The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker/To Miss Catharine Ten Eyck

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.