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.