canada's temple of fame,
A kind and a brave hearted man
In hour of danger led the van.

The ninetieth regiment it fought well,
And Winnipeg doth its glories tell,
London boasts of her volunteers,
For she prides in her Fusiliers.

Toronto troops have gained renown,
And triumph their quick march did crown,
For the relief of Battleford,
And scattering of the Indian horde.

Our volunteers took up their arms,
Each left his home and all its charms;
Though many they were tender reared,
No frost nor snow nor foe they feared.

Alas that youth so true and brave,
So many now do fill a grave,
And others they are maimed for life,
While engaged in glorious strife.

We have sprung from a good brave stock,
Rose, thistle and the shamrock,
Who all in unity agree,
'Neath the shade of the maple tree.

The Indians soon came to grief,
Under their great Poundmaker chief,
And Toronto troops gained fame
And Otter glory to his name.

We all felt proud of our gunboat
And the brave crew of the Northcote,
And of our scouts who captured Riel,
Who in vain for mercy did appeal.

And may all quickly come to grief
Who do not love the maple leaf,
For they spring from a noble tree,
Shades this land of the brave and free.

BIG BEAR THE INDIAN CHIEF.

The following impromptu was given at a banquet to one of the captives of Fort Pit after he had related his experience.

Sad memories it doth awake,
The death of those fell at Frog Lake,
And trials of captives of Fort Pit
When savages did capture it.

But soon Generals Strange and Steel
Made savage hordes their power to feel,
And they rescued women fair
From the paws of the Big Bear.

Captives for days had naught to eat
But steaks of tough and lean dog meat,
In daily danger of their lives
From bullets and from scalping knives.

When building big lodge for war dance,
The cry is heard, the troops advance,
To the white captives sounds so sweet,
But savages they quick retreat.

A thrilling tale our guest[A] did tell,
That close to him fell bursting shell,
This shot it was not fired in vain,
For several savages were slain.

Our bold troops great danger braved,
So that white captives might be saved,
Who suffered hunger, cold and damp,
'Mong savage hordes in bush and swamp.

Big Bear now they have pared his claws,
He must atone for broken laws,
Far away from his native lair,
In prison strong they put Big Bear.

[A] Mr. Stanley Simpson.

REMINISCENCES

On the laying of the corner stone of the Brock monument at Queenston Heights, and the final interment of the General who had fallen at the battle of Queenston, Oct. 13th, 1812. The remains of his Aide, Col. McDonald, were also deposited under the new tower.

A wail went o'er broad Canada,
When it was known a vile outlaw
Had at midnight's awful hour,
With ruffian hand blown up the tower.

'Neath which had slept the gallant Brock
Who bravely fell on Queenston's rock,
But graceful column soon shall rise,
Its beauteous shaft will kiss the skies.

For from Queenston's woody height
You may behold a pleasing sight,
The grim old veterans of the war,
Militiamen with many a scar.

Indian braves from each nation,
Grouped to pay their last ovation,
Round the remains of General Brock,
Who led them oft in battle's shock.

Old heroes now again do rally,
Feebly they move along the valley,
Not as they rushed in days of yore
When torrent like they onward bore.

And swept away the foeman's ranks
O'er Niagara's rugged banks,
So indignant was their grief
On losing of their warrior chief.

Now with triumphant funeral car,
Adorned with implements of war,
The sad procession slow ascends,
As round the hill its way it wends.

Marching to mournful, solemn note,
While grand old flags around it float,
And now may peace be never broken
'Mong lands where Saxon tongue is spoken.

"For peace hath victories by far
More glorious than horrid war,"
England doth Longfellow revere,
And America loves Shakespeare.

The oration on the above interesting occasion was delivered by the late Hon. William H. Merritt, projector of the Welland Canal. He served at the battle when a young man. We witnessed the interesting ceremony and shall never forget it.

PATRIOTIC ODE

Written at the time of the last excitement on the Niagara Frontier.

Rejoice, rejoice, we all do stand,
United in one mighty band;
No traitors in our land we find,
All one in heart, all one in mind;
Resolute in their opinion,
None shall conquer our Dominion;
For every man with dauntless mien
Will rally round our flag and Queen.

PROVINCE OF ONTARIO.

In the land of woods and lakes,
Pure happiness each one partakes,
Who is sound in body and in mind,
And to industry is inclined.

Here in great lakes we do take pride,
And them with Uncle Sam divide,
Other lakes seem inferior
In size to great Superior.

And Canadians do take pride,
In Huron's wide expanded tide,
But it onward flows forever,
Through St. Clair lake and river.

But soon again it doth expand,
Into Erie's lake so grand,
Then behold its wondrous charms,
When embraced in Niagara's arms.

Then it more blessings doth bestow,
On pure bosom of Ontario,
Round it our towns and cities cluster,
O'er it Toronto sheds her lustre.

And Ontario doth awake,
The thought that 'tis our favorite lake;
Several states approach Lake Erie,
Each one claiming it for dearie.

But our fires of love do glow,
Alone for Lake Ontario,
Our love for it is so unbounded,
We have almost it surrounded.

And the lands around its beaches,
They are famed for grapes and peaches,
'Mong choicest fruits you ramble on
From Niagara to Hamilton.

Ontario North is land of pines,
A land of lakes and rocks and mines,
And beneath dark pine tree shade,
How happy is the youth and maid.

For here in summer you keep cool,
And fish for trout in sparkling pool,
For pike or salmon you can spear,
And in the season hunt the deer.

In great northern hunting ground,
Where both fish and game abound,
And verdant pastures here are seen,
Where cattle graze 'mong sweetest green.

In the far north a land of pines,
And in the south we have the vines,
Where each year adds into the charms,
Surrounds the homesteads on the farms.

Nature our province doth endow,
With hardy sons to guide the plow,
In south we have the fruitful soil,
Where nature's bounties on us smile.

We have got rich plains and highlands,
Ontario hath thousand islands,
And there is a great array
Of charming isles on Georgian Bay.

And travellers all they do adore,
The lovely isles near Huron's shore,
Superior makes a grand display,
All round her shores to Thunder Bay.

Muskoka's famed for woods and brakes,
For rocks and meadows and clear lakes,
And sportsmen for it proudly claim
That 'tis a land for fish and game.

There doth arise a sweet aroma
From great spruce forests of Algoma,
And from the poplar, birch and pine,
There too is wealth in many a mine.

It may be that of mines the best,
Will be found in Ontario West,
Stretching towards the interior,
Three hundred miles west of Superior.

Essex is our sunny south,
At the Detroit river's mouth,
There the sun doth cheerful smile
On the grape vineyards of Pelee Isle.

Pioneer's axe it now doth ring,
On the shores of Nipissing,
And some do locate claims away
To distant north around James' Bay.

CANADIAN RIVERS AND LAKES.

We have here a sight as fair
As bonnie Doon or banks of Ayr,
Like modest worth meandering slow
The quiet waters gently flow,
Rose, thistle, shamrock, all combine,
Around the maple leaf to twine,
Whose outstretched arms so gigantic
Clasp Pacific and Atlantic,
Embracing lakes like burnished gold,
With joy a Shakespeare might behold,
For either Poet Burns or Moore[B]
Such scenery they would adore.

[B] Tom Moore paddled his own canoe along the Canadian shore of Lake Erie and was enraptured with the view. He landed and remained over night at a farm house. His Canadian Boat Song is immortal.

NIAGARA DRY.

It happened once in early spring,
While there did float great thick ice cakes,
That then a gale did quickly bring
Them all down from the upper lakes.

And from Buffalo to Lake Erie,
Across the entrance to river,
It was a scene of icebergs dreary,
Those who saw will remember ever.

Then gale blew up lake and river,
And left Niagara almost dry,
This a lady did discover
As above the Falls she cast her eye.

Such scene it had been witnessed never,
Since Israelites crossed the Red Sea,
When they had resolved forever
From Pharaoh's bondage to flee.

Lady she resolved to venture,
Proudly carrying British flag,
Erecting it in river's centre
In crevice of a rocky crag.

It seems like a romance by Bulwer,
How she captured Niagara,
But it was seen by Bishop Fuller,
Who did at sight of flag hurrah.

Ten thousand years may die away
Before another dry can tread,
In bottom of Niagara,
For she doth jealous guard her bed.

But ice her entrance did blockade,
And wind it kept the waters back,
So that a child could almost wade
Across the brink of cataract.

UNITED BY STEEL RAILS.

When Indian tribes in the Northwest
Rebelled against the Eastern laws,
Canadian courage it did test,
All were united in the cause.

But how shall volunteers proceed
Such distance, several thousand miles,
Will they in their dark hour of need
Ask Uncle Sam with pleasant smiles

For to allow our volunteers
To pass o'er their north railroad,
Perhaps subject to doubts and fears,
Where British soldiers never trod.

But there went up a glad hurrah
When it was found that in our land,
Almost finished was railway,
And trains do wait for word command,

To bear away our volunteers
To those far North distant lands,
But dispelled were all their fears
When they rode over those steel bands,

Which bound young nation all in one,
Before detached and all apart,
Shoulder to shoulder now each one
Feels patriot feelings in his heart,

First time we truly realize
The value of this great railway,
Its benefits each now doth prize,
Highway to Japan and Australia.

The policy it has proved wise,
Which did build this great railway,
The vast Northwest to colonize,
And bear its products far away.

Canadian flags are now unfurled
In the ports of the Chinese,
Short route to Oriental world
Gives Canada her cheap fine teas.

LORNE AND LOUISE.

Lines written on the arrival of Governor Lorne and the Princess Louise in Canada.

The tidings now all hearts do please,
That she has landed safe, Louise,
Victoria's beloved daughter,
Who boldly has crossed the water,
For royal Princess doth adorn
The title of the Lord of Lorne,
For this union it doth join
Campbell with Royal Stewart line;
Lorne will be Duke of broad Argyle,
And the Lord of many an Isle.
When he inherits broad domain
May he strive tenants hearts to gain.
To us it seems a brighter morn
Hath dawned on us with Governor Lorne,
And when they visited this place
True happiness beamed on each face,
The first white child who here was born
Presented was to Governor Lorne,
From Forest 'ere it was reclaimed,
Our fine town after him was named.

CANADIAN SPORTS AND GAMES AND PLAYS.

Burns sang of joys of Hallowe'en
But in Canada is often seen
By far more jolly times than these
At logging raising, paring bees,
For here the youth is not afraid
To trip it with a pretty maid,
For this at night is his reward
For working at the bee so hard,
And oft times till the break of day
At forfeits they will merry play,
For he doth win e'en though he miss,
If from sweet lass he gets a kiss,
But in its place doth justly prize
His tea and cakes and pumpkin pies.

When winter comes it brings no gloom
But makes fresh pleasures spring and bloom,
For when the youth longs for a bride
He gives his girl a grand sleigh ride,
Which to them both doth pleasures bring
While merry sleigh bells cheery ring,
And with the fair maid of his choice
He graceful skates with her on ice,
Charming mode of locomotion
Gliding o'er a polished ocean,
Such joys they soon do love evolve,
And they on union do resolve,
He is happy with his chosen,
For warm love gets never frozen.

And young folks oft they do take pride,
How swift they down the hill can glide,
And they bravely dare the frost king
So they may enjoy the coasting,
Each striving for to lead the van
In the swift shooting toboggan.

And on the ice men love to hurl
The polished blocks to skilful curl,
And curlers all do proudly claim
Their's is a manly healthy game,
And in Canadians you trace
A generous, hardy and brave race.

And brilliant as a fairy hall
Is scenes on ice at carnival,
Before the gale in an ice boat
It swiftly o'er the ice doth float,
The sensation is you fly
Like lightning shooting through the sky.

In summer time the youth do toss
The baseball and do play lacrosse,
And tradition doth for it claim
That 'tis an ancient Indian game,
And if a foe invade we can,
Drive them back with clubs Canadian.

NIAGARA'S CHARMS AND DEATH OF WEBB.

Gazing on rapids mighty sea,
Struggling fiercely to be free,
But drawn downwards in its course
By gravitation's wondrous force,
O'er those perpendicular walls,
Hurled 'mong mighty rocks it falls,
Causing the earth to throb and shake
Like to the tremor of earthquake.

Thus the world's greatest wonder
Reverberates like peals of thunder,
Enshrined with mist and beauteous glow
Of varied tints of the rainbow,
Most glorious sight the human eye
Hath ever seen beneath the sky,
Along these banks none ever trod
But did feel grateful to his God,
For lavishing with bounteous hand
Glories majestic and so grand.

The foaming billows soon are seen
Transformed into a beauteous green,
Plunged by whirlpools dread commotion
It becomes a seething ocean,
Where furies join in surging dance
From centre to circumference,
This is the favorite abode
Of Neptune, mightiest sea God,
He hath decreed none shall survive
Who will into this vortex dive.

Webb swam the English channel brave,
Like seabird he did love to lave
His breast upon the mightiest wave,
Alas, found here a watery grave;
Torrent onward rushes frantic
On its course to the Atlantic,
But on its way doth gently flow
Through blue lake Ontario,
Rejoicing on its way it smiles,
Kissing the shores of Thousand Isles,
Mingling with St. Lawrance motion,
It soon is blended with the ocean.

DEPARTED STATESMEN.

With a glance at Sir John A. Macdonald and Blake, the two living leaders, 1884.

Joseph Howe, none higher stood than thou,
Thou wert a man with lofty brow;
D'Arcy McGee, so brilliant and free,
From green isle you came o'er the sea.

George Cartier to the French ever dear,
So high you stood without a peer;
John Sandfield for long you did build
Power under economy's shield.

George Brown, thou man of renown,
Confederation you did crown;
You now are all free from the strife
The wrangle and jangle of political life.

But if a glance at this world you take
You will there see John A. and Blake,
But Sir John the greatest power doth wield,
Our Canadian Beaconsfield.

THE OLD SNAKE FENCE.

In early times the pioneer
When a few acres he did clear,
He found 'an ample recompense
For splitting rails and making fence.

Though it was crooked as a snake,
And zigzag style did not awake,
He thought it was a thing of beauty,
Yet in its day it did its duty.

And though the old snake fence must fall,
'Twas easy made, axe, wedge and maul,
Were all the tools the pioneer
Required the old rail fence to rear.

And the old pioneer could boast
Of fence that did not need a post,
To build it now is waste of timber,
And fertile lands it doth cumber.

And pine stump fence with its sharp roots
Will long endure and ward off brutes,
For the crops they ample shield
And do protect each separate field.

But old style fence doth waste much land,
Where weeds do grow and bush expand,
And thistle down doth blow from thence,
So folks build wire and the board fence.

CANADIAN VOYAGEURS ON THE NILE.

The British soldiers on the Nile
With gratitude did kindly smile,
On the Canadian voyageurs
Who skilfully did ply their oars.

And they invoked their benison
On boatsmen led by Denison,
Neither the rapids nor the falls
Along the Nile these braves appals.

For in such toils they did partake,
On each native stream and lake,
Thoughts of their homes in visions throng,
While singing Canadian boat song.

And they all hoped again to see
The glorious land of maple tree,
From their memories they never
Forgot the land of lake and river.

While up the Nile they do advance
They dream about their own St. Lawrence,
And Manitoba's streams and lakes,
Pleasant reflections oft awakes.

And thus each day they cheerful toil,
Ascending of old Father Nile,
Whose waters fertilize the soil,
And is the home of crocodile.

Wolseley he had exhibition
In Red River expedition,
How these voyageurs could steer,
Or with the axe a roadway clear.

Those who speak the tongue of France,
From the banks of the St. Lawrence,
At call to arms quick advance,
With rifle, bayonet and lance.

LAND CLEARING.

The first winter which I did spend
In Canada was with a friend,
And when the snow had passed away
Quite early in the month of May.

Friend started off for a barn raising,
And told me to get stumps ablazing,
Around each stump I heaped a pile
Of roots and junks of wood so vile.

For he wished the field to clear
So it a crop of wheat would rear,
And there was one high withered pine
Which was full of turpentine.

As soon as I applied the torch,
Blaze quick did start and it did scorch
The fences, and the woods were nigh,
For the old tree it blazed on high.

I was the only man or boy
Near there that day and found employ
In saving of the house and barn,
Thus early fire fiend did me warn.

Fire started and with it a breeze
Carried the sparks 'mong leaves of trees,
I did work hard but for recompense
All was saved but a few rails of fence.

Man in spring logging oft awakes
From winter slumbers nests of snakes,
And listens to the music grand
Of bull frogs, our Canadian band.

LINES READ AT A MAPLE SUGAR SOCIAL, APRIL, 1888.

Our first Canadian job when boy,
In the big woods we did enjoy,
Large maple bush we then did tap
And to camp carried maple sap.

We stored it in great wooden trough,
Then in big kettles sugared off,
Though often it did try our mettle
To keep up fire beneath each kettle.

For it was a serious toil
To cut the wood to kettles boil,
To-night it is a pleasant joke,
No trouble from the fire and smoke.

Of old we thought our neck was broke
By having on it a neckyoke,
And on each side a heavy pail
Suspended from the yoke by bail.

We waded through the snow and slush
And stumbled o'er the logs in bush,
But no doubt the maple's sweeter
Than any other thing in meter.

Unless it is the lips of lass,
Which maple sugar doth surpass,
And may it be each young man's fate
For to secure a charming mate.

For birds will soon begin to sing
And seek their mates in early spring,
When found each pair do feel they're blest,
When they have finished their warm nest.

Let none at sugar making scoff,
Webster was rocked in a sap trough;
When boiling sap it is quite handy
To pour some in snow to make candy.

CANADIAN ROMANCE.

An English youth to Canada came,
A labourer, John Roe by name,
His little wealth had made him bold,
Twenty sovereigns in gold;
He was industrious and wise
And e'en small sums did not despise,
He added to his wealth each year
For independence he loved dear,
He knew a laborer he would be
Forever in the old country,
His forefathers had tilled the ground
And never one had saved a pound.
On beds of down they did not lie
And frugally their goods did buy,
Their one luxury around their door
A few choice flowers their garden bore,
But never hoped to own the soil
But serve as hinds to sweat and toil,
To work and toil for him had charm
He hoped some day to own a farm,
So he hired with Reuben Tripp
The wealthiest man in the township.
Tripp's only child, his daughter Jane,
He sought her love and not in vain,
As Jacob served for Rachel dear
So John he served year after year,
Till rich enough to buy bush farm
For to chop down with his strong arm.
The truest nobleman of all
He lives not in ancestral hall,
But sheltereth family from harm
By logs rolled up by his strong arm,
In this young glorious land so free
Where each may rear his own roof tree,
And the chief glory of old days
Broad fire place where big logs did blaze,
As much as four strong men could handle,
They served alike for heat and candle;
He his young oxen did adorn
With fine gay ribbons on each horn,
And to his home with joy and pride
He did bring sweet blooming bride,
Such happiness is seldom seen,
Happier far than king or queen;
She helped him in the fields to reap,
And spun the wool from off the sheep,
All they required they had for both,
Of her own weaving of good cloth,
And she was a good tailoress,
Did make his coat and her own dress;
The golden butter that she made
Was of the very finest grade,
Each grace and virtue she possess'd,
Where'er she was, that spot was blessed,
And though they did not have stove then,
Neither did they own an oven;
She filled large pot with well knead dough
And baked fine bread 'mong embers glow;
He each winter the forest trees
Did quickly hew them down with ease,
For he to work had a desire
And the skill did soon acquire,
But round great giants hewed a ring
Then storms would soon them prostrate bring,
For many a time the furious breeze
Would quick o'erthrow the girdled trees,
And sometimes they would kill the cows
When they did feed on grass or browse,
But after reckoning damage all
A benefit was each windfall;
Though good fortune now he sees
Might have been got from Walnut trees;
But trees were foes in his hurry,
All were slain, both oak and cherry,
And to this day he doth incline
To mourn o'er slaughter of the pine,
And reflects how he did o'erwhelm
Many a maple, beech and elm;
And each summer day did toil
With his steers drawing logs in pile;
These giants of the forest dead,
Fire did reduce to an ash bed,
And soon potatoes, wheat and corn,
They did the rugged stumps adorn,
And Jane did help him with the hoe,
And well she did keep her row:
No organs then they had to play,
But she could work and sing all day;
In spring he did live maples tap
To draw from them the luscious sap,
He gathered it in big log trough,
Then boiled it down and sugared off,
Enough the household for to cheer,
With all its sweets for the whole year,
And no such thing those times were seen
As the swift raising stump machine,
And where main road was low and damp
With logs he built a road through swamp,
But a smooth ride could not enjoy
While it was naught but corduroy,
Each year added earth and gravel,
Now smoothly o'er they can travel,
For it doth make an excellent road
For John and Jane to go abroad,
And it is now a great highway
Where hundreds travel every day.
There were no roads in early days
But bridle path, their guide the blaze,
And mills and marts so far away,
They never could return same day;
Log school house served as church for all,
Of various creeds, and for town hall.
These scenes to youth do now seem strange
So wondrous quick hath been the change,
O'er paths where oxen only trod,
Cows quickly speed o'er the railroad,
And every way both up and down
There has sprung up a thriving town.
No more he fights with forest trees,
But both enjoy their wealth and ease,
Long since the old folks both are gone
And left the whole to Jane and John;
The log house now has passed away
With all its chinks filled in with clay,
And in its place fine house of stone
With lawn where choice shrubs are grown.
With sons and daughters they are blest,
The young men say they'll move Northwest;
This gives their mother some alarm,
She wants them still on the home farm,
But father will not have them tarry
They can plow so quick on prairie,
And they find coal makes a good fire,
And build their fences of barbed wire
They would not be forever gone
As they could talk by telephone.

We have been congratulated by many on the truthfulness of the Romance of Canada. They declare it is not a romance but a true picture of rise and progress of worthy people in Canada.

LAMENT OF THE MAPLE TREE.

A VISION.

"We had a dream which was not all a dream."—Byron.

I laid me down one day in June,
It was late long afternoon,
A very sultry summer's eve,
Such times the senses oft deceive,
The place was 'neath a maple tree,
Soon from all cares and troubles free,
By a gentle, kindly slumber,
No more our sorrows we could number,
But we heard a plaintive wail
Such as we find in fairy tale,
It was the genius of the tree
Who in sad guise appeared to me,
And then she sadly did give vent
Unto this awful grave lament:
Though I am gay in month of June,
All decked in green, yet very soon,
Alas my beauty will be faded
And my charms be all degraded,
For is my time of glory brief,
So often flattered is my leaf.
In Canada so broad and free
All poets sing of the maple tree,
High I stand in their opinion,
Emblem of the New Dominion,
The reason I do them upbraid
Some never slept beneath my shade,
And yet they take the liberty
To chant about the maple tree,
They dare to poetise my leaf,
This is the source of all my grief,
I think their praises all so rude
And as but base ingratitude,
So often hackneyed is my name
That every fall I burn with shame,
Like maiden's cheek which blushes red
When vain rash youth asks her to wed,
Then do these foolish ones descry
In me fresh beauty and they sigh,
And then renew their songs of praise.
But unto me how sad their lays,
For then I know my days are brief,
'Tis hectic flush upon my leaf;
True poets then should mournful sing
When the destroyer's on the wing,
For then I know my leaves of gold
Will all soon mingle with the mould,
No one does ever think to praise
The fell destroyer when he slays,
None rejoice in the flushed cheek
When the poor girl is low and weak,
Perhaps they'll say and it is true
In spring my glories I'll renew,
But 'tis poor comfort after all
To lose my offspring every fall,
Small consolation to mother
To tell her that soon another
Will replace her fond darling boy
Who has been source of all her joy,
But you know all about my wood
You know that it is strong and good,
And I have full many a curl
And pleasing eye and charming nurl,
Some love me as fond nature grained
And some prefer my beauty stained,
But my dear friend I hope that you
My varied shades love pure and true,
For of the woods you know the staple
Stoutest and best is good maple,
The youth my sugar eat with glee,
And old maids love me in their tea,
In me do various uses meet
In summer shade, in winter heat,
For I do make a glorious blaze
All worthy of the poet's lays,
But to their praises I'll be deaf
If more they harp about my leaf.
They call me gay when I am sober
To me 'tis gloomy month October,
But saints on earth when they die
Hope for true bliss beyond the sky,
So winter does bring no alarms
Though it strip bare my trunk and arms,
For now I know that time will bring
More glorious foliage in the spring,
Then all nature will rejoice
Triumphing with glorious voice,
And birds will in my branches sing
Hosannas to the lovely spring.

The nurls and birds' eyes and curls were highly prized in furniture thirty years ago, when we used the smooth plain.

LIFE IN THE WOODS.

(Life of the early settlers.)

Canada hath wealthy yeomen
Whose fathers overcome the foemen,
The enemy they boldly slew
Was mighty forests they did hew,
And where they burned heaps of slain
Their sons now reap the golden grain,
But in the region of Northwest
With prairie farms they are blest.
Though this to them it may seem good
Yet many blessings come from wood,
It shelters you from the fierce storm
And in the winter keeps you warm,
For one who hath his forest trees
He builds his house and barn with ease,
And how quick he gets from thence
Timber for bridge and for his fence.

THE JOYS OF PRAIRIE FARMERS 1884.

We let Ontario farmers sing
About the joys the woods do bring,
But we in regions of Northwest
Do think prairie farms the best,
For those poor men who swing the axe
On their strength 'tis a heavy tax,
For several years they naught can grow
While from the first we plow and sow,
And while we plow we don't get thumps
By running it against the stumps,
And where wild Buffalo now doth feed
There very soon they'll sow the seed,
Where Indian wigwams now do stand
Will be the site of cities grand,
And where the deer and wolf doth roam
Millions will build each happy home,
So quick as if by magic wand
They will arise o'er the whole land,
But this one fact we won't deny
Ontario she can supply,
For so skilfully she doth invent
Each agricultural implement.

CANADA OUR HOME, 1883.

The following response to Canada our home was given at a banquet of the Caledonian Society, Ingersoll:

In responding to the sentiment Canada our home perhaps it would be appropriate to point out the prominent and distinguishing characteristics between the land of our nativity and the land of our adoption. In this Canada of ours we have no bonny blooming heath, no banks and braes covered o'er with daisies and gowans, no fragrant hedges showering down white spray in the May time, no whin and broom prodigal in their gaiety of yellow flowers, no hills nor glens where fairies gambol in pleasant and harmless sport, no grand ruins of ancient cathedrals and castles, no feathered songsters like the mavis and blackbird.

Full oft we did enraptured hark
To heavenly song of the skylark.

But Canada is a young giant in its infancy with the noblest chain of lakes in the world on its frontier, and the most magnificent river the St. Lawrence. This land also possesses the largest fertile wilderness on the globe, but it is one which will ere many years have passed away, blossom like a garden, and where naught but grass and flowers now grow in wild luxuriance. Soon the husbandman will plow and sow and reap a rich reward in yellow golden grain. Domestic cattle quiet will graze where now the Buffalos roam and in spots now covered o'er with Indian wigwams, where white men never trod cities will occupy their sites with busy trade and millions flock from eastern lands to take possession of the great Northwest. Then Winnipeg perchance may be the capital of the Dominion. In the day foretold when this indeed shall be the "Greater Britain" with Ontario's towns for workshops for this vast prairie land.

Then poets will arise and high their lays will soar,
Worthy of the muse of a Burns or a Moore,
A Shakespeare and a Milton, the great and the wise,
Will sing of the glories of our northern skies,
Of its lakes and rivers and its mountains grand,
Of its fertile plains and great prairie land,
A fit theme for song this empire gigantic,
Whose arms stretch from Pacific to Atlantic.

LINES ON VIOLETS.

Once, while digging 'neath the snow,
'Mid Canadian winter, lo!
To our joy and surprise
We saw some violets in full bloom,
Gazing at us with loving eyes,
Thanking us for opening their tomb,
Yet still they seemed so cozy and nice
Enshrined in the crystal ice,
While all else were drooping dead
Gaily they held up their head.

CANADIAN CHARMS.

Here industry is not in vain,
For we have bounteous crops of grain,
And you behold on every field
Of grass and roots abundant yield,
But after all the greatest charm
Is the snug home upon the farm,
And stone walls now keep cattle warm.

DONALD ROSS.

By the side of a moss
Lived young Donald Ross,
Among the heathery hills
And the mountain rills,
In a snug little cot
Content with his lot
He never knew sorrow
With his wife and wee Flora.

But an order went forth
O'er the land of the north,
To burn many a home
So the wild deer might roam,
With grief he then did toss
Every night Donald Ross,
And sad seemed the morrow
For his wife and sma' Flora.

O it was a cruel deed
But nobles do not heed
The sorrows of the poor
Drove on a barren moor,
Where he wove a wreath
Of the blooming heath,
For to crown with glory
The brow of little Flory.

He then bade farewell
To his mountain dell,
Where his fathers appears
Had lived a thousand years,
With their few goats and sheep
Which feed on hills so steep,
O it was a sad story
For bonnie little Flory.

He sought a distant strand,
In Canada bought land,
To him a glorious charm
To view his own broad farm,
His horses and his cows,
Cultivators and plows,
And now his daughter Flora
She is the flower of Zorra.

PATRIOT FIGHTING FOR HIS HOME.

On the shores of the northern lakes
An infant giant now awakes,
He has long time been in a dream,
But now is roused by engine's scream.

For mighty spirits are abroad
Traversing of each great railroad,
For it is a glorious theme
The peaceful conquest made by steam.

But should the foot of invader vile
Ever desecrate his soil,
He firm will meet him bold and brave
And give him soil Canadian grave.

FIGHTING FOR CONQUEST.

'Tis noble for to fight for home,
But some nations fight to plunder,
For conquest o'er the world to roam,
To tear peaceful lands asunder.

For to give wealth and a great name
To some aspiring commander,
Who wishes to acquire great fame
As a modern Alexander.

Statesmen and kings a war will wage,
And many thousands strew the plain,
Covered with gore in the carnage,
Where brave and noble men are slain.

Leaving their families to mourn,
Now who can soothe the ills of life,
To them they never shall return,
No one can now cheer the poor wife.

Or the sweet little orphans dear
Think of father and of mother,
Of sweetheart, sister and of brother,
Who oft will shed the fruitless tear.

CANADIAN AUTHORS.

MRS. MOODY.

In giving a glance at various Canadian authors perhaps it would be well to commence with that early writer Mrs. Moody. She was a sister of the celebrated Agnes Strickland, author of "The Queens of England."

When this country it was woody,
Its great champion Mrs. Moody,
Showed she had both pluck and push
In her work roughing in the bush.

For there alone she did dwell
At time McKenzie did rebel,
Outbreak her husband strove to quell,
Her own grand struggles she doth tell.

Round bush life she threw a glory,
Pioneer renowned in story,
But her tale it is more cheering
When she wrote about the clearing.

Her other sister Mrs. Traill[C]
Though eighty-seven she doth not fail,
She now is writing of wild flowers
Grown in Canada's woody bowers.

[C] Mrs. Traill lives near Peterboro. Mrs. Moody died in Toronto. I sent her a copy of my poems in 1885, and she thanked me for the same through a friend as she was in feeble health at the time.

T. D. MCGEE.

Having been kindly invited as a member of the Mechanics' Institute some 25 years ago by the late Jeremiah O'Neill, Esq., to meet that gentleman in company with a number of our townsmen, when Mr. McGee was rising from the table the chair being new stuck to him, and it being near a general election he very wittily remarked that he hoped the people of Montreal would be as anxious to retain him in his seat as the people here are. We wrote the following lines at the time, the last verse was added afterwards.

D Arcy McGee,
All compliment thee,
The hope of the land
On your lecture so grand.

Though that is your forte,
Oh give us the sport
Of an hour of your chat,
Then we'll laugh and grow fat.

For none but the vile
Could 'ere cease to smile,
When near to thee
So brilliant and free.

Plant of green Erin's isle,
Long in Canadian soil,
May you take deep root
And bear much noble fruit.