In virtue principled, in love sincere, In manners guarded, in expression clear, Kind to all others in a just decree, But fixed, devoted, loving only me. This have I ever hoped “heaven’s last best gift” would be, This have I sought, and heaven-blest, found in thee. Thee, in whose gentle manners, polished mind, Grace, sweetness, taste, benevolence are joined, Sense to engage, a _naivete_ to admire, Candor to please, and love itself to fire. Thee have I fondly hoped “heaven’s last best gift” to me, And all my hopes of bliss are hopes of thee. [1823.] THE BIRCHEN CANOE. In the region of lakes, where the blue waters sleep, My beautiful fabric was built; Light cedars supported its weight on the deep, And its sides with the sunbeams were gilt. The bright leafy bark of the betula[10] tree A flexible sheathing provides; And the fir’s thready roots drew the parts to agree, And bound down its high swelling sides. No compass or gavel was used on the bark, No art but the simplest degree; But the structure was finished, and trim to remark, And as light as a sylph’s could be. Its rim was with tender young roots woven round, Like a pattern of wicker-work rare; And it prest on the waves with as lightsome a bound As a basket suspended in air. The builder knew well, in his wild merry mood, A smile from his sweet-love to win, And he sung as he sewed the green bark to the wood, Keen ata nee saugein.[11] The heavens in their brightness and glory below, Were reflected quite plain to the view, And it moved like a swan—with as graceful a show, My beautiful birchen canoe. The trees on the shore, as I glided along, Seemed rushing a contrary way; And my voyagers lightened their toil with a song, That caused every heart to be gay. And still as I floated by rock and by shell, My bark raised a murmur aloud, And it danced on the waves as they rose and they fell, Like a fay on a bright summer cloud. I thought as I passed o’er the liquid expanse, With the landscape in smiling array; How blest I should be, if my life should advance, Thus tranquil and sweetly away. The skies were serene, not a cloud was in sight, Not an angry surge beat on the shore, And I gazed on the waters, and then on the light, Till my vision could bear it no more. Oh! long shall I think of those silver-bright lakes, And the scenes they exposed to my view; My friends—and the wishes I formed for their sakes, And my bright yellow birchen canoe. SAULT STE. MARIE, November 12th, 1825. [10] Betula papyracæ. [11] You only I love. ON LEAVING THE VILLAGE OF GENEVA IN 1812.