LII. To the Great Spirit, would his spirit bow, With hopes that Nature's impulses impart; Unlike the Christian, who just says his vow With heart enough to say it all by heart. Did we his virtues from his faults discern, 'Twould teach a lesson that we well might learn: An inculcation worthiest of our creed, To tell the simple truth, and do the promised deed. LIII. How deeply eloquent was the debate, Beside the council fire of those red men! With language burning as his sense of hate; With gesture just, with eye of keenest ken; With illustration simple, but profound, Drawn from the sky above him, or the ground Beneath his feet; and with unfalt'ring zeal, He spoke from a warm heart and made e'en cold hearts feel. LIV. And this is Eloquence. 'Tis the intense, Impassioned fervor of a mind deep fraught With native energy, when soul and sense Burst forth, embodied in the burning thought; When look, emotion, tone, are all combined-- When the whole man is eloquent with mind-- A power that comes not to the call or quest, But from the gifted soul, and the deep feeling breast. LV. Poor Logan had it, when he mourned that none Were left to mourn for him;--'twas his who swayed The Roman Senate by a look or tone; 'Twas the Athenian's, when his foes, dismayed, Shrunk from the earthquake of his trumpet call; 'Twas Chatham's, strong as either, or as all; 'Twas Henry's holiest, when his spirit woke Our patriot fathers' zeal to burst the British yoke. LVI. Isle of the beautiful! how much thou art, Now in thy desolation, like the fate Of those who came in innocence of heart, With thy green Eden to assimilate: Then Art her coronal to Nature gave, To deck thy brow; Queen of the onward wave! And woman came, the beautiful and good, And made her happy home 'mid thy embracing flood.[6] LVII. Alas! another came: his blandishment, The fascination of his smooth address, That read so well the very heart's intent, And could so well its every thought express,--[7] Won thy fair spirits to his dark design, And gave our country, too, her Cataline. He lives--the Roman traitor dared to die! Yet, in their different fates, behold the homily. LVIII. Rome, torn by civil feuds and anarchy, Could not endure a traitor on her heart-- For ready Faction, with her argus eye, Was ever watchful when to play her part; And Freedom, with a nightmare on her breast, But show'd she liv'd by groaning when opprest; And even Cato's energy to save, Preserved her, but awhile, to sink upon her grave.