Byron

Byron

Keywords
None.
People
None.
Who pases for in life and death most lucky, Of the great names which in our faces stare, The General Boon, back-woodsman of Kentucky, Was happiest amongst mortals any where; For killing nothing but a bear or buck, he Enjoyed the lonely vigorous, harmless days Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze. <Crime came not near him -- when is not the child Of Solitude; health shrank not from him -- for Her home is in the rarely-trodden wild, Where if men seek her not, and death be more Their choice than life, forgive them, as beguiled By habit to what their own hearts abhor -- In cities caged. The present case in point I Cite is, that Boone lived hunting up to ninety; <And what's still stranger, left behind a name For which men vainly decimate the throng, Not only famous, but of that good fame, Without which Glory's but a tavern song -- Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame, Which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with wrong; An active hermit, even in age the child Of Nature, or the Man of Ross run wild. <'Tis true he shrank from men even of his nation, When they built up into his darling trees, -- He moved some hundred miles off, for a station Where there were fewer houses and more ease; The inconvenience of civilization Is, that you neither can be pleased nor please; But where he met the individual man He shewed himself as kind as mortal can. <He was not all alone: around him grew A sylvan tribe of children of the chance, Whose young, unwakened world was ever new, Nor sword nor sorrow yet had left a trace On her unwrinkled brow, nor could you view A frown on Nature's or on human face; -- The free-born forest found and kept them free, And fresh as is a torrent or a tree. <And tall and strong and swift of foot were they, Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions, Because their thoughts had never been the prey Of care of gain: the green woods were their portions; No stinking Spirits told them they grew grey, No Fashion made them apes of her distortions; Simple they were, not savage; and their rifles, Though very true, were not yet used for trifles. <Motion was in their days, Rest in their slumbers, And Cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil; Nor yet too many nor too few their numbers; Corruption could not make their hearts her soil; The Lust which stings, the Splendour which encumbers, With the free foresters divide not spoil; Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes Of this unsighing people of the woods. <So much for Nature: -- by way of variety, Now back to thy great joys, Civilization! And the sweet consequence of large society, War, Pestilence, the despot's desolation, The kingly scourge, the Lust of Notoriety, The millions slain by soldiers for the ration, The scenes like Catherine's boudoir at three-score, With Ismail's storm to soften it the more. BYRON

File: BYRON.NT1



    Created: 8/8/2017 10:52:32 PM
    Project: Digitizing Daniel Boone
    Creator: Faragher, John Mack
    ID: 27-40-20541-26678
    Permanent Link: https://sourcenotes.miamioh.edu/id?27-40-20541-26678














    

SourceNotes
sourcenotes.miamioh.edu