49

No other trees so vast a leaf can boast, So broad, so long--through these refresh'd I stray, And though the noon-sun all his radiance shed, These friendly leaves shall shade me all the way,

50

And tempt the cooling breeze to hasten there, With its sweet odorous breath to charm the grove; High shades and verdant seats, while underneath A little stream by mossy banks doth rove,

51

Where once the Indian dames slept with their swains, Or fondly kiss'd the moon-light eves away; The lovers fled, the tearful stream remains, And only I console it with my lay.

52

Among the shades of yonder whispering grove The green palmittoes mingle, tall and fair, That ever murmur, and forever move, Fanning with wavy bough the ambient air.

53

Pomegranates grace the wild, and sweet-sops there Ready to fall, require thy helping hand, Nor yet neglect the papaw or mamee Whose slighted trees with fruits unheeded stand.

54

Those shaddocks juicy shall thy taste delight, And yon' high fruits, the richest of the wood, That cling in cl.u.s.ters to the mother tree, The cocoa-nut; rich, milky, healthful food.

55

O grant me, G.o.ds, if yet condemn'd to stray, At least to spend life's sober evening here, To plant a grove where winds yon' shelter'd bay, And pluck these fruits that frost nor winter fear.

56

Ca.s.sada shrubs abound--transplanted here From every clime, exotic blossoms blow; Here Asia plants her flowers, here Europe seeds, And hyperborean plants, un-winter'd, grow.

57

Here, a new herbage glads the generous steed, Mules, goats, and sheep enjoy these pastures fair, And for thy hedges, nature has decreed, Guards of thy toils, the date and p.r.i.c.kly pear.

58

But chief the glory of these Indian isles Springs from the sweet, uncloying sugar-cane, Hence comes the planter's wealth, hence commerce sends Such floating piles to traverse half the main.

59

Whoe'er thou art that leav'st thy native sh.o.r.e, And shall to fair West India climates come, Taste not the enchanting plant--to taste forbear, If ever thou wouldst reach thy much lov'd home.

60

Ne'er through the Isle permit thy feet to rove, Or, if thou dost, let prudence lead the way, Forbear to taste the virtues of the cane, Forbear to taste what will complete thy stay.

61

Whoever sips of this enchanting juice, Delicious nectar, fit for Jove's own hall, Returns no more from his lov'd Santa Cruz, But quits his friends, his country, and his all.

62

And thinks no more of home--Ulysses so Dragg'd off by force his sailors from that sh.o.r.e Where lotos grew, and, had not strength prevail'd, They never would have sought their country more.

63

No annual toil inters this thrifty plant, The stalk lopt off, the freshening showers prolong, To future years, unfading and secure, The root so vigorous, and the juice so strong.

64

Unnumber'd plants, besides, these climates yield, And gra.s.s peculiar to the soil, that bears Ten thousand varied herbs, array the field, This glads thy palate, that thy health repairs.

65

Along the sh.o.r.e a wondrous flower is seen, Where rocky ponds receive the surging wave, Some drest in yellow, some array'd in green, Beneath the water their gay branches lave.

66

This mystic plant, with its bewitching charms, Too surely springs from some enchanted bower; Fearful it is, and dreads impending harms, And _Animal_ the natives call the flower.

67

From the smooth rock its little branches rise, The objects of thy view, and that alone, Feast on its beauties with thy ravish'd eyes, But aim to touch it, and--the flower is gone.

68

Nay, if thy shade but intercept the beam That gilds their boughs beneath the briny lake, Swift they retire, like a deluding dream, And even a shadow for destruction take.

69

Warn'd by experience, seek not thou to gain The magic plant thy curious hand invades; Returning to the light, it mocks thy pain, Deceives all grasp, and seeks its native shades.

70

On yonder steepy hill, fresh harvests rise, Where the dark tribe from Afric's sun-burnt plain Oft o'er the ocean turn their wishful eyes To isles remote high looming o'er the main,

71

And view soft seats of ease and fancied rest, Their native groves new painted on the eye, Where no proud misers their gay hours molest, No lordly despots pa.s.s unsocial by.

72

See yonder slave that slowly bends this way, With years, and pain, and ceaseless toil opprest, Though no complaining words his woes betray, The eye dejected proves the heart distrest.

73

Perhaps in chains he left his native sh.o.r.e, Perhaps he left a helpless offspring there, Perhaps a wife, that he must see no more, Perhaps a father, who his love did share.