| |
| SHALL fancy still pursue the expanding sails, | |
| Calm Neptune’s brow, or raise impelling gales? | |
| Or with her Bleecker ply the laboring oar, | |
| When pleasing scenes invite him to the shore, | |
| There with him through the fading valleys rove, | 5 |
| Bless’d in idea with the man I love? | |
| Methinks I see the broad majestic sheet | |
| Swell to the wind; the flying shores retreat: | |
| I see the banks, with varied foliage gay, | |
| Inhale the misty sun’s reluctant ray: | 10 |
| The lofty groves stripp’d of their verdure, rise | |
| To the inclemence of autumnal skies. | |
| Rough mountains now appear, while pendant woods | |
| Hang o’er the gloomy steep and shade the floods; | |
| Slow moves the vessel, while each distant sound | 15 |
| The cavern’d echoes doubly loud rebound: | |
| A placid stream meanders on the steep, | |
| Till tumbling from the cliff, divides the frowning deep. | |
| Oh tempt not fate on those stupendous rocks, | |
| Where never shepherd led his timid flocks; | 20 |
| But shagged bears in those wild deserts stray, | |
| And wolves, who howl against the lunar ray: | |
| There builds the ravenous hawk her lofty nest, | |
| And there the soaring eagle takes her rest; | |
| The solitary deer recoils to hear | 25 |
| The torrent thundering in the midway air. | |
| Ah! let me intercede—Ah! spare her breath, | |
| Nor aim the tube charged with a leaden death. | |
| But now advancing to the opening sea, | |
| The wind springs up, the lessening mountains flee; | 30 |
| The eastern banks are crown’d with rural seats, | |
| And nature’s work the hand of art completes. | |
| Here Philips’ villa, where Pomona joins | |
| At once the product of a hundred climes; | |
| Here, tinged by Flora, Asian flowers unfold | 35 |
| Their burnish’d leaves of vegetable gold. | |
| When snows descend, and clouds tumultuously fly | |
| Through the blue medium of the crystal sky, | |
| Beneath his painted mimic heaven he roves | |
| Amidst the glass-encircled citron groves; | 40 |
| The grape and luscious fig his taste invite, | |
| Hesperian apples glow upon his sight; | |
| The sweet auriculas their bells display, | |
| And Philips finds in January, May. | |
| But on the other side the cliffs arise, | 45 |
| Charybdis like, and seem to prop the skies: | |
| How oft with admiration have we view’d | |
| Those adamantine barriers of the flood? | |
| Yet still the vessel cleaves the liquid mead, | |
| The prospect dies, the aspiring rocks recede; | 50 |
| New objects rush upon the wondering sight, | |
| Till Phœbus rolls from heaven his car of light, | |
| And Cynthia’s silver crescent gilds the night. | |
| I hear the melting flute’s melodious sound, | |
| Which dying zephyrs waft alternate round, | 55 |
| The rocks in notes responsive soft complain, | |
| And think Amphion strikes his lyre again. | |
| Ah! ’tis my Bleecker breathes our mutual loves, | |
| And sends the trembling airs through vocal groves. | |
| Thus having led you to the happy isle | 60 |
| Where waves circumfluent wash the fertile soil, | |
| Where Hudson, meeting the Atlantic, roars, | |
| The parting lands dismiss him from their shores; | |
| Indulge the enthusiast muse her favorite strain | |
| Of panegyric, due to Eboracia’s plain. | 65 |
| There is no land where heaven her blessings pours | |
| In such abundance, as upon these shores; | |
| With influence benign the planets rise, | |
| Pure is the ether, and serene the skies; | |
| With annual gold kind Ceres decks the ground, | 70 |
| And gushing springs dispense bland health around: | |
| No lucid gems are here, or flaming ore, | |
| To tempt the hand of avarice and power: | |
| But sun-burnt labor, with diurnal toil, | |
| Bids treasures rise from the obedient soil, | 75 |
| And commerce calls the ships across the main, | |
| For gold exchanging her superfluous grain; | |
| While concord, liberty, and jocund health | |
| Sport with young pleasure ’mid the rural wealth. | |
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