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I. Thou mortal Belial! thee I name The mightiest sophist known to fame. In the old Hellenic isles, Rich in rhetoric’s winning wiles, ’Mongst their most persuasive dead, None like thee was ever bred; E’en the Ithacensian’s lips Thou couldst cast into eclipse; Nor serpent’s eye, nor siren’s lute, Nor Coptic Lotos’ magic fruit, Could bewilder and entrance, Like thy honied utterance. II. Shadowed thick with jetty hair, Flowing like acanthus fair Over pillared capital, Towers aloft thy kingly brow; While from sunken eyes below Gleams a fiery southern glance, Keener far than keenest lance. III. These, with that Ionic form, And Asiatic fancy warm, Assembled and conjoined in one, Make the Forum’s paragon!