That save him from the winter and the wind. A LOVELY island once adorn'd the sea, Between New-Albion and the Mexic' Bay; Whose sandy sides washed by the ocean wave, Scarce heard a murmur but what ocean gave: Small it's circumference, nor high it's coast, But shady woods the happy isle could boast; On ev'ry side new prospects catch'd the eye, There rose blue mountains to the arched sky: Here thunder'd ocean in convulsive throws, And dash'd the island as it's waters rose: Yet peaceful all within, no tumults there, But fearless steps of the unhunted hare; And nightly chauntings of the fearless dove, Or blackbird's note, the harbinger of love. So peaceful was this haunt that nature gave, Still as the stars, and silent as the grave; No loud applause there rais'd the patriot breast, No shouting armies their mad joy confest, For battles gain'd, or trophies nobly won, Or nations conquer'd near the rising sun; No clam'rous crews, or wild nocturnal cheer, Or murd'rous ruffians, for no men were here. On it's east end a grove of oak was seen, And shrubby hazels fill'd the space between; Dry alders too, and aspin leaves that shook With ev'ry wind, conspired to shade a brook, Whose gentle stream just bubbling from the ground, Was quickly in the salter ocean drown'd: Beyond whose fount, the center of the isle, Wild plumb trees flourish'd on the shaded soil. In the dark bosom of this sacred wood, Secluded from the world, and all it's own, Of other lands unknowing, and unknown. Here might the hunter have destroy'd his prey, Transfix'd the goat before the dawn of day; And trudging homeward with his welcome load, The fruit of wand'rings thro' each by-way road: Thrown down his burthen with the needless sigh, And gladly feasted his small family. Small fields had then suffic'd, and grateful they, The annual labours of his hands to pay; And free his right to search the briny flood For fish, or slay the creatures of the wood.