Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems

Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems, Alexander Macgregor Rose was a 19th-century Scottish-born poet, journalist, Free Church minister and teacher who lived the last twenty years or so of his life in first New York City and then in two Canadian cities. He moved first to Toronto and then spent the last two years of his life in Montreal.

Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems

Alexander Macgregor Rose Bio

He was born on the 17th August 1846 in the small town of Tomantoul, Banffshire which is in the far north of Scotland. He received a good education and attended the University of Aberdeen, graduating from there at the age of 21. Within three years he was Master of the Free Church School in the Ross-shire town of Gairloch. His faith though was strong enough to fuel ambitions to be a minister of the church and he gave up teaching, returning to Aberdeen for a four-year course of study in Divinity.

Tragedy struck in 1898 when Rose suffered a suspected paralytic stroke. He died at the Notre Dame hospital in Montreal on the 10th May 1898, aged 51.

images 2 1 Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems
Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems

Kaiser and Co. Or Hoch der Kaiser

[Being Wilhelm der Grosser’s estimate of himself and partner, translated from the original Hoch-deutsch.]

Der Kaiser auf der Vaterland
Und Gott on high all dings gommand,
Ve two! Ach! don’d you understandt?
Meinself — und Gott.

He reigns in Heafen, und always shall,
Und mein own Embire don’d vas small;
Ein noble bair, I dink you call
Meinself — und Gott.

While some men sing der power divine,
Mein soldiers sing der “Wacht am Rhein,”
Und drink der healt in Rhenish wein,
Auf me — und Gott.

Dere’s France dot swaggers all aroundt,
She ausgespieldt — she’s no aggoundt,
To mooch ve dinks she don’t amoundt:
Meinself — und Gott.

She vill not dare to fight again,
But if she should, I’ll show her blain
Dot Elsass und (in French) Lorraine
Are Mein — und Gott’s.

Von Bismarck was a man auf might,
Und dought he vas glean oud auf sight,
But ach! he vas nicht goot to fight
Mit me — und Gott.

Ve knock him like ein man auf sdraw,
Ve let him know whose vill vas law,
Und dot ve don’d vould sdandt his jaw,
Meinself — und Got.

Ve send him oudt in big disgrace,
Ve gif him insuldt to his face,
Und put Caprivi in his place,
Meinself — und Gott.

Und ven Caprivi get svelled headt,
Ve very brombtly on him set,
Und toldt him to get vp and get —
Meinself — und Gott.

Dere’s Grandma dinks she’s nicht shmall beer,
Mit Boers und dings she interfere;
She’ll learn none runs dis hemisphere
But Me — und Gott.

She dinks, goot frau, some ships she’s got,
Und soldiers mit der sgarlet coat,
Ach! ve could knock dem — pouf! like dot,
Meinself — und Gott.

Dey say dat badly fooled I vas
At Betersburg by Nicholas,
Und dat I act shust like ein ass
Und dupe, Herr Gott.

Vell, maybe yah und maybe nein,
Und maybe Czar mit France gombine
To take dem lands about der Rhein
From me — und Gott.

But dey may try dot leedle game,
Und make der breaks; but all der same,
Dey only vill increase der fame
Auf me — und Gott.

In dimes auf beace, brebared for wars
I bear der helm and sbear auf Mars,
Und care nicht for ten dousand Czars,
Meinself — und Gott.

In short, I humour efery whim,
Mit aspect dark and visage grim,
Gott pulls mit me und I mit Him —
Meinself — und Gott.

images 13 Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems
Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems

Sir Wilfrid Laurier — Diplomatist

I live on Canada en Bas —
De fines’ lan’ you see —
An’ Oncle Sam, a fr’en of mine,
He live nex’ door to me.Now, long tam’ Sam an’ me mak’ trade,
W’enever that we meet,
An’ Sam, he drive de bargain hard,
Sometime bigarre! he sheat.I not say mooch about it, me,
I never t’ink no harm
Before I fin’ mon Oncle Sam
He wan’ my little farm.

An’ w’en I not to heem will give
De lan’ my fader hown,
Den Sam get mad an’ say to me,
“I’ll play my hand alone.

You kip away; I not will trade,
Don’ come my place about!”
Ah! den I see hees leetle game
Was w’at you call “freeze-hout.”

Mais, I can stan’ de fros’, for hice
To me is not’ing new;
Sir John mak’ freeze agains’ de Yanks —
See if dey lak’ it, too.

But w’en Sir John t’row up his han’
An’ die, ’twas change indeed;
No par’ner lef’ could follow up
De fin’ ole chieftain’s lead.

An’ de Canadian peup’ was tire,
For dey was not mooch please
For pay big price for jus’ to nurse
Les enfants industries.

Dey say, “We wan’ to buy our t’ing
On some mooch sheaper shop,
Dose enfants industries are sure
Long tam’ for growing hup.”

For eighteen year dey pull l’argent
From bottom of de purse,
We t’ink it ees long tam’ enough
For dem to be on nurse.

Den Tories try for bargain mak’
To trade wit’ Sam again,
But was shok off as soon dey spik’
By Monsieur Jacques G. Blaine.

He say, “My fren’s, before we will
Wit you reciprocate,
You mus’ agains’ ole England mak’
One sharp discriminate.”

Dat took dem Tory breat’ away,
Dey drop de bees’ness den,
No more dey go on Washington
Nor write dere wit’ de pen.

By’mbye last year, our Canada
T’en she know w’at she wants,
An’ wit’ her toe, de mont’ of June,
She kick de Tory pants.

She sen’ for Laurier, an’ at once
Immediatement he comes,
She say, “Instead of one boule-dogue
I’ll have one gentilhomme.”

Sir Wilfrid, soon he tak’ de chair,
An’ dis he plainly state:
“For Anglan’ — not agains’ her — I
Will mak’ discriminate.

“If Oncle Sam, from out his lan’
Will keep Canadian men,
We’ll do de sam’ to Yankee, too —
An’ w’at will he do den?

“We’ll play de game all sam’ lak’ heem,
An’ mak’ wan alien law,
An’ more, bigarre! we’ll hear him squeal
When he ees `hors de bois.'”

Den Oncle Sam, he scratch hees head
An’ say, “Dat’s quit’ enuff,
I see Sir Wilfrid Laurier’s vat
You might call `up on snuff!'”

So w’en Sir Wilfrid go to talk
‘Bout dem Pacific seal,
Mon Oncle Sam tak’ heem one side,
An’ mak’ some smoot’ appeal.

“I lak’ Canadian, yes, for sure,
I wan’ for be your fren’.”
“We lak’ you, too,” Sir Wilfrid say,
But only now an’ den;

“For we’en you kick Canadian hout,
An’ tink to mak’ a fuss
Agains’ de Mother Lan’, we say —
`You cannot bully us.'”

“Jes so,” say Sam, “we mak hall right,
We tak’ de whole dat pack,
Wit’ me an’ you an’ Anglan’ too,
It mus’ be give an’ tak’.”

“Correc’,” Sir Wilfrid rise an’ say,
Den Sam an’ he shak’ hands,
To live no more lak’ chat et chien,
But lak’ les bons voisins.

Den Wilfrid, he come home again,
An’ t’ings go well partout,
De markets rise, de trade increase —
Prosperitie renew.


I t’ink for dis Canadian lan’
For mak’ it t’rive an’ grow,
De bes’ ees Wilfrid Laurier’s smile,
De wors’ de Tupper blow.

images 1 7 Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems
Alexander Macgregor Rose Poems

Tour Abroad of Wilfrid the Great

By Jean Baptiste Trudeau.

When Queen Victoria calls her peup’s
For mak’ some Jubilee,
She sen’ for men from all de worl’ —
And from her colonie.

But mos’ of all, she sen’ dis word
To dis Canadian shore,
“If Wilfrid Laurier do not come,
I will be glad no more.”

Den Wilfrid not hard-hearted, he
Lif’ w’at you call de hat,
An’ say, “Ma reine, you mus’ not fret,
For little t’ing lak’ dat.

“To Londres, on de day in June
You mention, I will come,
And show you w’at is lak’ de French-
Canadian gentilhomme.”

So Wildred sailed across de sea,
An’ Queen Victoria met,
An’ w’en she’s see him, ah! she is
Jus’ tickle half to deat’!

An’ w’en he’s kneel, as etiquette
Demand, for be correc’,
She tak’ a sword into her han’
An’ hit him on de neck.

An’ w’en she do, she smile on him,
An’ dese de words she say:
“Rise up, my true Canadian Knight —
Sir Wilfrid Laurier!

“An’ on dose grand Imperial plans
Which I have now in view,
For guidance, counsel, an’ advice
I’ll always look to you.”

Den Wilfrid kiss de Royal han’,
An’ back off on de door,
An’ bow as only Frenchman can,
An’ smile an’ bow some more.

Nex’ day, it was a glorious sight,
At half-pas’ twelve o’clock,
To see Sir Wilfrid ride in state,
An’ in chapeau de coque.

Lords Solsby, Roberts, and Cecil Rhodes,
An’ Chamberlain an’ dose
Were w’at you call “not in it,” for
Sir Wilfrid was de boss.

Oui, certainement, excep’ de Queen
Herself dat glorious day,
De greates’ man on Angleterre
Was Wilfrid Laurier.


Sir Wilfrid cross de Channel den,
Mak’ visit La Patrie,
An’ mak’ fine speeches two or three
In de city of Paree.

An’ shak’ de han’, an’ drink de vin
Mit Faure de Presiden’,
An’ show him what de kin’ of man
Dis contrie represen’.

An’ w’en Dir Wilfrid’s voice dey hear,
An’ his fine shape dey see,
De men of France was hall surprise,
De ladies hall epris.

Den Monsieur Faure he rise an say,
“Sir Wilfrid Laurier,
In de Legion d’Honneur you are
Un grand officier.”

An’ to Sir Wilfrid, front dem hall,
He mak’ some fine address,
An’ den ribbon wit’ de star
He pin upon his breas’.

En bref, our Wilfrid capture France,
He’s capture Anglan’, too;
I t’ink he will annex dem both
To Canada — don’ you?


Sir Wilfrid, tired of Jubilee
An’ glorie an’ eclat,
He says, “Dese contrie dey ees not
Lak’ my own Canada.

“I wan’ my own dear lan’ for see
An’ de St. Laurent gran’,
An’ hear again de French he spik
Mon bonhomme habitan!”

Den to the Queen an’ Monsieur Faure
Hees “au revoirs” he say,
“I mus’ go back on ole Kebec,
An’ Mo’real dis day.

“An’ I mus go an help toujours,
Lor’ Aberdeen mak’ law,
An’ keep dem Tory boodler from
De safe in Ottawa.

“An’ help Sir Olivair, Sir Deek
An’ Tarte mak’ politique,
An’ keep Sir Tuppair an’ hees gang
From play some crooked trique.”

So, on de “Labrador” he sail,
On Canada he come,
We hall be glad his face to see,
An’ he ees glad be home.

An’ hall de Angleesh, Ireesh, Franch
‘Roun hees triomphan’ car,
Say, “Bienvenu! Come, spok to us
Upon de Champ de Mars.”

Sir Wilfrid tole us dat he drink
Dose vins mit’ Monsieur Faure,
An’ dine on Windsor — so he tole
Us on de Champ de Mars.

Den hall de peup’ dey mak’ big cheer,
De cannon dey mak’ shoot,
We hall be on one grand hoorau,
De steamboats on a toot.

So we hall sing, “God bless de Queen!
An’ Monsieur Faure, alway!
Because dey treat all same lak’ prince,
Our Wilfrid Laurier.”

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