C6 THE FORESTETtS. 



All human ties forever to forego ; 

 The heart shrinks back, dejected and dismayed, 

 And owns that man for social joys was made. 

 Yet still, what'er our doubtful hearts may say, 

 Even Nature's self to habit will give way, 

 And these vast solitudes, so deep and drear, 

 As more frequented might become more dear. 



On yonder island, opening by degrees, 

 Behold the blue smoke mounting through the trees! 

 There, by his fire, 'mid sheltering brush obscured, 

 His bark canoe along the margin moored, 

 With lank jet locks that half his face conceal, 

 The Indian hunter eats his morning meal. 

 •Stakes rudely reared his little pot suspend, 

 Amid the smoke his busy partners bend, 

 Beyond, sly peeping, feerful to be seen, 

 Two copper chubs their favorite shell-barks glean. 

 Another night another hut supplies, 

 In half an hour the crazy fabrics rise ; 

 The roof with bark, the floor with spruce bespread, 

 The stakes around with skins and venison clad ; 

 At our approach suspicion lours his eye, 

 That scarce regards us gliding swiftly by. 

 His life how simple, and his wants how few ! 

 A blanket, leggins, rifle, and canoe, 

 Knife, hatchet, mockasins, — not much beside, 

 And all beyond to him is empty pride. 



O'er these lone swamps the Muse impatient (lies, 

 Where mighter scenes and nobler prospects rise, 



