And waken a relenting smile When she encounters fraud or guile; Ye, who within the blameless mind They met me in a genial hour, As with the breath of one sweet flower, A time to overrule the power Of discontent, and check the birth Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife, Since parting Innocence bequeathed Soft clouds, the whitest of the year, Sailed through the sky-the brooks ran clear; The faith with which it then was cheered; Or, if such thoughts must needs deceive, That they, so happy and so fair, Through your sweet influence, and the care Destined, whate'er their earthly doom, For mercy and immortal bloom! XXIV. RUTH. WHEN Ruth was left half desolate, Her Father took another Mate; And she had made a Pipe of straw, Had built a Bower upon the green, As if she from her birth had been An Infant of the woods. Beneath her Father's roof, alone She seemed to live; her thoughts her own; Herself her own delight; Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay; And passing thus the live-long day, She grew to Woman's height. There came a Youth from Georgia's shore A military Casque he wore, With splendid feathers drest; He brought them from the Cherokees; The feathers nodded in the breeze, And made a gallant crest. From Indian blood you deem him sprung: Ah no! he spake the English tongue, And bore a Soldier's name; And, when America was free 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 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, To gather strawberries all day long; When daylight is gone down. He spake of plants divine and strange That every hour their blossoms change, Ten thousand lovely hues ! |