But Melancholy's glooms a.s.sail my breast, For potent nature reigns despotic here;-- A nation ruin'd, and a world oppress'd, Might rob the boldest Stoic of a tear.

[A] Or St. Croix, a Danish island (in the American Archipelago), commonly, tho' erroneously included in the cl.u.s.ter of the Virgin Islands; belonging to the crown of Denmark.--_Freneau's note_ [_Ed. 1809_].

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Sick of thy northern glooms, come, shepherd, seek More equal climes, and a serener sky: Why shouldst thou toil amid thy frozen ground, Where half year's snows, a barren prospect lie,

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When thou mayst go where never frost was seen, Or north-west winds with cutting fury blow, Where never ice congeal'd the limpid stream, Where never mountain tipt its head with snow?

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Twice seven days prosperous gales thy barque shall bear To isles that flourish in perpetual green, Where richest herbage glads each shady vale, And ever verdant plants on every hill are seen.

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Nor dread the dangers of the billowy deep, Autumnal winds shall safely waft thee o'er; Put off the timid heart, or, man unblest, Ne'er shalt thou reach this gay enchanting sh.o.r.e.

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Thus Judah's tribes beheld the promis'd land, While Jordan's angry waters swell'd between; Thus trembling on the brink I see them stand, Heav'n's type in view, the Canaanitish green.

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Thus, some mean souls, in spite of age and care, Are so united to this globe below, They never wish to cross death's dusky main, That parting them and happiness doth flow.

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Though reason's voice might whisper to the soul That n.o.bler climes for man the G.o.ds design-- Come, shepherd, haste--the northern breezes blow, No more the slumbering winds thy barque confine.

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From the vast caverns of old ocean's bed, Fair Santa Cruz, arising, laves her waist, The threat'ning waters roar on every side, For every side by ocean is embrac'd.

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Sharp, craggy rocks repel the surging brine, Whose cavern'd sides by restless billows wore, Resemblance claim to that remoter isle [_Eolia_ Where once the winds' proud lord the sceptre bore.

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Betwixt old Cancer and the mid-way line, In happiest climate lies this envied isle, Trees bloom throughout the year, streams ever flow, And fragrant Flora wears a lasting smile.

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Cool, woodland streams from shaded clifts descend, The dripping rock no want of moisture knows, Supply'd by springs that on the skies depend, That fountain feeding as the current flows.

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Such were the isles which happy Flaccus sung, Where one tree blossoms while another bears, Where spring forever gay, and ever young, Walks her gay round through her unwearied years.

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Such were the climes which youthful Eden saw Ere crossing fates destroy'd her golden reign-- Reflect upon thy loss, unhappy man, And seek the vales of Paradise again.

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No lowering skies are here--the neighbouring sun Clear and unveil'd, his brilliant journey goes, Each morn emerging from the ambient main, And sinking there each evening to repose.

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In June's fair month the spangled traveller gains The utmost limits of his northern way, And blesses with his beams cold lands remote, Sad Greenland's coast, and Hudson's frozen bay.

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The shivering swains of those unhappy climes Behold the side-way monarch through the trees, We feel his fiercer heat, his vertic beams, Temper'd with cooling winds and trade-wind breeze.

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Yet, though so near heav'n's blazing lamp doth run, We court the beam that sheds the golden day, And hence are called the children of the sun, Who, without fainting, bear his downward ray.

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No threatening tides upon our island rise, Gay Cynthia scarce disturbs the ocean here, No waves approach her orb, and she, as kind, Attracts no water to her silver sphere.

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The happy waters boast, of various kinds, Unnumber'd myriads of the scaly race, Sportive they glide above the delug'd sand, Gay as their clime, in ocean's ample vase.

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Some streak'd with burnish'd gold, resplendent glare, Some cleave the limpid deep, all silver'd o'er, Some, clad in living green, delight the eye, Some red, some blue; of mingled colours more.

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Here glides the spangled Dolphin through the deep, The giant-carcas'd whales at distance stray.

The huge green turtles wallow through the wave, Well pleas'd alike with land or water, they.

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The Rainbow cuts the deep, of varied green, The well fed Grouper lurks remote, below, The swift Bonetta coasts the watry scene, The diamond coated Angels kindle as they go.

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Delicious to the taste, salubrious food, Which might some temperate studious sage allure To curse the fare of his abstemious school, And turn, for once, a cheerful Epicure.

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