-While he was yet a boy The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run He was a lovely youth! I guess The panther in the wilderness And when he chose to sport and play, Upon the tropic sea. Among the Indians he had fought; Such tales as, told to any maid 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; When daylight is gone down. He spake of plants that hourly change Their blossoms, through a boundless range Of intermingling hues; With budding, fading, faded flowers, They stand the wonder of the bowers 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 The youth of green savannahs spake, Of islands, that together lie As quietly as spots of sky And then he said, 'How sweet it were In sunshine or in shade To wander with an easy mind, And build a household fire, and find A home in every glade ! What days and what bright years! Ah me! Our life were life indeed, with Thee So pass'd 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, 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, Beloved Ruth !'-No more he said. 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, Even so they did; and I may say Through dream and vision did she sink, And green savannahs, she should share But, as you have before been told, So beautiful, through savage lands The wind, the tempest roaring high, For him, a youth to whom was given Whatever in those climes he found Irregular in sight or sound Did to his mind impart A kindred impulse, seem'd allied To his own powers, and justified Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, The beauteous forms of Nature wrought, Fair trees and gorgeous flowers; The breezes their own languor lent; The stars had feelings, which they sent Into those favour'd bowers. Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween That sometimes there did intervene Pure hopes of high intent: For passions link'd to forms so fair And stately, needs must have their share But ill he lived, much evil saw Nor better life was known; Those wild men's vices he received, His genius and his moral frame A man who without self-control And yet he with no feign'd delight What could he less than love a maid Sometimes most earnestly he said, 'O Ruth! I have been worse than dead; Before me shone a glorious world I look'd upon those hills and plains, No more of this-for now, by thee, My soul from darkness is released Full soon that better mind was gone; And once again he wish'd to live Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, But, when they thither came, the youth God help thee, Ruth !—Such pains she had That she in half a year was mad And in a prison housed; And there exulting in her wrongs, Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, Nor pastimes of the May, -They all were with her in her cell; When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, But of the vagrant none took thought; Among the fields she breathed again : Ran permanent and free; And, coming to the banks of Tone, There did she rest; and dwell alone Under the greenwood tree. The engines of her pain, the tools That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, And airs that gently stir The vernal leaves-she loved them still, Nor ever tax'd them with the ill Which had been done to her. |