"It was one of those beautiful mornings which the poets of all nations have attempted to describe, when we saw the isle of O-Taheite, within two miles before us. The east-wind which had carried us so far, was entirely vanished, and a faint breeze only wafted a delicious perfume from the land, and curled the surface of the sea. The mountains, clothed with forests, rose majestic in various spiry forms, on which we already perceived the light of the rising sun: nearer to the eye a lower range of hills, easier of ascent, appeared, wooded like the former, and coloured with several pleasing hues of green, soberly mixed with autumnal browns. At their foot lay the plain, crowned with its fertile bread-fruit trees, over which rose innumerable palms, the princes of the grove. Here every thing seemed as yet asleep, the morning scarce dawned, and a peaceful shade still rested on the landscape. We discerned however, a number of houses among the trees, and many canoes hauled up along the sandy beaches. About half a mile from the shore a ledge of rocks level with the water, extended parallel to the land, on which the surf broke, leaving a smooth and secure harbour within. The sun beginning to illuminate the plain, its inhabitants arose, and enlivened the scene. Having perceived the large vessels on their coast, several of them hastened to the beach, launched their canoes, and paddled towards us, who were highly delighted in watching all their occupations."