There endless plains deject the wearied eye,
And hostile winds incessant toil prepare;
And should loud bellowing storms all art defy,
The manly heart alone must conquer there.
91
On these blue hills, to pluck the opening flowers,
Might yet awhile the unwelcome task delay,
And these gay scenes prolong the fleeting hours
To aid bright Fancy on some future day.
92
Thy vales, Bermuda, and thy sea-girt groves,
Can never like these southern forests please;
And, lash'd by stormy waves, you court in vain
The northern shepherd to your cedar trees.
93
Not o'er those isles such equal planets rule,
All, but the cedar, dread the wintry blast:
Too well thy charms the banish'd Waller sung;
Too near the pilot's star thy doom is cast.
94
Far o'er the waste of yonder surgy field
My native climes in fancied prospect lie,
Now hid in shades, and now by clouds conceal'd,
And now by tempests ravish'd from my eye.
95