New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1857-08-15
Fcq To rhb,mA.
THE SUMMER sQUALL.

0eoDNEss 0aciOss what's the matter
VIM o cAm0r, what clatter,
0.s1iCus goodness was there ever
Sch I tenibIe-I never,
Kun and shut the chamber windows
Jenby Keep the children indoors,
The clothes upon the line 60 dancing
where q the basket Bring The pans 10
o, dear for NOW tie rain is coming;
i hear she chimney swallows drumming,
VIII mighty fuss and hatter,
While the chimneys moan and mutter;
And see the crumbled scot is flying
An over the pork that Jane was frying.
Whist clnnor, what clatter
And now the rain begins to pat.er;
TIE geese they cacke, cog-beIls rattle,
The pelted and afrghted cattle
Across the pastures, belter-skelter,
Bun 10 the nearest trees for shelter;
The Old ben calls her skulkmg chickens,
The fowls fly home--the darkness thickebs;
The roadside naples twist and swing.
The barn-doOr flaps broken wing;
The old weH-psil sets out to travel,
And drsgs the chain across the gravel;
In vain the farmers wife is trying
D., To oatch the clothes as they are flying;
Nne new tin pans are bruised aud battered,
And all about the door.yard scattered;
And thicker, thicker, faster, faster,
Come tamult tempest and disaster.
The wind has blown the haycocks over,
The rain has spoiled the unraked clever;
With half load the horses hurry,
And ODe-half-HuDg on in the furry,
1nvisible pitcbfOrks tearing, tossing
Was blown into the creek in crossing;
And thicker, thicker, faster, faster,
Come whirlwind, tempest and disaster.
Now, all without the storm is roaring,
The house is shut, the rain rs pouring;
necessarily its fury lashes
The root, the clApbOards and the sssbes;
HE fowls have gone tO rOost at noon,
We u have the candles lighted sOen.
In flies the dOOr-the farmer enters
Dripping and drenched from his adventures;
Finds Jenny signing, baby crying,
The frightened chil1ren hushed, and lying
Huddled upon the bed together;
Mother stOrning, like the weather;
With pans, and chairs, and baskets, which IA
Vet confusion crowd the kitchen.
But Hugh is not the man 10 greve;
He sQueezes water from bis sleeve,
Calls 1t quite perspiratOn,
And laughs at Margaret's vexatiOn;
Plucks of his hat, and slaps his trewsers,
And besses the man invented houses.
Old Farmer Hugh the whole world through
find no nobler soul than you
A heart 10 welcome every conner,
Alike the Winter and the Summer,
Proving the manager and master
OF cloud, and sunshine, and disaster
When fortune, with her tickle chances,
Now smiles, now irOwDs, entreats, advances,
To make poor mOrtals mourn the loss Of her,
You, trustful heart and true philosopher,
Securely centered in your station,
Yourself the pivot OF gyration.
Look forth serenely patient, seeing
An things come refund to your true being.
O thus, Like you, when sudden squalls
OF angry fortune strike my walls,
When rain and tempest join in force,
Destroy my crops, unhiDge my doors,
Spot expectations nnraked clover,
And blow my hopes Like haycocbs over,
When storm aud darkness, Wild uncertain,
Deluge my sky with their black CURTAIN
o then, like yeu, brave Farmer Hugh!
May !, with vision clear and true,
Behold, beyond each transient sorrow,
The glory and gladness Of tomorrow.
J. IT. TROWBRID4T