University of Virginia Library

But 'twas the hero's mind that made him great:
His eye, his lip, his hand, were clothed with thunder;
Thrones, crowns, and sceptres give not more ascendence,
Back'd with arm'd legions, fortified with towers,
Than this imperial savage, all alone,
From Nature's pure beneficence derived.
Yet, when the hey-day of hot youth was over,
His soul grew gentle as the halcyon breeze
Sent from the evening-sea to bless the shore
After the fervours of a tropic noon;
Nor less benign his influence than fresh showers
Upon the fainting wilderness, where bands
Of pilgrims bound for Mecca, with their camels,
Lie down to die together in despair,
When the deceitful mirage, that appear'd
A pool of water trembling in the sun,
Hath vanish'd from the bloodshot eye of thirst.
Firm in defence as valiant in the battle,
Assailing none, but all assaults repelling
With such determined chastisement, that foes
No longer dared to forage on his borders,
War shrunk from his dominions; simple laws,
Yet wise and equitable, he ordain'd
To rule a willing and obedient people.
Blood ceased to flow in sacrifice,—no more
The parents' hands were raised against their children,—
Children no longer slew their aged parents,—
Man prey'd not on his fellow-man,—within
The hallow'd circle of his patriarch-sway,
That seem'd, amidst barbarian clans around,
A garden in a waste of briar and hemlock.