APOSTROPHE TO PETTAQUAMSCUTT.
By Emma Robinson of Newport, 1785.
We consider the following fine and spirited lines as beautiful as anything yet written upon this charming place. - Ed.
Lost to youths' enthusiasm;
Lost to all poetic fire;
The mind must be a lifeless chasm,
That these scenes do not inspire!
"What'er can warm the imagination,
Please the eye or charm the ear;
In enchanting variation,
Bounteous nature lavished here.
Here the vast unbounded ocean,
His majestic billows roll;
Kaising most sublime emotion,
Lifts and awes the astonished soul.
There his waves with hope elated.
Strive the upland heights to gain:
But like human hopes frustrated,
Bellow to the distant main.
Still with indignation swelling,
Calls his surges from afar;
Still repelling and still repelling,
Rages in continual war.
Here the waters idly sporting,
Fondly wooes the grassy shore;
And more calm recesses courting,
Than the ocean's stormy roar.
Rouse more tranquil joys pursuing,
Pettaquamscutt steals away;
Oft his peaceful course reviewing,
Winds along with sweet delay.
Lo the raptured eye beguiling,
How the distant prospect charms;
Rocks, hills, valleys, meadows smiling,
Rise secure from all alarms!
To those the grove his shade opposing.
Overhangs the peaceful flood;
Above the towering branches closing.
Rivals each surrounding wood.
Pious dove and sweet composure,
This sequestered gloom inspires;
While from its secure enclosure,
Every ruder thought retires.
Moss crown rocks their heads erecting,
Heighten still the pleasing gloom;
And their circling flowers protecting,
Bid them unmolested bloom.
Here the birds the sunbeams flying,
Natures' inspiration sings;
Echo to their voice replying,
Make the neighboring valleys ring.
This fair spot with partial pleasure,
Pettaquamscutt's arms entwine;
Leaves with pain his favorite treasure.
Parting feels regret like mine.
Soon again thy waves returning,
Shall embrace this blissful shore;
Fate my fondest wishes spurning,
Bids me different scenes explore.
Follow still your sweet employment,
Wave ye woods ye ocean roar;
Ye shall give snblime enjoyment,
When your Emma is no more!
SOURCE: Page(s): 89-91; The Narragansett, Volume 1. October, 1882 Number 2