ODE VIII

Where Hudson, once, in all his pride

In surges burst upon the shore

They plant amidst his flowing tide

Moles, to defy his loudest roar;

And lofty mansions grow where late

Half Europe might discharge her freight.

From northern lakes and wastes of snow

The river takes a distant rise,

Now marches swift, now marches slow,

And now adown some rapid flies

Till join'd the Mohawk, in their course

They travel with united force.

But cease, nor with too daring aim

Encroach upon this giant flood;

No rights reserved by nature, claim,

Nor on his ancient bed intrude:—

The river may in rage awake

And time restore him all you take.

The eastern stream, his sister, raves

To see such moles her peace molest

A London built upon her waves,

The weight of mountains on her breast:

With quicken'd flow she seeks the main

As on her bed new fabrics gain.

Bold streams! and may our verse demand

Is there not coast for many a mile,

And soils, as form'd by nature's hand

That border all Manhattan's isle:

Then why these mounds does avarice raise

And build the haunts of pale disease.

Yet in your aim to clip their wing

( It asks no wizard to descry,)

That time the woful day will bring

When Hudson's passion, swelling high,

May in a foam his wrongs repay

And sweep both house and wharf away.