To Miss Catharine Ten Eyck
|←A prospect of death|| To Miss Catharine Ten Eyck by
from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
Come and see our habitation,
condescend to be our guest;
Tho' the veins of warring nations
Bleed, yet here secure we rest.
By the light of Cynthia's crescent,
Playing thro' the waving trees;
When we walk, we wish you present
To participate our bliss.
Late indeed, the cruel savage
Here with looks ferocious stood;
Here the rustic's cot did ravage,
Stain'd the grass with human blood.
Late their hands sent conflagration
Rolling thro' the blooming wild,
Siez'd with death, the brute creation
Mourn'd, while desolation smil'd.
Spiral flames from tallest cedar
Struck to heav'n a heat intense;
They cancell'd thus with impious labour,
Wonders of Omnipotence.
But when Conquest rear'd her standard,
And th' Aborigines were fled,
Peace, who long an exile wander'd,
Now return'd to bless the shade.
Now Æolus blows the ashes
From sad Terra's black'ned brow,
While the whist'ling swain with rushes
Roofs his cot, late levell'd low.
From the teeming womb of Nature
Bursting flow'rs exhale perfume;
Shady oaks, of ample stature,
Cast again a cooling gloom.
Waves from each reflecting fountain,
Roll again unmix'd with gore,
And verging from the lofty mountain,
Fall beneath with solemn roar.
Here, embosom'd in this Eden,
Cheerful all our hours are spent;
Here no pleasures are forbidden,
Sylvan joys are innocent.
|This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.|