Where near the shore the oaks were branching wide,
Where future gardens might invite the spade,
Or furrowing plough the fertile glebe divide,
And where, still south, the hills retiring made
More ample meadows by the glassy tide;
Till far Seaconnet showed her rim of rock,
Whereon the ocean’s rolling billows broke.
But on Aquidnay dwelt our Founder’s gaze,
Enraptured still. “Would Seekonk’s mead compare