And then he said, "How sweet 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 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, 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 roam'd 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, seem'd 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 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 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.