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. His genius and his moral frame Were thus impair'd, 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 feign'd delight Had woo'd 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 play'd-- So kind and so forlorn? Sometimes most earnestly he said, 'O Ruth! I have been worse than dead; False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain Encompass'd me on every side When I, in confidence and pride, Had cross'd the Atlantic main. 'Before me shone a glorious world Fresh as a banner bright, unfurl'd To music suddenly: I look'd upon those hills and plains, And seem'd 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.' Full soon that better mind was gone; No hope, no wish remain'd, not one,-- They stirr'd him now no more; New objects did new pleasure give, And once again he wish'd to live As lawless as before.