Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/New England's Annoyances

New England's Annoyances.

"Written towards 1630; the oldest known composition in English verse by an American colonist."—W. M. Rossetti.

 

New England's annoyances, ye that would know them,Pray ponder these verses which briefly do show them,

The place where we live is a wilderness wood,Where grass is much wanting that's fruitful and good;Our mountains and hills and our valleys belowBeing commonly covered with ice and with snow: And when the north-west wind with violence blows,Then every man pulls his cap over his nose:But, if any's so hardy and will it withstand,He forfeits a finger, a foot, or a hand.

But when the spring opens, we then take the hoe,And make the ground ready to plant and to sow.Our corn being planted and seed being sown,The worms destroy much before it is grown;And when it is growing some spoil there is madeBy birds and by squirrels that pluck up the blade;And, when it is come to full corn in the ear,It is often destroyed by racoon and by deer.

And now do our garments begin to grow thin,And wool is much wanted to card and to spin,If we get a garment to cover without,Our other in-garments are clout upon clout.Our clothes we brought with us are apt to be torn;They need to be clouted soon after they're worn;But clouting our garments they hinder us nothing,—Clouts double are warmer than single whole clothing.

If fresh meat be wanting, to fill up our dishWe have carrots and pumpkins, and turnips and fish:And, is there a mind for a delicate dish,We repair to the clam-banks and there we catch fish.'Stead of pottage and puddings and custards and pies,Our pumpkins and parsnips are common supplies;We have pumpkins at morning and pumpkins at noon;If it was not for pumpkins we should be undone.

If barley be wanting to make into malt,We must be contented and think it no fault;For we can make liquor to sweeten our lipsOf pumpkins and parsnips and walnut-tree chips.

Now while some are going let others be coming,For while liquor's boiling it must have a scumming;But I will not blame them, for birds of a featherBy seeking their fellows are flocking together.But ye whom the Lord intends hither to bring,Forsake not the honey for fear of the sting;But bring both a quiet and contented mind,And all needful blessings ye surely will find.