The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Look now abroad—another race has fill’d
These populous borders—wide the wood recedes,
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are till’d;
The land is full of harvests and green meads;
Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds,
Shine, disembower’d, and give to sun and breeze
Their virgin waters; the full region leads
New colonies forth, that toward the western seas