So counselled he, and both together went Into the thickest wood; there soon they chose The fig-tree⁠—not that kind for fruit renowned, But such as at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillared shade High overarched, and echoing walks between: There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds At loop-holes cut through thickest shade. Those leaves They gathered, broad as Amazonian targe, And with what skill they had together sewed, To gird their waist; vain covering, if to hide Their guilt and dreaded shame! Oh how unlike To that first naked glory! Such of late Columbus found the American, so girt With feathered cincture, naked else and wild Among the trees on isles and woody shores. Thus fenced, and, as they thought, their shame in part Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind, They sat them down to weep; nor only tears Rained at their eyes, but high winds worse within