With hues of genius on his cheek
In finest tones the Youth could speak:
-While he was yet a boy,

The moon, the glory of the sun,
And streams that murmur as they run,
Had been his dearest joy.

The panther in the wilderness

Was not so fair as he;

And, when he chose to sport and play,
No dolphin ever was so gay

Upon the tropic sea.

Among the Indians he had fought,

And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear;

Such tales as told to any maid

By such a Youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.

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 that hourly change Their blossoms, through a boundless range

Of intermingling 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.

"How pleasant," then he said, "it were

A fisher or a hunter there,

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 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 gorgeous flowers;
The breezes their own languor lent;

The stars had feelings, which they sent
Into those favored 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 share 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,

Those 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 I, in confidence and pride, Had crossed the Atlantic main.

Before me shone a glorious world—
Fresh as a banner bright, unfurled
To music suddenly:

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

No more of this; for now, by thee,

Dear Ruth! more happily set free
With nobler zeal I burn;

My soul from darkness is released,
Like the whole sky when to the east
The morning doth return."