By:
Laura
Luckasavitch
Subject:
English
-
poems
History
-
Canadian
and
American
Grades:
7
-
10
The gold rush affected many people in many ways. Here are a few poems that tell stories about what the gold rush was like. Read these to your class, discuss the significance of the poems, and then get them to write a poem about the gold rush after doing a bit of research about the way of life back then.
The Happy Miner
I
am
a
happy
miner,
I
love
to
sing
and
dance;
I
wonder
what
my
love
would
say
If
she
could
see
my
pants.
With
canvas
patches
on
the
knee,
And
one
upon
the
stern;
I'll
wear
them
while
I'm
digging
here,
And
home
when
I
return.
Chorus:
So
I
get
in
a
jovial
way
I
spend
my
money
free;
And
I
have
got
a-plenty,
So
come
drink
lager
beer
with
me!
They
wish
to
know
if
I
can
cook,
And
what
I
have
to
eat;
And
tell
me,
should
I
take
a
cold,
Be
sure
to
soak
my
feet.
But
when
they
talk
of
cooking,
I'm
mighty
hard
to
beat;
I've
made
ten
thousand
loaves
of
bread
The
Devil
couldn't
eat.
From The Forty-Niners by Archer Butler Hulbert
Alas!
I've
been
to
California,
and
I
haven't
got
a
dime,
I've
lost
my
health,
my
strength,
my
hope,
and
I
have
lost
my
time.
I've
only
got
a
spade
and
pick
and
if
I
felt
quite
brave,
I'd
use
the
two
of
them
'ere
things
to
scoop
me
out
a
grave.
From Troupers of the Gold Coast by Constance Rourke
The
Klondike
Miner
A
Klondike
City
mining
man
lay
dying
on
the
ice,
There
was
lack
of
women's
nursing,
for
he
didn't
have
the
price,
But
a
comrade
knelt
beside
him
as
the
sun
sank
to
repose,
To
hear
what
he
might
have
to
say
and
watch
him
while
he
froze.
The
dying
man,
he
raised
his
head
above
the
banks
of
snow,
And
he
said,
"I've
never
seen
it
thaw
when
Ôtwas
forty-five
below;
Take
a
message
and
a
token
to
some
distant
friends
thereat,
For
I
was
born
at
Gibbons,
at
Gibbons
on
the
Platte.
"Tell
my
brother
and
companions
if
ever
you
get
back
East,
That
this
blooming
Klondike
country
is
no
place
for
man
or
beast,
For
the
mountains
are
too
rugged
and
the
weather
is
too
cold,
And
the
wheat
fields
of
Nebraska
yield
a
better
grade
of
gold.
"Here
an
honest
day
of
labour
won't
buy
a
pound
of
grease,
And
the
price
of
leather
biscuits
is
sixty
cents
apiece;
Tell
my
father
not
to
sorrow
with
a
sorrow
deep
and
dense,
For
I
would
not
thus
have
perished
if
I
had
a
lick
of
sense,
But
to
keep
the
sorrel
horses
and
the
high-grade
cattle
fat
Upon
the
farm
at
Gibbons,
at
Gibbons
on
the
Platte.
"I
thought
to
make
a
fortune
here,"
the
dying
man
did
say,
And
then
he
hove
a
sigh
or
two
and
froze
up
right
away;
And
it
took
of
golden
shekels
two
hundred,
yes,
more
than
that,
To
ship
him
back
to
Gibbons,
to
Gibbons
on
the
Platte.
From Flying Cloud by M.C. Dean