SW_Sutcliff_Page_136

The shady bank, the murm'ring stream, The woody wilds, his heart possess'd; The dewy lawn, his morning dream, In fancy's gayest colours dress'd. And why, he cry'd did I forsake My native woods, for gloomy walls; The silver stream, the limpid lake; For these dull books and college halls? A little could my wants supply: Can wealth or honour give me more? Or will my father's God deny The humble treat he gave before? Where Nature's ancient forests grow, The flowering laurel never fades; There is my heart; and I must go, And die amidst my native shades. He spoke, and to the western springs, Stripp'd of his gown, his way he bent; His blanket tied with yellow strings, This native of the forest went. Returning to his native plain, The Indians welcom'd him with joy; The Council took him home again, And bless'd their tawny-colour'd boy. From the Indian village of Brother Town, I came to another settlement of theirs, called the Orchard. Many of their habitations are formed principally of the bark of trees, attached to posts, which are fixed in the ground; the roofs being