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.