With hues of genius on his cheek The moon, the glory of the sun, The panther in the wilderness Was not so fair as he; And, when he chose to sport and play, Upon the tropic sea. Among the Indians he had fought, And with him many tales he brought Such tales as told to any maid By such a Youth, in the green shade, 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, He told of the magnolia, spread High as a cloud, high over head! -Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam The Youth of green savannahs spake, Of islands, that together lie 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 Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me My helpmate in the woods to be, Or run, my own adopted bride, A sylvan huntress at my side, Beloved Ruth !"-No more he said. She thought again-and did agree 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 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, So beautiful, through savage lands The wind, the tempest roaring high, 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 A kindred impulse, seemed allied To his own powers, and justified Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, The beauteous forms of nature wrought, The stars had feelings, which they sent 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 Those wild men's vices he received, His genius and his moral frame A Man who without self-control And yet he with no feigned delight What could he less than love a Maid 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— I looked upon those hills and plains, No more of this; for now, by thee, Dear Ruth! more happily set free My soul from darkness is released, |