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(From The Beauties of Santa Cruz)
BETWIXT old Cancer and the midway line, | |
| In happiest climate lies this envied isle: | |
| Trees bloom throughout the year, soft breezes blow, | |
| And fragrant Flora wears a lasting smile. | |
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| Cool, woodland streams from shaded cliffs descend, | 5 |
| The dripping rock no want of moisture knows, | |
| Supplied by springs that on the skies depend, | |
| That fountain feeding as the current flows. * * * * * | |
| Sweet verdant isle, through thy dark woods I rove, | |
| And learn the nature of each native tree, | 10 |
| The fustic hard, the poisonous manchineel | |
| Which for its fragrant apple pleaseth thee, | |
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| Alluring to the smell, fair to the eye, | |
| But deadliest poison in the taste is found— | |
| Oh, shun the dangerous tree, nor touch, like Eve, | 15 |
| This interdicted fruit, in Eden’s ground. | |
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| The lowly mangrove, fond of watery soil, | |
| The white-barked gregory, rising high in air, | |
| The mastic in the woods you may descry; | |
| Tamarind, and lofty bay-trees flourish there. | 20 |
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| Sweet orange groves in lonely valleys rise | |
| And drop their fruits, unnoticed and unknown, | |
| The cooling acid limes in hedges grow, | |
| The juicy lemons swell in shades their own. | |
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| Soft, spongy plums on trees wide-spreading hang, | 25 |
| Bell-apples here, suspended, shade the ground, | |
| Plump grenadilloes, and guavas gray, | |
| With melons, in each plain and vale abound. | |
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| The conic-formed cashew, of juicy kind, | |
| That bears at once an apple and a nut; | 30 |
| Whose poisonous coat, indignant to the lip, | |
| Doth in its cell a wholesome kernel shut. | |
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| The prince of fruits, which some jayama call, | |
| Anana some, the happy flavored pine, | |
| In which unite the tastes and juices all | 35 |
| Of apple, quince, peach, grape, and nectarine, | |
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| Grows to perfection here, and spreads his crest, | |
| His diadem towards the parent sun; | |
| His diadem, in fiery blossoms drest, | |
| Stands armed with swords, from potent Nature won. * * * * * | 40 |
| But chief the glory of these Indian isles | |
| Springs from the sweet, uncloying sugar-cane: | |
| Hence comes the planter’s wealth, hence commerce sends | |
| Such floating piles, to traverse half the main. | |
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| Whoe’er thou art that leav’st thy native shore | 45 |
| And shalt to fair West India climates come, | |
| Taste not the enchanting plant,—to taste forbear, | |
| If ever thou wouldst reach thy much-loved home. | |
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| Ne’er through the Isle permit thy feet to rove; | |
| Or, if thou dost, let prudence lead the way, | 50 |
| Forbear to taste the virtues of the cane, | |
| Forbear to taste what will complete thy stay. | |
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| Whoever sips of this enchanting juice, | |
| Delicious nectar, fit for Jove’s own hall, | |
| Returns no more from his loved Santa Cruz, | 55 |
| But quits his friends, his country, and his all. * * * * * | |
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