Where the remote Bermudas rideIn th’ ocean’s bosom unespy’d,From a small boat, that row’d along,The list’ning winds receiv’d this song.What should we do but sing his praiseThat led us through the wat’ry mazeUnto an isle so long unknown,And yet far kinder than our own?Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks,That lift the deep upon their backs,He lands us on a grassy stage,Safe from the storm’s and prelates’ rage.He gave us this eternal springWhich here enamels everything,And sends the fowls to us in care,On daily visits through the air.He hangs in shades the orange bright,Like golden lamps in a green night;And does in the pomegranates closeJewels more rich than Ormus shows.He makes the figs our mouths to meetAnd 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
, he stores the land, LebanonAnd makes the hollow seas that roarProclaim 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 frameA temple, where to sound his name.Oh let our voice his praise exalt,Till it arrive at heaven’s vault;Which thence (perhaps) rebounding, mayEcho beyond the . Mexic BayThus sung they in the English boatAn holy and a cheerful note,And all the way, to guide their chime,With falling oars they kept the time.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Help from a Poet
Andrew Marvell helps deliver us from the ugliness and sterility of the modern world with his poem 'Bermudas':