Poems of James McIntyre Part 17

That great Elizabethan age Does not leave on history's page, A name so bright he stands like Saul, A head and shoulders over all.

Delineator of mankind, Who shows the workings of the mind, And in review in nature's gla.s.s, Portrays the thoughts of every cla.s.s.

That man is dull who will not laugh At the drolleries of Falstaff, And few that could not shed a tear At sorrows of poor old King Lear.

Or lament o'er King Duncan's death Stabbed by the dagger of McBeth, Or gentle Desdemona pure, Slain by the misled jealous Moor.

Or great Caesar mighty Roman Who o'ercame his country's foemen, His high deeds are all in vain, For by his countrymen he's slain.

The greatest of heroic tales Is that of Harry, Prince of Wales, Who in combat fought so fiercely With the brave and gallant Percy.

Imagination's grandest theme The tempest or midsummer's dream, And Hamlet's philosophic blaze Of shattered reason's flickering rays.

And now in every land on earth They commemorate Shakespeare's birth, And there is met on Avon's banks Men of all nations and all ranks.

And here upon Canadian Thames The gentle maids and comely dames Do meet and each does bring her scroll Of laurel leaves from Ingersoll.

MILTON.

Like mightiest organ in full tone, Melodious, grand, is great Milton, He did in lofty measures tell How Satan, great archangel, fell, When from heaven downward hurled; And how he ruined this our world, So full of guile he did deceive Our simple hearted parent Eve.

He shows how pardon is obtained And paradise may be regained.

COLERIDGE, SOUTHEY AND WORDSWORTH.

England had triplets at a birth, Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth, And these three are widely famed, And the "Lake Poets" they were named.

With joy they did pursue their themes, 'Mong England's lakes and hills and streams, From there with gladness they could view The distant Scottish mountains blue.

Sh.e.l.lY.

We have scarcely time to tell thee Of the strange and gifted Sh.e.l.ly, Kind hearted man but ill-fated, So youthful, drowned and cremated.

BYRON.

Poets they do pursue each theme, Under a gentle head of steam, Save one who needed fierce fire on, The brilliant, pasionate Byron.

His child Harold's pilgrimage, Forever will the world engage; He fought with glory to release From Turkish yoke the isles of Greece, Its glories oft by him were sung, This wondrous bard, alas, died young.

TENNYSON.

Of our Laureate we now do sing, His youthful muse had daring wing, He then despised Baronhood, And sang 'twas n.o.ble to be good.

None sang like him of knights of old, He England's glory did uphold; In wondrous song he hath arrayed Glorious charge of light brigade, And he hath the people's benison, Greatest of living poets Tennyson.

DRYDEN AND POPE.

Genius of Dryden and of Pope, Both did take a mighty scope, The first he virgil did translate, The second showed us Troys fate.

On English themes they oft did sing And high their muses flight did wing.

POETS AND PHILOSOPHERS.

Bacon, Hogg, Lamb and Shakespeare.

Bacon, philosopher profound, With mighty thoughts his works abound, Reflections did his mind engage Were in advance of his own age.

And Hogg the Ettrick shepherd bard, High honors all do him award, Great fame and glory he did reap While tending to his flock of sheep.

And Lamb, the gentle and the good, His works all show a happy mood; About these names there is no waste, Pleasing to fancy and to taste.

Some critics think they do make clear The fact that Bacon wrote Shakespeare, But a gent lives in New York Asks what effect will it have on pork.

Of course it would quick awaken A higher estimate of Bacon, But it is folly for to rear His fame on ruins of Shakespeare.

Though Will was not college bred, With Greek they did not cram his head, But he well knew by translations The history of the ancient nations.

And mingled daily in the strife With people in all walks of life, His plays they are to nature true Because he wrote of what he knew.

"Alas that I have wandered here and there"

He does cry out in his despair, While he did lead a wandering life And left alone his loving wife.

IRISH POETS.

Moore found the ballads of Green Isle Were oft obscured beneath the soil, As miner digging in a mine Finds rubbish 'mong the gold so fine, So Moore placed dross in the waste basket And enshrined jewels in casket, Where all may view each charming gem In Ireland's grand old diadem.

In eastern lands his fame prevails In wondrous oriental tales, So full of gems his Lala Rookh, Hindoos and Brahmins read his book, And dark eyed Persian girls admire The beauty of his magic lyre, Glowing like pearls of great price Those distant gleams of paradise.

He sang of Bryan Borohm's glory, Renowned in ancient Irish story, And shows the wide expanded walls Which once encircled Tara's Halls, When joyous harp did there resound And Ireland's greatest king was crowned, All wars and tumults then did cease, Ireland did prosper great in peace.

He sung of meeting of the waters And of Ireland's charming daughters, Great minstrel from his harp both flows, Ireland's triumphs and her woes, Canada doth his fame prolong While she doth sing his great boat song, And his own countrymen adore The genial, witty, bright Tom Moore.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Goldsmith wrote of deserted village, Now again reduced to tillage, Once happiest village of the plain, The place you look for it in vain, There but one man he doth make rich, While hundreds struggle in the ditch, His honest vicar of Wakefield, Forever he will pleasure yield.