And sloping hills half cultivated, seats
Emerging from the woods upon the heights,
And russet meadows irrigated oft
By rancid brine.* Due northward we glide on,
Beside the changeful scene, intent as much
As pleasing converse may admit, on all
Its pictures passing in review. To groves
And meads a bolder scenery succeeds-
Upon the right, Fort Washington, to fame
Historic consecrated, overlooks
The sylvan Heights of Haerlem;t on our left
Grey towering strata of embattled rocks
O'er wooded steeps in precipices hang,
As if some shock of elemental war
Had rent their indurated mass of stone
To give the Hudson passage, and afar
High-storied to the Tappan coast extends
The line of hoary cliffs, impending o'er
The sails diminutive, that silent pass
Beneath their shadowy grandeur. The fervour
Of the dazzling vault, at noontide now
Compels us, tho' reluctant, to descend,
And vent within the cooler sphere below
Our admiration of these works, but more
Of their exalted Author, who in all
The wonderful and intricate design
Of his contrivance for our humble use,
Has blended so much grace; and to a waste
Of matter, void of use, imparted forms,
Which animate its mass, and in the soul
Awaken lofty thoughts. In harmony
Of sentiment, and conversation grave,
Or sometimes gay, thus pass the halcyon hours;
Alas! how fleeting; and in all this long
And weary pilgrimage how rarely known!
A livelier breeze, now rippling at the stern
Of our reclining mansion, gently moves
Its pendent curtains. The refreshing air,
From much discourse on books, or friends disperst,
Or shortly to be seen, invites our steps
To view between the limpid elements
The distant scenes, and coast diminished, where
An inland oceant far expands, and capes
Salt meadows covered by the tide waters.
+ The position taken by General Washington after the battle of Long Island.
The river, about 30 miles from New-York, is several miles wide, and called Tappan Sea.
Hesperian jutting on the azure deep,
Confront a length of slope, with cultur'd fields
And orchards far expanded on the East.
Now whitening o'er the misty bay, the South
Auspicious freshens, till the bright-orb'd sun
A milder majesty assumes, and sheds
Its waning lustre on the passing waves.
Impatient fancy wings us on our course,
(For howsoever blest the present, Hope,
Frail reckoner, the coming hour arrays
In tempting hues, and whispers bliss unknown;)
From right to left our swollen topsail reels
Above the roaring surge. By Croton's stream,
And promontory's sylvan length, we pass,
Tracing a line of foam along the coast,
Till in our front the growing highlands rise
In grand perspective, filling up the bay,
Tho' hazy yet in distance. Northward still,
As tow'rds their desart base we move, the gulf,
Receding eastward indicates our course
Between such lofty mountains as frown o'er
Old Cambria's northern shore, or seaward where
The venerable Caledonia's alpine bounds
Yield to the passage of the beauteous Clyde.
But while on the majestic mountains, fixed
With admiration, dwells our view, the sun
Upon their summits sinks, his fulgid orb
Immerst within a crimson mist. The breeze,
That, like the radiant morning of this life,
So fairly promis'd, whisp'ring lulls, then sleeps
Upon the tide, and soon it has become
One mirror's face, where the vermilion sky
Shews all its new-born twinkling stars, and round
The peaceful shores the solemn wastes, and trees
Inverted on the margin's edge. Beyond
The mount of Stony Point, with summit scar'd
By deep entrenchments, which commemorate
The rage of war, our anchor'd vessel rests
With mainsail drooping on her deck; and now
The moon unveil'd behind the dewy shades
Of night, a morn rekindles o'er the woods
And silver-crested capes. Upon the scene,
And all the changes of this passing world,
How pleasing then to meditate and trace
The wonders of futurity! The eyes,
But lately closed, of him, who, ranging first
This region's wild, to the majestic stream
Imparted his advent'rous name, and borne
Within its soaring mountains, saw one still
And solemn desart in primeval garb
Hang round his lonely bark. Upon the shores
What necromantic change has culture wrought!
Eight solar years in revolution since
Have scarcely smiled upon the virgin glebe,
Ere plenty, sprung from European strength,
And tutor❜d industry, adorns the waste.
The vales are furrow'd, population climbs
The mountain's rugged sides. The frequent church
Or court-house rises on the hills, while stores
And docks its base enliven.-Fancy still,
Anticipating time, his future works
Delights to paint, where distant years shall see
The smoky marts of Hudson's opulence;
And navied wharfs, unsculptur'd rocks, which then
May line with colonnades of lucid quartz,
And feldspar's polish'd tints, the peopled streets
Of cities yet unborn, or raise the spire,
Or swell the sacred temple's dome rotund;
Nor these illusive phantasies, or vain
Poetic dreams :-the great foundation's laid—
Maternal freedom warms the genial soil
And nerves the arm of labour; pure, benign,
Invigorating, as th' autumnal west,
When his cerulean breath from Hudson's woods
Their yellow foliage scatters o'er his waves.
But let Columbia, with exalted views,
For her succeeding millions greatly plan
Foundations of prosperity, more pure
Than antiquated policy would prompt.
The golden opportunity invites:
Thro' Europe's bleeding and disturb'd domain,
The drill of whisker'd musqueteers, and trump
Of murd'rous war at length has ceased. The storm
Deforming long her States has purified
Their moral atmosphere, instilling thoughts
Of government more just than lust of wealth,
Or arts, or transient glory, could devise;
And rousing from a long lethargic sleep
Our sorrowing nature, recognizes now,
With acclamations full and strong,
The voice of her Creator. Pervading too.
This favour'd land, with hallow'd influence,
Thro' vales, o'er hills half shorn of native wood,
And farms, with fences yet unfinish'd, far
From the Atlantic to the western wild,
In rich abundance widely has been strewn
The seed of everlasting life. May time,
In the succeeding harvest, crown a morn
Of so much promise! May the virgin soil,
Luxuriant in her richest depths, preserve,
Concoct, mature, and into lasting day
Bring forth, a teeming crop of righteousness!
Ere yet the sun has purified the hills
From nightly vapours, we proceed once more
With unfurl'd mainsail as the tide invites;
And glancing round the Promontory's edge,
Amidst the ringlets of its eddying strength,
Behold the prospect of an alpine scene
Magnificently wild, more truly grand
At each succeeding change. Gigantic, vast
O'ershadowing mountains soar, invested thick
Their rocky waists, and to their summits far
A wilderness unbounded to the eye,
Profuse and pathless unessayed by toil.
Diminutive beneath, the Hudson deep,
Cover'd by rocks, and silent, penetrates
The solitudinous and woodland scene,
His linear course disorder'd, winding thro'
Uncertain, struggling for a passage. Far
Within the lofty desart we descry
The fortress of West Point, where trav❜llers long
On Arnold's fate descant. Its roofless wall
With width embattled harmonizes well,
Amidst the sumptuous forest scene, with traits
Of menacing and shatter'd rocks: but tho'
By rule and shapely art proportion'd all
Man's fabrics, how minute beside the vast
And awful exhibitions of that Pow'r
He long has set at nought, tho' feeling now
Its high pre-eminence, as paramount
To all his vain and feeble energies,
In moral strength as physical. All day
With gentle western air, between new scenes
Of such surpassing grandeur, we glide on,
As some relief from too impressive sights
At times perusing the descriptive bard
Of Albion's Seasons,-Nature's genuine child.
But oft we pause to notice as we pass
The scenes contrasted on each shore; here steep
In clifts and perpendicular it hangs
Sublime, abrupt, defaced with massive crags
That blacken o'er the tide; there low at first,
And rising from the naked granite banks,
A sunny length of wood, outstretch'd from hill
To hill, far undulating thro' the yoke
Of distant mountains, o'er their summits spreads.
With slow transition by degrees we gain
A livelier horizon in the North;
And toward the open plains emerging thro'
The Highlands streight approach New Windsor's docks,
And Newburgh thriving near the shadowy scene
Of mountains. On the strand the vessels pile,
And timber-texture echoes to the stroke
Of plying toil. The animated scenes
Of man's industrious labours and pursuits
Recall us from majestic nature's grand
Imposing structures, to habitual thoughts
On life's vocations. Soon another sun
Has wing'd its ardent passage o'er our heads
Into the void of time; and sober eve
Succeeding to its blaze, invites us where
The shore embay'd, recedes towards the east,
Again to drop our anchor for the still,
Impending night.* At once our floating stage
Is stationary; and its cracking spars
And cordage for the dawn prepared, our crew,
Descending to their pitchy cells, incline
To early rest. Whilst o'er the yellow fields
(Whence the bland fragrance we inhale afar,)
The soaring night-hawks glance, and vespers shrill
From throats innumerous rise; the glimm'ring west
Reflected from the tranquil stream, displays
Its graceful tapestry, like the pure abode
Of happy spirits, from the union freed
Of this enthralling flesh, in love, and mild
Ethereal harmony, at rest. One scene
Less bright succeeds another, and at length
The fair illusion, like th' extinguish'd spark
Of life, is superseded by the reign
Of awful darkness, till th' omniscient Mind,
That all this fair creation from the womb
Of night and chaos usher'd first to light,
Restores it to our waking senses, pure,
And breathing incense. As the day now dawns,
Our way resuming with the silent lapse
Of the ascending tide, we float still north.
Towards a rising coast of menacing
It is usual for vessels sailing up the river to anchor at night, unless the wind is fair.
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