444 HISTORY OF THE COUNTY OF WESTCHESTER. 



The road passing the village landing south leads to the Great Plant- 

 ing neck, called by the Indians Quinnahung, upon which are now many- 

 beautiful country seats. At the south-east extremity of the neck is sit- 

 uated Hunf s Point. This property was formerly occupied by the Hunt 

 family, for nearly one hundred and sixty years, having passed into their 

 hands by the marriage of Thomas Hunt with Elizabeth Jessup, daugh- 

 ter of Edward Jessup, one of the first patentees. In 1688, Thomas 

 Hunt, of the Grove farm, granted to his son, Thomas Hunt, one hun- 

 dred acres, lying on the south side of Gabriel Leggett's land, bounded 

 eastwardly and southerly by Bronck's river. The old Grange erected in 

 16S8, occupies a beautiful situation near the termination of the point, 

 overlooking the East river and Flushing bay. 



This place was for many years the residence of Rodman Drake the 

 poet, and it was here that he wrote his well known lines on the Bronx, 

 on the neighboring banks of which he often wandered : — 



I sat me down upon a green bank side 



Skirting the smooth edge of a gentle river, 

 Whose waters seemed unwillingly to glide, 



Like parting friends, who linger while they sever ; 

 Enforced to go, yet seeming still unready, 

 Backward they wind their way in many a wistful eddy. 



Gray o'er my head the yellow- vested willow 



Rullled its hoary top in the fresh breezes, 

 Glancing in light, like spray on a green billow, 



Or the fine frost work which young winter freezes, 

 "When first his power in infant pastime trying, 

 Congeals sad autumn's tears on the dead branches lying. 



From rocks around hung the loose ivy dangling, 



And in the clefts sumach of liveliest green, 

 Bright rising-stars the little beach was spangling, 



The goid-cap sorrel from his gauzy screen, 

 Shone like a fairy, enchased and beaded, 

 Left on some rnorn, when light flash'd in their eyes unheeded. 



Tue hum-bird shook his sun-touched wings around, 



The blue-finch carolled in the still retreat; 

 The antic squirrel capered on the ground, 



Where lichens made a carpet for his feet. 

 Through the transparent waves, the ruddy minkle 

 Shot up in glimmering sparks, his red fins tiny twinkle. 



There were the dark cedars, with loose mossy tresses, 



White-powder'd dog trees, and stiff hollies flaunting, 

 Gaudy as rustics in their May -day dresses, 



