Whose soul, proud science never taught to stray”
Far as the glittring sun, or other orbs of day,
Lives far retird—a kanion deep, a solitary dell,
A gloomy shade—’tis there he deigns to dwell.
What is his food, when naught but rocks around
Are seen? No fields of plenty there do clothe the ground.
His raiment, also scant, to shield his naked form,
No robes of beasts, nor pelts, nor furs, to guard him from the storm.
And when with food he chance to break his fast,
He finds no wood to cook his limited repast.