From “Twasinta’s Seminoles” (Canto I, XLV)

Here erst came exiles from their little farms, 
To greet Palmecho and some honored guest; 
Then ranged in rows, they sat with folded arms, 
And heaven with rude, but fervent songs addrest: 
A nameless longing kindled in each breast, 
Gave soul to song, and as their voices rose, 
And rolled, and echoed, dying in the West, 
It seemed as if the dark hills did enclose 
Unearthly choirs that chanted Nature to repose.