He told of Girls

a happy rout!

Who quit their fold with dance and shout
Their pleasant Indian Town,

To gather strawberries all day long
Returning with a choral song

When daylight is gone down.

He spake of plants divine and strange
That every hour their blossoms change,
Ten thousand lovely hues!

With budding, fading, faded flowers
They stand the wonder of the bowers
From morn to evening dews.

He told of the Magnolia, spread
High as a cloud, high over head!

The Cypress and her spire;

Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire.

The Youth of green savannahs spake,
And many an endless, endless lake,
With all its fairy crowds

Of islands, that together lie

As quietly as spots of sky

Among the evening clouds.

And then he said, "How sweet it were

A fisher or a hunter there,

A gardener in the shade,

Still wandering with an easy mind,
To build a household fire, and find
A home in every glade!

What days and what sweet years! Ah me.
Our life were life indeed, with thee
So passed in quiet bliss,

And all the while," said he, "to know
That we were in a world of woe,

On such an earth as this!"

And then he sometimes interwove
Fond thoughts about a Father's love:
"For there," said he, "are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,
That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun.

Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me

My helpmate in the woods to be,
Our shed at night to rear;

Or run, my own adopted Bride,
A sylvan Huntress at my side,
And drive the flying deer!

Beloved Ruth!"

No more he said.

The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed

A solitary tear:

She thought again — and did agree
With him to sail across the sea,

And drive the flying deer.

"And now, as fitting is and right,
We in the Church our faith will plight,

A Husband and a Wife.”

Even so they did; and I may say
That to sweet Ruth that happy day

Was more than human life.

Through dream and vision did she sink,
Delighted all the while to think
That on those lonesome floods,

And green savannahs, she should share
His board with lawful joy, and bear
His name in the wild woods.

But, as you have before been told,
This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold,
And with his dancing crest

So Beautiful, through savage lands
Had roamed about, with vagrant bands
Of Indians in the West.

The wind, the tempest roaring high,
The tumult of a tropic sky,

Might well be dangerous food

For him, a Youth to whom was given

So much of earth so much of Heaven,

And such impetuous blood.

Whatever in those climes he found

Irregular in sight or sound.

Did to his mind impart

A kindred impulse, seemed allied

To his own powers, and justified

The workings of his heart.

Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought,

The beauteous forms of nature wrought,

Fair trees and lovely flowers;

The breezes their own languor lent; The stars had feelings, which they sent Into those gorgeous bowers.

Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween
That sometimes there did intervene
Pure hopes of high intent:

For passions linked to forms so fair
And stately, needs must have their snare
Of noble sentiment.

But ill he lived, much evil saw,
With men to whom no better law
Nor better life was known;
Deliberately, and undeceived,

These wild men's vices he received
And gave them back his own.

His genius and his moral frame
Were thus impaired, and he became
The slave of low desires:

A Man who without self-control
Would seek what the degraded soul
Unworthily admires.

And yet he with no feigned delight
Had wooed the Maiden, day and night

Had loved her, night and morn:

What could he less than love a Maid

Whose heart with so much nature played? So kind and so forlorn!

Sometimes, most earnestly, he said,

"O Ruth! I have been worse than dead; False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain, Encompassed me on every side

When first, in confidence and pride,
I crossed the Atlantic Main.

It was a fresh and glorious world,
A banner bright that was unfurled
Before me suddenly:

I looked upon those hills and plains
And seemed as if let loose from chains,
To live at liberty.

But wherefore speak of this? for now,
Sweet Ruth! with thee, I know not how,
I feel my spirit burn

Even as the east when day comes forth:
And, to the west, and south, and north,
The morning doth return."

Full soon that purer mind was gone;
No hope, no wish remained, not one,-
They stirred him now no more :
New objects did new pleasure give,
And once again he wished to live
As lawless as before.

Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared,
They for the voyage were prepared,
And went to the sea-shore;

But, when they thither came, the Youth
Deserted his poor Bride, and Ruth

Could never find him more.

"God help thee, Ruth!"

Such pains she had

That she in half a year was mad,

And in a prison housed;

And there she sang tumultuous songs,

By recollection of her wrongs

To fearful passion roused.