This snake skin, that once I so sacredly wore, I will toss with disdain on the storm-beaten shore; Its charms I no longer obey or invoke, Its spirit hath left me, its spell is now broke. I will raise up my voice to the source of the light, I will dream on the wings of the blue-bird at night, I will speak to the spirits that whisper in leaves, And that minister balm to the bosom that grieves, And will take a new manito—such as shall seem To be kind and propitious in every dream. Oh, then, I shall banish these cankering sighs, And tears shall no longer gush salt from my eyes. I shall wash from my face every peace-color’d stain, Red, red! shall alone on my visage remain. I will dig up my hatchet and bend my oak bow, By night and by day, I will follow the foe; No lake shall repress me—no mountain oppose, His blood can alone give my spirit repose. They came to my cabin when heaven was black, I heard not their coming—I knew not their track, But I saw by the light of their blazing fusees, They were people engender’d beyond the big seas. My wife and my children—oh spare me the tale,— But who is there left, that is kin to Geehale? ALBANY, 1820. THE CHOICE. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. A sweet, retiring, simple, modest mien, Not shunning, and not seeking to be seen; A taste in dress and each domestic care, Neat but not gaudy, pleasing without glare; Such have I often wished “heaven’s last best gift” should be, Such have I oft, with joy, remarked in thee. An even temper, mild, endearing, kind, A sound, discreet, and regulated mind, Improved by reading, by reflection formed, By reason guided, by religion warmed. This have I often prayed “heaven’s last best gift” to be, This have I oft, with joy, remarked in thee. Benevolent to all, to soothe or cure, But a firm friend to all the neighb’ring poor; The poor in worldly goods, or _bon ton_ merit, The sunk in sickness, and the bow’d in spirit. This have I often hoped “heaven’s last best gift” to be, This have I oft, with joy, remarked in thee. Possessing spirit, yet a gentle creature, Lover of quiet and the charms of nature, With no vain rage to simper, glare or roam, Pleased if abroad, but mostly pleased at home. This have I fondly hoped “heaven’s last best gift” to be, This have I oft admired, sweet maid, in thee. In person comely, rather than renowned, In books conversant, rather than profound, With too much sense to slight domestic duty, Or sigh to shine a wit, or flaunt a beauty. This have I fondly wished “heaven’s last best gift” to be, Such have I seen thee oft, and often hope to see.