There’s nothing (saving six,) great blustering Fall,
Thou may’st not to the fancy’s sense recall,
A drove of bleating, wooly-coated sheep,
Each other chasing in a headlong leap ;
The flaunting flounces of a dancing rout :
A cask of whiskey with the head knocked out ;
A stormy fury, jealous of her spouse,
Smashing the total crockery of the house ;
The frothy bombast of some learned dunce ;
Ten thousand bawling children whipt at once ;
A city’s soap-suds on a washing day,
Or rowdy hubbubs of a drunken fray ;
The present times, so meatless—’ out of joint,’
Or breakfast cascades, off rough Judith’s point,
Oh may the spray that flusters o’er thy water,
Making a fuss much greater than it oughter,
There spend its rage, nor shower upon the hills,
To wet those natives who’ve no umberills !
Source: Geneva Courier, August 16, 1842
At head of poem: “Our Tim has left at the Falls the following.” This note and the tone of the poem suggests that Timothy may have written this poem in the Table Rock Album, kept at Table Rock House in Niagara Falls, Ontario. There is no other information identifying Timothy.
Click here to see other poems in the Table Rock Album.
Also published in The Ovid Bee, August 10, 1842
