And whence came he? and when, and why? Men question'd men, but nought was known Save that he roam'd the woods alone, And lived alone beneath the stir Of leaves, and letting life go by, Did look on her and only her. And had he fled with bloody hand? Or had he loved some Helen fair, And battling lost both land and town? Say, did he see his walls go down, Then choose from all his treasures there This love, and seek some other land? And yet the current of his life Mostlike had flow'd like oil; had been A monk's, for aught that all men knew. Mostlike the sad man's only sin, A cruel one, for thought is strife, Had been the curse of thought all through. Mayhap his splendid soul had spurn'd Insipid, sweet society, That stinks in nostrils of all men High-born and fearless-souled and free;-- That tasting to satiety Her hollow sweets he proudly turn'd, And did rebel and curse her then; And then did stoop and from the sod Pluck this one flower for his breast, Then turn to solitude for rest, And turn from man in search of God. And as to that, I reckon it But right, but Christian-like and just, And closer after Christ's own plan, To take men as you find your man, To take a soul from God on trust, A fit man, or yourself unfit: To take man free from the control Of man's opinion: take a soul In its own troubled world, all fair As you behold it then and there, Set naked in your sight, alone, Unnamed, unheralded, unknown: Yea, take him bravely from the hand That reach'd him forth from nothingness, That took his tired soul to keep All night, then reach'd him out from sleep And sat him equal in the land; Sent out from where the angels are, A soul new-born, without one whit Of bought or borrow'd character. Ah, bless us! if we only could As ready spin and willing weave Sweet tales of charity and good; Could we as willing clip the wings Of cruel tales as pleasant things, How sweet 'twould then be to believe, How good 'twould then be to be good. VIII. The squirrels chatter'd in the leaves, The turkeys call'd from pawpaw wood, The deer with lifted nostrils stood, And humming-birds did wind and weave, Swim round about, dart in and out, Through fragrant forest edge made red, Made many-colour'd overhead By climbing blossoms sweet with bee And yellow rose of Cherokee. Then frosts came by and touch'd the leaves, Then time hung ices on the eaves, Then cushion snows possess'd the ground, And so the seasons kept their round; Yet still old Morgan went and came From cabin door to forest dim, Through wold of snows, through wood of flame, Through golden Indian-summer days, Hung round in soft September haze, And no man cross'd or question'd him.