In spite of all my faults which make me
Myself detest,
They still cling to and kindly take me
Unto their breast.



AN EASTERN TALE

ADDRESSED TO MRS. S.C. CHOATE.

A Persian lady we're informed--
This happened long, long years before
The Christian era ever dawned,
A thousand years, it may be more,
The date and narrative are so obscure,
I have to guess some things that should be sure.

I'm puzzled with this history,
And rue that I began the tale;
It seems a kind of mystery--
I'm very much afraid I'll fail,
For want of facts of the sensation kind:
I therefore dwell upon the few I find.

I like voluminous writing best,
That gives the facts dress'd up in style.
A handsome woman when she's dressed
Looks better than (repress that smile)
When she in plainer costume does appear;