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The swain with his oxen proceeds to the valley,

Whose seven years sabbath concludes,
And blesses kind heaven, that Britain's black ally

Is chased to Canadia's deep woods.
And Echo no longer is plaintively mourning,

But laughs and is jocund as we;
And the turtle-eyed nymphs, to their cots all returning,

Carve “Washington," on every tree.
I'll wander along by the side of yon fountain,

And drop in its current the line,
To capture the glittering fish that there wanton;

Ah, no! 't is an evil design.

Sport on, little fishes, your lives are a treasure

Which I can destroy, but not give ; Methinks it's at best a malevolent pleasure

To bid a poor being not live.

How lucid the water! its soft undulations

Are changeably ting'd by the light ;
It reflects the green banks, and by fair imitations

Presents a new heaven to sight.
The butterfly skims o'er its surface, all gilded

With plumage just dipp'd in rich dies;
But yon infant has seized the poor insect, ah! yield it;

There, see the freed bird how it flies!

But whither am I and my little dog straying ?

Too far from our cottage we roam ;
The dews are already exhaled ; cease your playing,

Come, Daphne, come let us go home.


Hail, happy shades ! though clad with heavy snows,
At sight of you with joy my bosom glows;
Ye arching pines, that bow with every breeze,
Ye poplars, elms, all hail my well known trees!
And now my peaceful mansion strikes my eye,
And now the tinkling rivulet I spy;
My little garden, Flora, hast thou kept,
And watch'd my pinks and lilies while I wept ?

Or has the grubbing swine, by furies led,
The enclosure broke, and on my flowrets fed ?

Ah me! that spot with blooms so lately graced,
With storms and driving snows is now defaced ;
Sharp icicles from every bush depend,
And frosts all dazzling o'er the beds extend:
Yet soon fair spring shall give another scene,
And yellow cowslips gild the level green;
My little orchard sprouting at each bough,
Fragrant with clustering blossoms deep shall glow:
Ah! then 't is sweet the tufted grass to tread,
But sweeter slumbering is the balmy shade;
The rapid humming bird, with ruby breast,
Seeks the parterre with early blue-bells drest,
Drinks deep the honeysuckle dew, or drives
The laboring bee to her domestic hives:
Then shines the lupine bright with morning gems,
And sleepy poppies nod upon their stems;
The humble violet and the dulcet rose,
The stately lily then, and tulip blows.

Farewell, my Plutarch! farewell, pen and muse! Nature exults—shall I her call refuse ? Apollo fervid glitters in my face, And threatens with his beam each feeble grace: Yet still around the lovely plants I toil, And draw obnoxious herbage from the soil ; Or with the lime-twigs little birds surprise, Or angle for the trout of many dyes.

But when the vernal breezes pass away, And loftier Phæbus darts a fiercer ray, The spiky corn then rattles all around, And dashing cascades give a pleasing sound; Shrill sings the locust with prolonged note, The cricket chirps familiar in each cot. The village children, rambling o'er yon hill, With berries all their painted baskets fill. They rob the squirrel's little walnut store, And climb the half exhausted tree for more ; Or else to fields of maize nocturnal hie, Where hid, the elusive water-melons lie; Sportive, they make incisions in the rind, The riper from the immature to find; Then load their tender shoulders with the prey, And laughing bear the bulky fruit away.


This lady was the daughter of Mrs Bleecker, and her poems were published in the same volume with those of her mother, in 1793.


Nile's beauteous waves, and Tiber's swelling tide

Have been recorded by the hand of Fame, And various floods, which through eartlı’s channels glide,

From some enraptured bard have gain'd a name; E’en Thames and Wye have been the poet's theme,

And to their charms hath many an harp been strung, Whilst, Oh! hoar genius of old Hudson's stream,

Thy mighty river never hatlı been sung : Say, shall a female string her trembling lyre,

And to thy praise devote the adventurous song? Fired with the theme, her genius shall aspire,

And the notes sweeten as they float along. Where rough Ontario's restless waters roar,

And hoarsely rave around the rocky shore;
Where their abode tremendous north-winds make,

And reign the tyrants of the surging lake;
There, as the shell-crown'd genii of its caves
Toward proud Lawrence urged their noisy wayes,
A form majestic from the flood arose;
A coral bandage sparkled o'er his brows,
A purple mantle o'er his limbs was spread,
And sportive breezes in his dark locks play'd :
Toward the east shore his anxious eyes he cast,
And from his ruby lips these accents pass'd :
“O favor'd land ! indulgent nature yields
Her choicest sweets to deck thy boundless fields;
Where in thy verdant glooms the fleet deer play,
And the hale tenants of the desert stray,
While the tall evergreens that edge the dale
In silent majesty nod to each gale:
Thy riches shall no more remain unknown,
Thy wide campaign do I pronounce my own;
And while the strong arm'd genii of this lake
Their tributary streams to Lawrence take,
Back from its source my current will I turn,
And o’er thy meadows pour my copious urn.'



He said, and, waving high his dripping hand ;
Bade his clear waters roll toward the land.
Glad they obey'd, and struggling to the shore,
Dash'd on its broken rocks with thundering roar :
The rocks in vain oppose their furious course ;
From each repulse they rise with tenfold force ;
And gathering all their angry powers again,
Gushed o'er the banks, and fled across the plain
Soon as the waves had pressed the level mead,
Full many a pearly-footed Naiad fair,
With hasty steps, her limpid fountain led,
To swell the tide, and hail it welcome there :
Their busy hands collect a thousand flowers,
And scatter them along the grassy shores.
There, bending low, the water-lilies bloom,
And the blue crocus shed their moist perfume;
There the tall velvet scarlet lark-spur laves
Her pale green stem in the pellucid waves ;
There nods the fragile columbine, so fair,
And the mild dewy wild-rose scents the air ;
While round the trunk of some majestic pine
The blushing honeysuckle's branches twine :
There too Pomona's richest gifts are found,
Her golden melons press the fruitful ground;
The glossy crimson plums there swell their rinds,
And purple grapes dance to autumnal winds ;
While all beneath the mandrake's fragrant shade
The strawberry's delicious sweets are laid.

Through many a "blooming wild” and woodland green,

The Hudson's sleeping waters winding stray ; Now 'mongst the hills its silvery waves are seen,

And now through arching willows steal away: Then bursting on the enamor'd sight once more,

Gladden some happy peasant's rude retreat; And passing youthful Troy's commercial shore,

With the hoarse Mohawk's roaring surges meet. Oh, beauteous Mohawk! 'wildered with thy charms,

The chilliest heart sinks into rapturous glows; While the stern warrior, used to loud alarms,

Starts at the thunderings of thy dread Cohoes. Now more majestic rolls the ample tide,

Tall waving elms its clovery borders shade, And many a stately dome, in ancient pride, And hoary grandeur, there exalts its head,



There trace the marks of culture's sunburnt hand,

The honeyed buck-wheat's clustering blossoms view, Dripping rich odors, mark the beard-grain bland,

The loaded orchard, and the flax field blue. Albania's gothic spires now greet the eye;

Time's hand hath wiped their burnish'd tints away, And the rich fanes which sparkled to the sky,

'Reft of their splendors, mourn in cheerless grey. There many an ancient structure tottering stands ;

Round the damp chambers mouldy vapors creep, And feathery-footed Silence folds her hands,

While the pale genii of the mansion sleep. Yet thither Trade's full freighted vessels come;

Thither the shepherds mercantile resort: There Architecture late hath raised her dome,

And Agriculture's products fill her port.
The grassy hill, the quivering poplar grove,

The copse of hazle, and the tufted bank,
The long green valley, where the white flocks rove,

The jutting rock, oferhung with ivy dank;
The tall pines waving on the mountain's brow,

Whose lofty spires catch day's last lingering beam ;

The bending willow weeping o'er the stream, The brook's soft gurglings, and the garden's glow.


Low sunk between the Alleganian hills,

For many a league the sullen waters glide,

And the deep murmur of the crowded tide, With pleasing awe the wondering voyager fills. On the green summit of yon lofty clift

A peaceful runnel gurgles clear and slow, Then down the craggy steep-side dashing swift,

Tremendous falls in the white surge below. Here spreads a clovery lawn its verdure far,

Around it mountains vast their forests rear, And long ere day hath left his burnish'd car,

The dews of night have shed their odors there. There hangs a louring rock across the deep ;

Hoarse roar the waves its broken base around; Through its dark caverns noisy whirlwinds sweep,

While Horror startles at the fearful sound. The shivering sails that cut the fluttering breeze,

Glide through these winding rocks with airy sweep: Beneath the cooling glooms of waving trees,

And sloping pastures speck'd with fleecy sheep.

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