Philosopher
Sees through the clouds a hand which cannot err
An unimproving race, with all their graces
And all their vices, must resign their places;
And Human Culture rolls its onward flood
Over the broad plains steeped in Indian blood
Such thoughts steady our faith; yet there will rise
Some natural tears into the calmest eyes,--
Which gaze where forest princes haughty go,
Made for a gaping crowd a raree-show.

But _this_ a scene seems where, in courtesy,
The pale face with the forest prince could vie,
For one presided, who, for tact and grace,
In any age had held an honored place,--
In Beauty's own dear day had shone a polished Phidian vase!

Oft have I listened to his accents bland,
And owned the magic of his silvery voice,
In all the graces which life's arts demand,
Delighted by the justness of his choice.
Not his the stream of lavish, fervid thought,--
The rhetoric by passion's magic wrought;
Not his the massive style, the lion port,
Which with the granite class of mind assort;
But, in a range of excellence his own,
With all the charms to soft persuasion known,
Amid our busy people we admire him,--"elegant and lone."

He scarce needs words: so exquisite the skill
Which modulates the tones to do his will,
That the mere sound enough would charm the ear,
And lap in its Elysium all who hear.
The intellectual paleness of his cheek,
The heavy eyelids and slow, tranquil smile,
The well-cut lips from which the graces speak,
Pit him alike to win or to beguile;
Then those words so well chosen, fit, though few,
Their linked sweetness as our thoughts pursue,
We deem them spoken pearls, or radiant diamond dew.

And never yet did I admire the power
Which makes so lustrous every threadbare theme,--
Which won for La Fayette one other hour,
And e'en on July Fourth could cast a gleam,--
As now, when I behold him play the host,
With all the dignity which red men boast,--
With all the courtesy the whites have lost;
Assume the very hue of savage mind,
Yet in rude accents show the thought refined;
Assume the _naivete_ of infant age,
And in such prattle seem still more a sage;
The golden mean with tact unerring seized,
A courtly critic shone, a simple savage pleased.
The stoic of the woods his skill confessed,
As all the father answered in his breast;
To the sure mark the silver arrow sped,
The "man wi