Part 2 (2/2)
XLVII.
And here, where once the Indian mother dwelt, Cradling her infant on the blast-rocked tree, Feeling the vengeance that her warrior felt, And teaching war to childhood on her knee-- Now dwells the christian mother: O! _her_ heart Has learned far better the maternal part-- Yet, in deep love, in pa.s.sion for her child, Who has surpa.s.s'd thine own, wild woman of the wild?
XLVIII.
Our homes, and hearts, and Nature, the blue sky, Breathe these affections into all who live-- The flowings of their fountains cannot dry.
Who gave us life? 'Tis He, who bids them live!
And they have lived, here, in this forest-bower, In all the strength, the constancy, the power, The deep devotion, the unchanging truth Of Eden's early dawn, when Time was in his youth.
XLIX.
How patient was that red man of the wood!
Not like the white man, garrulous of ill-- Starving! who heard his faintest wish for food?
Sleeping upon the snow-drift on the hill!
Who heard him chide the blast, or say 'twas cold?
His wounds are freezing! is the anguish told?
Tell him his child was murdered with its mother!
He seems like carved out stone that has no woe to smother.
L.
With front erect, up-looking, dignified-- Behold high Hecla in eternal snows!
Yet, while the raging tempest is defied, Deep in its bosom how the pent flame glows!
And when it bursts forth in its fiery wrath!
How melts the ice-hill from its fearful path, As on it rolls, unquench'd, and all untam'd!-- Thus was it with that chief when his wild pa.s.sions flam'd.
LI.
Nature's own statesman, by experience taught, He judged most wisely, and could act as well; With quickest glance could read another's thought, His own, the while, the keenest could not tell; Warrior--with skill to lengthen, or combine, Lead on, or back, the desultory line; Hunter--he pa.s.sed the trackless forest through,-- Now on the mountain trod, now launch'd the light canoe.
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 ill.u.s.tration 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, Impa.s.sioned 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 a.s.similate: 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.
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