In looking over our old files, we accidentally came across the following Impromptu; & having nothing in particular, to fill our poet's corner we thought it would not come a miss to republish it. We apprehend the Farmer<, Merchant, Tavern-keeper, and "folks in every rank and station," are ready to exclaim with the poet—"why the d—l don't it SNOW."December 25, 2014 in the Capital District area was a snowless one, and the first few hours of sun after what's seemed like a few weeks of overcast days.
SNOW. AN IMPROMPTU.
This is January twenty,
When we should have sleighing plenty;
I am tired, altogether,
Of such sour, unpleasant weather;
Easy 'tis to rein and blow—
Why is it so hard to snow?
See the Farmer, wet and weary,
Stalking o'er the plains so dreary;
Oft he upwards turns his peepers,
Blinking like a chimney sweeper's;
Oft he cries, enrag'd with woe,
"Why d—l don't it snow?"
See the Merchant, sorry fellow,
With a face as pale as tallow—
Sick with grief, and quite bed ridden—
All because there is no sleddin!
Hear him cry, in accents slow,
O! ye gods! why don't it snow?"
See the chop fall'd Tavern keeper,
Voluntarily a sweeper?
See his bar room, once so cheery,
Now forsake, cold and dreary?
Hear him cry, with spirits low,
"Curse the luck! why don't it snow?
Hear the sage Prognosticator,
Blame these slipp'ry tricks of nature;
She so oft his judgment bothers,
That he knows no more than others;
Hear him road, with wrinkled brow,
"Curse my stars! why don't it snow?
Folks in every rank and station,
Join in fretful exclamation—
Tailors, tinkers, parsons, pedlars,
Sawyers, teamsters, smiths and fiddlers,
Rich and poor, or high and low,
Hope and swear—for want of snow
For myself—though press'd with sorrow,
Still in hopes 'twill snow to morrow,
To be patient I endeavor;
Faith! such times can't last forever;
Hear the stormy south east blow—
May it waft us hills of snow.
O! ye gods, who rule the weather!
Neptune—Jove—or both together—
Lend, for once, an ear propitious,
Hear our prayers and grand our wishes:
Down your frosty blessings throw—
Cover—smother us—in snow.
Northern Budget. February 17 1824: 4 col 1.
There's an earlier appearance of "Snow" in The Port Folio but it credits the Northern Budget so it's possible that paper's reference to its "old files" is a reference to a prior publication by them, not of poems they may have clipped and kept from others or that they may have been sent by readers.
The Port Folio 3(12). March 21, 1807. 185-186. https://books.google.com/books?id=UIo4AQAAMAAJ&pg=PA185