Excerpt from “A Recommendation of New England” by William Morrell

Feare not poore muse, ’cause first to sing her fame,
That’s yet scarce known, unless by map or name;
A grand-childe to earth’s paradize is borne,
Well lim’d, well nerv’d, faire, rich, sweete, yet forlorne.
Thou blest director, so direct my verse,
That it may winne her people, friends, commerce;
Whilst her sweet ayre, rich soile, blest seas, my penne
Shall blaze and tell the natures of her men.
New-England, happie in her new true stile,
Wearie of her cause she’s to sad exile
Expos’d by her’s unworthy of her land,
Intreates with teares Great Brittaine to command
Her empire, and to make her know the time,
Whose act and knowledge onely makes divine.
A royall worke well worthy England’s king,
These natives to true truth and grace to bring.
A noble worke for all these noble peares
Which guide this state in their superiour spheres.
You holy Aarons let your sensors nere
Cease burning, till these men Jehovah feare.
Westward a thousand leagues a spatious land
Is made unknown to them that it command.
Of fruitfull mould, and no lesse fruitlesse maine
Inrich with springs and prey high-land and plaine.
The light well tempred, humid ayre, whose breath
Fils full all concaves betwixt heaven and earth,
So that the region of the ayre is blest
With what earth’s mortals wish to be possest.
Great Titan darts on her his heavenly rays
Whereby extreames he quells, and overswayes.
Blest is this ayre with what the ayre can blesse,
Yet frequent ghusts doe much this place distresse;
Here unseene ghusts doe instant on-set give,
As heaven and earth they would together drive.
An instant power doth surprize their rage,
In their vast prison, and their force asswage.
Thus in exchange a day or two is spent,
In smiles and frownes: in great yet no content.
The earth grand parent to all things on earth,
Cold, dry, and heavie, and the next beneath
The ayre, by nature’s arme with low discents,
Is as it were intrencht; againe ascents
Mount up to heaven by Jove’s omnipotence,
Whose looming greenesse joyes the sea-mans sence.
Invites him to a land if he can see,
Worthy the thrones of stately soveraigntie.
The fruitfull and well watered earth doth glad
All hearts, when Flora’s with her spangles clad,
And yeelds an hundred fold for one,
To feede the bee and to invite the drone.
O happie planter, if you knew the height
Of planter’s honours where ther’s such delight;
There nature’s bounties, though not planted are,
Great store and sorts of berries great and faire:
The filberd, cherry, and the fruitful vine,
Which cheares the heart and makes it more divine.
Earth’s spangled beauties pleasing smell and sight
Objects for gallant choyce and chiefe delight.
A ground-nut there runnes on a grassie threed,
Along the shallow earth as in a bed,
Yealow without, thin filmd, sweete, lilly white,
Of strength to feede and cheare the appetite.
From these our natures may have great content,
And good subsistance when our meanes is spent.

From: http://www.bartleby.com/400/poem/32.html

Date: 1625 (original in Latin; translation in English)

By: William Morrell (c1590-after 1626)

Translated by: William Morrell (c1590-after 1626)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: