LIX.
The bear’s dark fur loose o’er his shoulders cast,
His hand did only at the breast confine,
The wampum wreath, which round his forehead past,
Did with the flame’s reflected brightness shine;
The beaver’s girdle closely swathed his waist;
It’s skirts hung low, all trimm’d with ’broidery fine;
The well-formed ankles the close gaiters bound,
With furs befringed, and starred with tinsel round.
LX.