From Indian blood you deem him sprung: But no! he spake the English tongue And bore a soldier's name; And, when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He 'cross the ocean came. 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. He was a lovely youth! I guess 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 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.