There stretched Aquidnay tow’rd the ocean blue, In virgin wildness still of isles the queen; Her forests glimmered with the western hue, Her vales and banks were decked with cedars green, And southward far her swelling bosom drew Its lessening contours, in the distance seen;-- Till, wavering indistinctly, in the gray Encroaching sea-mists they were hid away. LXIV. Beneath his feet, Aquidnay’s north extreme Displayed a cove, begemmed with islets gay; Its silvery surface caught the setting beam, Where’er the op’ning hemlocks gave it way; Young nature there, tranced in her earliest dream, Did all her whims in vital forms array; Her feathered tribes round beak and headland glide, Her scaly broods leap from the glassy tide. LXV. Out from Aquidnay tow’rd the setting sun, Spread the calm waters like a sea of gold Studded with isles, till Narraganset dun Fringed the far west, and cape and headland bold, With forest shagged, cast their huge shadows down, And glassed them in the wave; while silence old Resumed her reign, save that by times did rise, On Williams’ ears, the sea-birds’ jangling cries. LXVI. Or the lone fowler, in his light canoe, Round jutting point all warily did glide, And pause awhile to watch, with steadfast view, Where the long-diving loon might break the tide; Then, noiseless, near the myriad seafowl drew, And, baffled, saw them scur, with clangor wide, Up from the foamy flood, and, mounting high, Darken the day, and seek another sky. LXVII. Then looking north, from far could he behold, Bright bursting from his source through forests dun, Like liquid silver, broad Cohannet rolled Tow’rd parent ocean;--there his currents run Embrowned by fringing woods;--here molten gold, Gleaming and glittering in the setting sun, They glance by Haup--there, eastward as they pour, They cleave Aquidnay from Pocasset’s shore. LXVIII. That rude Pocasset--which, when Williams saw From towering Haup, did one broad forest shew; Here, steep o’er steep, there, leaving Nature’s law, Hill, glade, and swamp,--presenting to the view So mad a maze, that there, if hunter draw His sounding bow, and but a space pursue The wounded deer, he finds his guidance fail, And lost, halloos through tangled brake and dale. LXIX. Yet the rude wigwams smoked from many a glade, 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. LXX.