Classic Poem

With sharpened pen and wit, one tunes his lays,
To sing the vanity of fame and praise;
His moping thoughts, bewildered in a maze,
In darkness wander.
What brings disgrace, what constitutes a wrong,
These form the burden of the tuneful song:
And honor saved, his senses then among
The dark holes ponder.
For me, it is a nobler thing I sing.
New Netherland springs forth my heroine;
Where Amstel's folk did erst their people bring,
And still they flourish.
New Netherland, thou noblest spot of earth,
Where Bounteous Heaven ever poureth forth
The fulness of His gifts, of greatest worth,
Mankind to nourish.
Whoe'er to you a judgment fair applies,
And knowing, comprehends your qualities,
Will justify the man who, to the skies,
Extols your glories.
Who studies well your natural elements,
And with the plumb of science, gains a sense
Of all the four: fails not in their defence,
Before free juries.
Your Air , so clear, so sharp to penetrate,
The western breezes softly moderate;
And, tempering the heat, they separate
It from all moisture.
From damp, and mist, and fog, they set it free;
From smells of pools, they give it liberty:
The struggling stenches made to mount on high,
And be at peace there.
No deadly pest its purity assails,
To spread infection o'er your hills and vales,
Save when a guilty race, great sins bewails
In expiating.
Your Sun, th' original of Fire and heat,
The common nutriment of both to eat,
Is warm and pure; in plants most delicate,
Much sap creating.
Nor turf, nor dried manure, — within your doors,
Nor coal, extracted from earth's secret stores,
Nor sods, uplifted from the barren moors,
For fuel given;
Which, with foul stench the brain intoxicate,
And thus, by the foul gas which they create.
The intellects of many, wise and great,
Men are out-driven.
The forests do, with better means, supply
The hearth and house; the stately hickory,
Not planted, does the winter fell defy, —
A valiant warden;
So closely grained, so rich with fragrant oil,
Before its blaze both wet and cold recoil;
And sweetest perfumes float around the while,
Like 'n Eden's garden.
The Water clear and fresh, and pure and sweet,
Springs up continually beneath the feet,
And everywhere the gushing fountains meet,
In brooks o'erflowing,
Which animals refresh, both tame and wild;
And plants conduce to grow on hill and field;
And these to man unnumbered comforts yield,
And quickly growing.
The Earth in soils of different shades appears,
Black, blue and white, and red; its bosom bears
Abundant harvests; and, what pleases, spares
Not to surrender.
No bounds exist to their variety.
They nourishment afford most plenteously
To creatures which, in turn, man's wants supply
And health engender.
O fruitful land! heaped up with blessings kind,
Whoe'er your several virtues brings to mind, —
Its proper value to each gift assigned,
Will soon discover,
If ever land perfection have attained,
That you in all things have that glory gained;
Ungrateful mortal, who, your worth disdained,
Would pass you over.
In North America, behold your Scat ,
Where all that heart can wish you satiate,
And where oppressed with wealth inordinate,
You have the power
To bless the people with whate'er they need,
The melancholy, from their sorrows lead,
The light of heart, exulting pleasures cede,
Who never cower.
The Ocean laves secure the outer shore,
Which, like a dyke, is raised your fields before;
And streams, like arteries, all veined o'er,
The woods refreshing;
And rolling down from mountains and the hills,
Afford, upon their banks, fit sites for mills;
And furnish, what the heart with transport fills,
The finest fishing.