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.
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.
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.