| Where the remote Bermudas ride |
| In the ocean’s bosom unespied, |
| From a small boat that row’d along |
| The listening winds received this song. |
| ‘What should we do but sing His praise |
| That led us through the watery maze |
| Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks, |
| That lift the deep upon their backs, |
| Unto an isle so long unknown, |
| And yet far kinder than our own? |
| He lands us on a grassy stage, |
| Safe from the storms, and prelate’s
rage: |
| He gave us this eternal spring |
| Which here enamels everything, |
| And sends the fowls to us in care |
| On daily visits through the air. |
| He hangs in shades the the orange
bright |
| Like golden lamps in a green night, |
| And does in the pomegranates close |
| Jewels more rich than Ormus shows: |
| He makes the figs our mouths to meet, |
| And throws the melons at our feet; |
| But apples plants of such a price, |
| No tree could ever bear them twice. |
| With cedars chosen by His hand |
| From Lebanon He stores the land; |
| And makes the hollow seas that roar |
| Proclaim the ambergris on shore. |
| He cast (of which we rather boast) |
| The Gospel’s pearl upon our coast; |
| And in these rocks for us did frame |
| A temple where to sound His name. |
| O let our voice His praise exalt |
| Till it arrive at Heaven’s vault, |
| Which then perhaps rebounding may |
| Echo beyond the Mexique bay!’ |
| ―Thus sung they in the English boat |
| A holy and a cheerful note: |
| And all the way, to guide their chime, |
With falling oars they kept the time.
|
| Andrew
Marvell |
Classic Poems |
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[ An Horation Ode ] [ Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda ] [ Thoughts in a Garden ] [ To His Coy Mistress ] |
