The Bay Islet[82]

In shallow streams, a league from town, (Its baby Light-House tumbled down) Extends a country, full in view, Beheld by all, but known to few.

Surrounded by the briny waste No haven here has Nature placed; But those who wish to pace it o'er Must land upon the open shore.

There as I sailed, to view the ground; No blooming goddesses I found-- But yellow hags, ordained to prove The death, and antidote of love.

Ten stately trees adorn the isle, The house, a crazy, tottering pile, Where once the doctor plied his trade On feverish tars and rakes decayed.

Six hogs about the pastures feed (Sweet mud-larks of the Georgia breed) Who, while the hostess deals out drams, Can oysters catch, and open clams.

Upon its surface, smooth and clean, A world, in miniature, is seen; Though scarce a journey for a snail We meet with mountain, hill, and vale.

To those that guard this stormy place, Two cities stare them in the face: There, York its spiry summits rears, And here Cummunipaw appears.

The tenant, now but ill at ease, Derives no fuel from his trees: And Jersey boats, though begged to land, All leave him on the larboard hand.

Some monied man, grown sick of care, To this neglected spot repair: What Nature sketched, let art complete, And own the loveliest Country Seat.

edition. Text from the 1809 edition.