Fit theme for song, the sylvan maid Who, if she knew not fauns or satyrs, Had conjured oft in mossy shade Visions of savage pale-face haters; I trow she dined on pork and maize In cabin, single-roomed and sooted, Quite innocent of frills and stays, Warm-hearted and bare-footed. Her beauty surely brought her note,— Its praises fed her soul like manna; Gossip o’er furtive tales did gloat, Sacred to Venus not Diana; But when the valiant lover came He crushed the scandal pests like vermin; A terror hedged the hero’s name And she was white as ermine. Thenceforth, a matron fair and fat, She shared the doting warrior’s station. Thais with Alexander sat And heard the plaudits of a nation; Though envious souls with poisoned leer Offset her new life by the other, The hero held her yet more dear, Stainless as Mary Mother. Weary of fortune’s smile and frown She died without the White House portal, But never wife wore richer crown, A sacred troth and love immortal: That love had made a queen of her Whom haughty dames turned prudish backs on, And History smiles but has no slur For Mistress Andrew Jackson.
Madam Hickory
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Fit theme for song, the sylvan maid Who, if she knew not fauns or satyrs, Had conjured oft in mossy shade Visions of savage pale-face haters; I trow she dined on pork and maize In cabin, single-roomed and sooted, Quite innocent of frills and stays, Warm-hearted and bare-footed. Her...