And she had made a pipe of straw,
And from that oaten pipe could draw
All sounds of winds and floods;
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

Ten thousand lovely hues !
With bud ing, 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;

Herself her own delight;

Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay;

And passing thus the live-long day,

She grew to woman's height.

Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire.

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 savannas, 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 roamed 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, seemed 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 lovely flowers;

The breezes their own languor lent :
The stars had feelings, which they sent
Into those gorgeous bowers.

Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween
That sometimes there did intervene

Pure hopes of high intent :

For passions linked to forms so fair

And stately, needs must have their share Of noble sentiment.

But ill be 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 impaired, and he became The slave of low desires :

A man who without self-control Would seek what the degraded soul Unworthily admires.

Protesilàus, lo! thy guide is gone!

rejoice.

Not to appal me have the gods bestowed This precious boon,-and blest a sad abode."

Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains: Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains.

"Be taught, O faithful consort, to control Rebellious passion for the gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;

A fervent, not ungovernable love.
Thy transports moderate; and meekly