There is an Indian village; all around,
The dark, eternal, boundless forest spreads
Its varied foliage. Stately palm-trees rise
On every side, and numerous trees unknown
Save by strange names uncouth to English ears.
Here I dwelt awhile the one white man
Among perhaps two hundred living souls.
They pass a peaceful and contented life,
These black-hair'd, red-skinn'd, handsome, half-wild men.
Directed by the sons of Old Castile,