From “Twasinta’s Seminoles” (Canto I, XXXVIII)

What if his child, of Maroon mother born,
Were not so white as fancy’s marble art?
What if Care’s tedious skill did not adorn?—
A native air did nobler charms impart;
For beauty blossomed wildly in her heart:
The rosebud’s youngest tinge was in her cheek,
And her dark restless eyes could dance and start
As if the sparkling sense were wont to speak,
And hurl the insult back that woman’s heart is weak.