26 The Environmental Debate
But those of more discerning eye
Even then could other prospects show,
And saw him lay his Virgil by
To wander with his dearer bow.The tedious hours of study spent,
The heavy-moulded lecture done,
He to the woods a hunting went,
But sigh’d to see the setting sun.No mystic wonders fir’d his mind;
He sought to gain no learn’d degree,
But only sense enough to find
The squirrel in the hollow tree.
***
“And why (he cry’d) did I forsake
“My native wood for gloomy walls;
“The silver stream, the limpid lake
“For musty books and college halls.“A little could my wants supply—
“Can wealth and honour give me more;
“Or, will the sylvan god deny
“The humble treat he gave before?
***
“Where Nature’s ancient forests grow,
“And mingled laurel never fades,
“My heart is fix’d;—and I must go
“To die among my native shades.”He spoke, and to the western springs,
(His gown discharg’d, his money spent)
His blanket tied with yellow strings,
The shepherd of the forest went.Source: Philip Freneau, “The Indian Student,” The Poems
and Miscellaneous Works, ed. Lewis Leary (Delmar, NY:
Scholar, 1975; facsimile of two works printed separately in
1786 and 1788 by F. Bailey), pp. 69-71.Document 23: William Bartram on the Human Impact on the Environment (1791)
Before setting out on his own to explore the southeastern coast of America, the renowned botanical illustrator
William Bartram had traveled through much of the area with his father, John Bartram [see Document 19],
and had attempted to raise indigo (a plant used to obtain a blue dye) in Florida. In his travels along the St.
Johns River, William Bartram took note of the interplay between people—both Indians and whites—and their
surroundings, remarking on how people changed the face of the land to suit their own particular needs when
they settled in a certain place, and on how humans could turn a beautiful place into a devastated landscape.
Many people consider William Bartram to have been the first American environmentalist.About the middle of May, every thing being
in readiness to proceed up the river, we sat sail....
We had a pleasant day, the wind fair and mod-
erate, and ran by Mount Hope, so named by my
father John Bartram, when he ascended this river,
about fifteen years ago. It is a very high shelly
bluff, upon the little lake. It was at that time a
fine Orange grove, but now cleared and converted
into a large indigo plantation, the property of an
English gentleman, under the care of an agent. In
the evening we arrived at Mount Royal, where we
came and stayed the night....
From this place we enjoyed a most enchant-
ing prospect of the great Lake George, through a
grand avenue, if I may so term this narrow reach
of the river, which widens gradually for about
two miles, towards its entrance into the little
lake, so as to elude the exact rules of perspec-
tive, and appears of an equal width.
At about fifty yards distance from the landing
place, stands a magnificent Indian mount. About
fifteen years ago I visited this place, at which time
there were no settlements of white people, but all
appeared wild and savage; yet in that uncultivated