 | The poetical works of John Townsend Trowbridge |  |
FARMER JOHN
Home from his journey Farmer John
Arrived this morning, safe and sound.
His black coat off, and his old clothes on,
“Now I'm myself!” says Farmer John;
And he thinks, “I'll look around.”
Up leaps the dog: “Get down, you pup!
Are you so glad you would eat me up?”
The old cow lows at the gate, to greet him;
The horses prick up their ears, to meet him:
“Well, well, old Bay!
Ha, ha, old Gray!
Do you get good feed when I am away?
Arrived this morning, safe and sound.
His black coat off, and his old clothes on,
“Now I'm myself!” says Farmer John;
And he thinks, “I'll look around.”
Up leaps the dog: “Get down, you pup!
Are you so glad you would eat me up?”
The old cow lows at the gate, to greet him;
The horses prick up their ears, to meet him:
“Well, well, old Bay!
Ha, ha, old Gray!
Do you get good feed when I am away?
“You have n't a rib!” says Farmer John;
“The cattle are looking round and sleek;
The colt is going to be a roan,
And a beauty too: how he has grown!
We'll wean the calf next week.”
Says Farmer John, “When I've been off,
To call you again about the trough,
And watch you, and pet you, while you drink,
Is a greater comfort than you can think!”
And he pats old Bay,
And he slaps old Gray;—
“Ah, this is the comfort of going away!
“The cattle are looking round and sleek;
The colt is going to be a roan,
And a beauty too: how he has grown!
We'll wean the calf next week.”
Says Farmer John, “When I've been off,
To call you again about the trough,
And watch you, and pet you, while you drink,
Is a greater comfort than you can think!”
And he pats old Bay,
And he slaps old Gray;—
“Ah, this is the comfort of going away!
“For, after all,” says Farmer John,
“The best of a journey is getting home.
I've seen great sights; but would I give
This spot, and the peaceful life I live,
For all their Paris and Rome?
These hills for the city's stifled air,
And big hotels all bustle and glare,
Land all houses, and roads all stones,
That deafen your ears and batter your bones?
Would you, old Bay?
Would you, old Gray?
That 's what one gets by going away!
“The best of a journey is getting home.
I've seen great sights; but would I give
This spot, and the peaceful life I live,
For all their Paris and Rome?
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And big hotels all bustle and glare,
Land all houses, and roads all stones,
That deafen your ears and batter your bones?
Would you, old Bay?
Would you, old Gray?
That 's what one gets by going away!
“There Money is king,” says Farmer John;
“And Fashion is queen; and it's mighty queer
To see how sometimes, while the man
Is raking and scraping all he can,
The wife spends, every year,
Enough, you would think, for a score of wives,
To keep them in luxury all their lives!
The town is a perfect Babylon
To a quiet chap,” says Farmer John.
“You see, old Bay,—
You see, old Gray,—
I'm wiser than when I went away.
“And Fashion is queen; and it's mighty queer
To see how sometimes, while the man
Is raking and scraping all he can,
The wife spends, every year,
Enough, you would think, for a score of wives,
To keep them in luxury all their lives!
The town is a perfect Babylon
To a quiet chap,” says Farmer John.
“You see, old Bay,—
You see, old Gray,—
I'm wiser than when I went away.
“I 've found out this,” says Farmer John,—
“That happiness is not bought and sold,
And clutched in a life of waste and hurry,
In nights of pleasure and days of worry;
And wealth is n't all in gold,
Mortgage and stocks and ten per cent,—
But in simple ways, and sweet content,
Few wants, pure hopes, and noble ends,
Some land to till, and a few good friends,
Like you, old Bay,
And you, old Gray!
That 's what I 've learned by going away.”
“That happiness is not bought and sold,
And clutched in a life of waste and hurry,
In nights of pleasure and days of worry;
And wealth is n't all in gold,
Mortgage and stocks and ten per cent,—
But in simple ways, and sweet content,
Few wants, pure hopes, and noble ends,
Some land to till, and a few good friends,
Like you, old Bay,
And you, old Gray!
That 's what I 've learned by going away.”
And a happy man is Farmer John,—
O, a rich and happy man is he!
He sees the peas and pumpkins growing,
The corn in tassel, the buckwheat blowing,
And fruit on vine and tree;
The large, kind oxen look their thanks
As he rubs their foreheads and strokes their flanks;
The doves light round him, and strut and coo.
Says Farmer John, “I'll take you too,—
And you, old Bay,
And you, old Gray,
Next time I travel so far away!”
O, a rich and happy man is he!
He sees the peas and pumpkins growing,
The corn in tassel, the buckwheat blowing,
And fruit on vine and tree;
The large, kind oxen look their thanks
As he rubs their foreheads and strokes their flanks;
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Says Farmer John, “I'll take you too,—
And you, old Bay,
And you, old Gray,
Next time I travel so far away!”
| The poetical works of John Townsend Trowbridge | |