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William Priest - Travels in the United States of America
The feathers, in vermilion dy'd,
Himself did from a turkey win:
Thus dress'd so gay, he took his way
O'er barren hills, alone, alone!
His guide a star, he wander'd far,
His pillow every night a stone.
At last he came, with leg so lame,
Where learned men talk heathen Greek,
And hebrew lore is gabbled o'er,
To please the muses, twice a week.
A while he writ, a while he read,
A while he learn'd the grammar rules. -
An indian savage, so well bred,
Great credit promis'd to their schools.
Some thought, he would in law excel,
Some said, in physic he would shine;
And one, that knew him passing well,
Beheld in him a sound divine.
But those of more discerning eye,
E'en then could other prospects show,
And saw him lay his Virgil by,
To wander with his dearer bow.
The tedious hours of study spent,
The heavy-moulded lecture done,
He to the woods a hunting went,
But sigh'd to see the setting sun.
No mystic wonders fir'd his mind;
He sought to gain no learn'd degree,
But only sense enough to find
The squirrel in the hollow tree.
The shady bank, the purling stream,
The woody wild his heart possess'd;
The dewy lawn his morning dream
In fancy's gayest colours dress'd.
'And why,' he cried, 'did I forsake
My native wood for gloomy walls?
The silver stream, the limpid lake,
For musty books and college halls?
'A little could my wants supply -
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