- To thee, if Fate low level land assign, [155]
- Slightly cohering, and of sable hue,
- Far from the hill, be parsimony thine.
- For tho’ this year when constant showers descend;
- The speeding gale, thy sturdy numerous stock,
- Scarcely suffice to grind thy mighty Canes: [160]
- Yet thou, with rueful eye, for many a year,
- Shalt view thy plants burnt by the torch of day;
- Hear their parch’d wan blades rustle in the air;
- While their black sugars, doughy to the feel,
-
Will not ev’n pay the labour of thy swains. [165]
- OR, if the mountain be thy happier lot,
- Let prudent foresight still thy coffers guard.
- For tho’ the clouds relent in nightly rain,
- Tho’ thy rank Canes wave lofty in the gale:
- Yet will the arrow, ornament of woe, [170]
- (Such monarchs oft-times give) their jointing stint;
- Yet will winds lodge them, ravening rats destroy,
- Or troops of monkeys thy rich harvest steal.1
- The earth must also wheel around the sun,
- And half perform that circuit; ere the bill2 [175]
VER. 170. Yet will the arrow,] That part of the Cane which shoots up into the fructification, is called by planters its Arrow, having been probably used for that purpose by the Indians. Till the arrow drops, all additional jointing in the Cane is supposed to be stopped.