Thus spoke Pamunky’s wily king;
The torch-light high was flickering;
On Powhatan’s stern face it gleams,
But from his eye shot fiercer beams,
That told the fire, which vigor lit
In his day of strength, was burning yet.
The monarch rose in musing mood,
And silent for a moment stood,
Wrapp’d in himself, as though he sought
To grasp some hidden, vanish’d thought,
Which, rayless, vague, and undefined,
Still seems to flit before the mind,
A form unseen—But now a glow
Of animation rose, as though
That vanish’d thought in brightness broke
At once upon his view; and then,
Turning toward his guest again,
Thus to the chief he spoke.
The torch-light high was flickering;
On Powhatan’s stern face it gleams,
But from his eye shot fiercer beams,
That told the fire, which vigor lit
In his day of strength, was burning yet.
The monarch rose in musing mood,
And silent for a moment stood,
Wrapp’d in himself, as though he sought
To grasp some hidden, vanish’d thought,
Which, rayless, vague, and undefined,
Still seems to flit before the mind,
A form unseen—But now a glow
Of animation rose, as though
That vanish’d thought in brightness broke
At once upon his view; and then,
Turning toward his guest again,
Thus to the chief he spoke.
XIII.
‘Brother, a mist is round my head,
‘And darkness in my path is spread;
‘Thy tale is like the clouds of night;
‘My thoughts are stars that shed no light;
‘And much I marvel what may mean
‘This wondrous vision thou hast seen.
‘That pale-face throng, with forms like ours,
‘Are not the band of secret powers,
‘Which thou hast fancied them to be;
‘This would not solve the mystery,
‘For spirits of fire and spirits of flood
‘Are foes that seek each other’s blood.
‘My thoughts are bent another way;
‘I hear a voice, that seems to say,
‘They are but men, perchance, who seek,
‘Along the shores of Chesapeake,
‘To plant a tree whose roots shall spread,
‘Broad and deep as that ocean bed,
‘And whose tall branches shall expand,
‘Till they o’ershadow all the land.
‘I hear a voice that says, beware,
‘Or thou wilt tread upon a snare;
‘There is a way thou must not pass,
‘A serpent lieth in the grass;
‘There is a fountain thou must shun,
‘For streams of poison from it run;
‘There is a shade thou must not seek,
‘For round it plays the lightning streak.
‘I hear a voice in whispers low,
‘That speaks of carnage, death, and wo,
‘Of injured rights and ruthless power,
‘And tempest-clouds, which soon shall lower:—
‘Some pestilence infects the air;
‘I hear a voice that says, beware.
‘Hast thou not heard our fathers tell
‘What once, in ages past, befell
‘Our race, what time Missouri’s tide
‘Beheld them sporting by its side?
‘While they in fearless quiet slept,
‘A secret foe among them crept,
‘And, ere they dream’d of coming scath,
‘Had wellnigh struck the blow of death.
‘Harmless at first he seem’d to be,
‘And weak as helpless infancy;
‘His face was bright with friendship’s smile,
‘But in his heart was blackest guile;
‘And soon to giant strength he grew,
‘And thunderbolts around him threw,
‘And many a death and many a wound
‘Among our sires he dealt around,
‘And drove them from their peaceful home,
‘Through forests deep and wild to roam.
‘But o’er his head a murky cloud
‘Came down upon him as a shroud,
‘And vengeance seized upon her prey
‘And hid him from the light of day.
‘The stubborn oak that stood in pride,
‘And all the thunderer’s wrath defied,
‘By one red lightning stroke was riven,
‘Like mist before the tempest driven.
‘The tribes collected in their might,
‘To glut themselves with wreakful fight,
‘And swift their darts of bloody vengeance hurl’d,
‘And Madoc and his host were wither’d from the world.{6}
‘Some race of men like these, I ween,
‘Those beings are, which thou hast seen;
‘And something whispers in my ear,
‘Those beings must not linger here.
‘And, chieftain, list now what I say;
‘Hear my direction, and obey.
‘When first to-morrow’s golden light
‘Beams on the sable brow of night,
‘What time the wild-birds wake the glen,
‘Collect thy wisest, bravest men,
‘And with them straight to Paspahey repair,
‘And learn both who and whence these strange intruders are.
‘Unto their pale-face leader show{7}
‘The pipe of peace and warlike bow;’
‘Nor fail withal to let them plainly know,
‘We’ve calumets for friends, and arrows for a foe.’
‘And darkness in my path is spread;
‘Thy tale is like the clouds of night;
‘My thoughts are stars that shed no light;
‘And much I marvel what may mean
‘This wondrous vision thou hast seen.
‘That pale-face throng, with forms like ours,
‘Are not the band of secret powers,
‘Which thou hast fancied them to be;
‘This would not solve the mystery,
‘For spirits of fire and spirits of flood
‘Are foes that seek each other’s blood.
‘My thoughts are bent another way;
‘I hear a voice, that seems to say,
‘They are but men, perchance, who seek,
‘Along the shores of Chesapeake,
‘To plant a tree whose roots shall spread,
‘Broad and deep as that ocean bed,
‘And whose tall branches shall expand,
‘Till they o’ershadow all the land.
‘I hear a voice that says, beware,
‘Or thou wilt tread upon a snare;
‘There is a way thou must not pass,
‘A serpent lieth in the grass;
‘There is a fountain thou must shun,
‘For streams of poison from it run;
‘There is a shade thou must not seek,
‘For round it plays the lightning streak.
‘I hear a voice in whispers low,
‘That speaks of carnage, death, and wo,
‘Of injured rights and ruthless power,
‘And tempest-clouds, which soon shall lower:—
‘Some pestilence infects the air;
‘I hear a voice that says, beware.
‘Hast thou not heard our fathers tell
‘What once, in ages past, befell
‘Our race, what time Missouri’s tide
‘Beheld them sporting by its side?
‘While they in fearless quiet slept,
‘A secret foe among them crept,
‘And, ere they dream’d of coming scath,
‘Had wellnigh struck the blow of death.
‘Harmless at first he seem’d to be,
‘And weak as helpless infancy;
‘His face was bright with friendship’s smile,
‘But in his heart was blackest guile;
‘And soon to giant strength he grew,
‘And thunderbolts around him threw,
‘And many a death and many a wound
‘Among our sires he dealt around,
‘And drove them from their peaceful home,
‘Through forests deep and wild to roam.
‘But o’er his head a murky cloud
‘Came down upon him as a shroud,
‘And vengeance seized upon her prey
‘And hid him from the light of day.
‘The stubborn oak that stood in pride,
‘And all the thunderer’s wrath defied,
‘By one red lightning stroke was riven,
‘Like mist before the tempest driven.
‘The tribes collected in their might,
‘To glut themselves with wreakful fight,
‘And swift their darts of bloody vengeance hurl’d,
‘And Madoc and his host were wither’d from the world.{6}
‘Some race of men like these, I ween,
‘Those beings are, which thou hast seen;
‘And something whispers in my ear,
‘Those beings must not linger here.
‘And, chieftain, list now what I say;
‘Hear my direction, and obey.
‘When first to-morrow’s golden light
‘Beams on the sable brow of night,
‘What time the wild-birds wake the glen,
‘Collect thy wisest, bravest men,
‘And with them straight to Paspahey repair,
‘And learn both who and whence these strange intruders are.
‘Unto their pale-face leader show{7}
‘The pipe of peace and warlike bow;’
‘Nor fail withal to let them plainly know,
‘We’ve calumets for friends, and arrows for a foe.’
XIV.
Here paused the sage, and waved his hand,
The fiat of his high command—
‘Monarch, thy will shall be obey’d,’
Was all the plumed chieftain said,
As round his brawny limbs he drew{8}
His feathery mantle, broad and blue,
And left the hall with lofty mein,
Plunged in the grove, nor more was seen.
The fiat of his high command—
‘Monarch, thy will shall be obey’d,’
Was all the plumed chieftain said,
As round his brawny limbs he drew{8}
His feathery mantle, broad and blue,
And left the hall with lofty mein,
Plunged in the grove, nor more was seen.
END OF CANTO FIRST.
CANTO SECOND.
I.
Softly and light the moonbeams fell
Upon that forest-cinctur’d cell,
Whose wicker walls were mottled brown
Where shadows of the trees came down,
And gently moved and quiver’d there,
Like spirits dancing in the air.
A stout and trusty guard was placed{9}
Around the lodge, whose hands embraced
The battle-axe or bended bow,
Ready to meet a coming foe;
And silent as the stars of night
They watch’d from dusk till dawning light.
Hush’d were the echoes of the grove,
Where feeding deer in quiet rove;
The softly whispering zephyr’s breath
Came by with a stillness next to death,
And silence hover’d with noiseless wing
Over the monarch slumbering.
Slept Powhatan? Why think it strange?
Terror in him could work no change;
For he had seen too much of life
To heed the approach of toil or strife;
In perilous vicissitude grown old,
He now could calmly rest though thunders round him roll’d.
Upon that forest-cinctur’d cell,
Whose wicker walls were mottled brown
Where shadows of the trees came down,
And gently moved and quiver’d there,
Like spirits dancing in the air.
A stout and trusty guard was placed{9}
Around the lodge, whose hands embraced
The battle-axe or bended bow,
Ready to meet a coming foe;
And silent as the stars of night
They watch’d from dusk till dawning light.
Hush’d were the echoes of the grove,
Where feeding deer in quiet rove;
The softly whispering zephyr’s breath
Came by with a stillness next to death,
And silence hover’d with noiseless wing
Over the monarch slumbering.
Slept Powhatan? Why think it strange?
Terror in him could work no change;
For he had seen too much of life
To heed the approach of toil or strife;
In perilous vicissitude grown old,
He now could calmly rest though thunders round him roll’d.
II.
But o’er the monarch’s child, in vain,
Sleep sought to hold her wonted reign.
With active thought she ponder’d o’er
The plumed chieftain’s evening lore,
Till half it seem’d before her view
Appear’d the strange unearthly crew;
And that wild tale on her had wrought such power,
That she with sleepless eye had pass’d the midnight hour.
Forth in her airy summer dress,
With footsteps light and echoless,
All-unperceived she left the cell,
By servant, sire, or sentinel.
In such divine apparel seem’d
That lovely night, you would have deem’d
It had its bridal vesture on
To wait and wed the coming dawn.
Its moonlight robe flow’d rich and free,
Thick set with star-embroidery,
And round the earth and o’er the sky
Hung like a garb of Deity.
The pageant of that glorious night
Might well be gazed on with delight,
But still the loveliest object there
Was that lone maiden, young and fair,
Gliding abroad at such an hour,
By forest tree and summer bower.
On the distant groves of Paspahey
Her eye was brightly turn’d,
And to be where that land in dimness lay
Her bosom as warmly burn’d.
What though the way was lonely and far?
The dread of the stilly night,
Nor dark morass, had power to bar
That maiden’s romantic flight;
And when from the east the azure tide
Of day came over the wild,
There stood alone by the river side
The monarch’s artless child.
And she was gazing in wild surprise
On a barque majestic and proud,
Whose masts appear’d, to her wondering eyes,
High towering up to the vaulty skies,
And as deep in the waters bow’d.
Sleep sought to hold her wonted reign.
With active thought she ponder’d o’er
The plumed chieftain’s evening lore,
Till half it seem’d before her view
Appear’d the strange unearthly crew;
And that wild tale on her had wrought such power,
That she with sleepless eye had pass’d the midnight hour.
Forth in her airy summer dress,
With footsteps light and echoless,
All-unperceived she left the cell,
By servant, sire, or sentinel.
In such divine apparel seem’d
That lovely night, you would have deem’d
It had its bridal vesture on
To wait and wed the coming dawn.
Its moonlight robe flow’d rich and free,
Thick set with star-embroidery,
And round the earth and o’er the sky
Hung like a garb of Deity.
The pageant of that glorious night
Might well be gazed on with delight,
But still the loveliest object there
Was that lone maiden, young and fair,
Gliding abroad at such an hour,
By forest tree and summer bower.
On the distant groves of Paspahey
Her eye was brightly turn’d,
And to be where that land in dimness lay
Her bosom as warmly burn’d.
What though the way was lonely and far?
The dread of the stilly night,
Nor dark morass, had power to bar
That maiden’s romantic flight;
And when from the east the azure tide
Of day came over the wild,
There stood alone by the river side
The monarch’s artless child.
And she was gazing in wild surprise
On a barque majestic and proud,
Whose masts appear’d, to her wondering eyes,
High towering up to the vaulty skies,
And as deep in the waters bow’d.
III.
Not long she gazed on those masts so tall,
And that ship so gallant and trim,
For a hero’s form eclipsed them all,
And her eyes were fix’d on him.
And peering forth from a friendly screen
Of spruce and darkling fir,
She plainly beheld the stranger’s mein,
But the stranger saw not her.
With martial cap and coat of red,
And bright sword at his side,
He paced the deck with a princely tread,
And the dark woods calmly eyed.
But soon o’er forest, glade, and stream
Darted the sun’s bright morning beam,
And, glancing through her sheltering tree,
Awoke that maiden’s revery.
She started, for ’ twas now the hour
When Opechancanough would come,
And thrice in haste she left the bower
To trace her pathless journey home;
But thrice return’d, she knew not why,
And, lingering, look’d with soul-lit eye
Upon that stranger still;
Nor wist she what should make a sigh
Her throbbing bosom fill.
But hark! a voice is on the breeze,
The raven-crested chief is near,
And, moving through the distant trees,
His train of warriors now appear;
And like a wild and startled fawn,
Lightly that forest child has gone,
Through dark morass, and grove, and glen,
To seek her father’s home again.
And that ship so gallant and trim,
For a hero’s form eclipsed them all,
And her eyes were fix’d on him.
And peering forth from a friendly screen
Of spruce and darkling fir,
She plainly beheld the stranger’s mein,
But the stranger saw not her.
With martial cap and coat of red,
And bright sword at his side,
He paced the deck with a princely tread,
And the dark woods calmly eyed.
But soon o’er forest, glade, and stream
Darted the sun’s bright morning beam,
And, glancing through her sheltering tree,
Awoke that maiden’s revery.
She started, for ’ twas now the hour
When Opechancanough would come,
And thrice in haste she left the bower
To trace her pathless journey home;
But thrice return’d, she knew not why,
And, lingering, look’d with soul-lit eye
Upon that stranger still;
Nor wist she what should make a sigh
Her throbbing bosom fill.
But hark! a voice is on the breeze,
The raven-crested chief is near,
And, moving through the distant trees,
His train of warriors now appear;
And like a wild and startled fawn,
Lightly that forest child has gone,
Through dark morass, and grove, and glen,
To seek her father’s home again.
IV.
At dawning Powhatan arose
From calm and undisturb’d repose,
And when his brief repast was done
He summon’d forth his valiant son,
Dark Nantaquas, of manly form,
And soul with native courage warm,
So nimble of foot and stout of limb,
That few could wrestle or run with him.
‘List, Nantaquas—hear our command;
‘Take bow and hatchet in thy hand,
‘And a full quiver at thy back,
‘Lest foes may chance to cross thy track,
‘And haste thee to our chieftains all,
‘And each unto our council call.
‘Call Chesapeakes and Nansamonds,
‘And broad Potomac’s warlike sons,
‘And rouse the chiefs of every clan,
‘From Orapakes to Kecoughtan.’
Fleet Nantaquas his sire obey’d,
And, in his warrior arms array’d,
His quiver over his shoulders threw,
And away on the wings of morning flew.
From calm and undisturb’d repose,
And when his brief repast was done
He summon’d forth his valiant son,
Dark Nantaquas, of manly form,
And soul with native courage warm,
So nimble of foot and stout of limb,
That few could wrestle or run with him.
‘List, Nantaquas—hear our command;
‘Take bow and hatchet in thy hand,
‘And a full quiver at thy back,
‘Lest foes may chance to cross thy track,
‘And haste thee to our chieftains all,
‘And each unto our council call.
‘Call Chesapeakes and Nansamonds,
‘And broad Potomac’s warlike sons,
‘And rouse the chiefs of every clan,
‘From Orapakes to Kecoughtan.’
Fleet Nantaquas his sire obey’d,
And, in his warrior arms array’d,
His quiver over his shoulders threw,
And away on the wings of morning flew.
V.
Now Powhatan, in musing mood,
Abroad upon the hill-side stood;
Deep thoughts in his stern bosom burn’d,
His eyes toward Paspahey were turn’d,
Watching each quivering tree and bird,
As if mysterious foes had stirr’d
His calm old woods, where he had reign’d
For years, despotic, unrestrain’d,
And none had dared, or friend or foe,
Against his will to come or go.
His left hand clasp’d his bow new-strung,
His hatchet from his belt was hung,
Keen shafts his wolf-skin quiver press’d,
And on his war-club lean’d his breast.
Sudden a form glanced on his sight,
At distance where the warm sun-light
Pour’d through the trees its mellow ray,
And flowers rejoiced at the coming day.
And swiftly as that sun-light went
His springing bow was up and bent:
An arrow leapt into its place;
The strain’d string almost touch’d his face,
And every muscle, fix’d and still,
Waited to do the monarch’s will.
Again that form broke on his view,
But ere the deadly arrow flew,
His eagle eye had told him well
’ Twas his loved daughter—Nerveless fell
His brawny arm, and o’er his frame
A cold a sickly shuddering came,
And reel’d his brain, and o’er his sight
Came darkness like the depths of night.
He rested on a fallen tree,
And soon his child, on bended knee,
Had clasp’d and kiss’d his aged hand,
And met his eye with look so bland,
It made the clouds from his brow depart,
And quicken’d the life-blood in his heart.
‘Speak, semblance of thy mother, speak,
‘And tell where thou hast been;
‘I saw thee beyond the old oak tree,
‘On the farther side of the glen.
‘This is no time for a child like thee
‘To wander away from home;
‘Thou canst not tell what dangerous foes
‘Through our dark, deep forests roam.
‘So soon hast thou forgotten, child,
‘The tale of yesternight?
‘That shallop, and the pale-face men,
‘Who may in blood delight?
‘A thousand trophies of my power
‘Hang up in my council hall,
‘But sooner than trust thee abroad alone,
‘I’d sacrifice them all.
‘Dear Metoka, where hast thou been
‘Through woods so dark and wild,
‘Beyond the reach of thy father’s arm
‘To guard his gentle child?’
Abroad upon the hill-side stood;
Deep thoughts in his stern bosom burn’d,
His eyes toward Paspahey were turn’d,
Watching each quivering tree and bird,
As if mysterious foes had stirr’d
His calm old woods, where he had reign’d
For years, despotic, unrestrain’d,
And none had dared, or friend or foe,
Against his will to come or go.
His left hand clasp’d his bow new-strung,
His hatchet from his belt was hung,
Keen shafts his wolf-skin quiver press’d,
And on his war-club lean’d his breast.
Sudden a form glanced on his sight,
At distance where the warm sun-light
Pour’d through the trees its mellow ray,
And flowers rejoiced at the coming day.
And swiftly as that sun-light went
His springing bow was up and bent:
An arrow leapt into its place;
The strain’d string almost touch’d his face,
And every muscle, fix’d and still,
Waited to do the monarch’s will.
Again that form broke on his view,
But ere the deadly arrow flew,
His eagle eye had told him well
’ Twas his loved daughter—Nerveless fell
His brawny arm, and o’er his frame
A cold a sickly shuddering came,
And reel’d his brain, and o’er his sight
Came darkness like the depths of night.
He rested on a fallen tree,
And soon his child, on bended knee,
Had clasp’d and kiss’d his aged hand,
And met his eye with look so bland,
It made the clouds from his brow depart,
And quicken’d the life-blood in his heart.
‘Speak, semblance of thy mother, speak,
‘And tell where thou hast been;
‘I saw thee beyond the old oak tree,
‘On the farther side of the glen.
‘This is no time for a child like thee
‘To wander away from home;
‘Thou canst not tell what dangerous foes
‘Through our dark, deep forests roam.
‘So soon hast thou forgotten, child,
‘The tale of yesternight?
‘That shallop, and the pale-face men,
‘Who may in blood delight?
‘A thousand trophies of my power
‘Hang up in my council hall,
‘But sooner than trust thee abroad alone,
‘I’d sacrifice them all.
‘Dear Metoka, where hast thou been
‘Through woods so dark and wild,
‘Beyond the reach of thy father’s arm
‘To guard his gentle child?’
VI.
She lean’d against the monarch’s knee,
And again she kiss’d his hand—
‘I’ve been to Paspahey, to see
‘That strange mysterious band,
‘That in the mighty shallop came,
‘Loaded with thunder loud,
‘And roll’d it out upon the bay,
‘As Okee rolls it from a cloud.
‘And in the river I beheld
‘Their shallop dark and tall,
‘And their werowance so stately stepp’d,
‘I knew him from them all.’
These words roused up the monarch’s blood,
And made it quicker flow;
He rose instinctive from his seat,
And firmly clasp’d his bow—
‘Thy spirit came from mine, my child,
‘As light comes from the sun;
‘None but a Powhatan would dare
‘To do what thou hast done.
‘Go, girl, arrange our council hall;
‘Prepare the fires to light,
‘For a deep and solemn council-talk
‘Our chiefs must hold to-night.’
And again she kiss’d his hand—
‘I’ve been to Paspahey, to see
‘That strange mysterious band,
‘That in the mighty shallop came,
‘Loaded with thunder loud,
‘And roll’d it out upon the bay,
‘As Okee rolls it from a cloud.
‘And in the river I beheld
‘Their shallop dark and tall,
‘And their werowance so stately stepp’d,
‘I knew him from them all.’
These words roused up the monarch’s blood,
And made it quicker flow;
He rose instinctive from his seat,
And firmly clasp’d his bow—
‘Thy spirit came from mine, my child,
‘As light comes from the sun;
‘None but a Powhatan would dare
‘To do what thou hast done.
‘Go, girl, arrange our council hall;
‘Prepare the fires to light,
‘For a deep and solemn council-talk
‘Our chiefs must hold to-night.’
VII.
The summer day glides slowly by;
Now golden gleams the western sky,
And twilight gray each valley fills,
And softly creeps upon the hills;
Now deep and deeper shadows fall,
And now within that trophied hall,
Flashing abroad on the brow of night,
The monarch’s council-fire burns bright.
The grim and murky spoils of war,
That hung in rude disorder there,
Glared out from pillar, wall, and nook,
And wild and hideous semblance took.
Some were bequeath’d from sire to son,
But Powhatan the most had won—
Huge tomahawks, and war-clubs stout,
And wampum belts, hung round about,
And mantles of skin, and robes of feather,
Piled in promiscuous heaps together.
Now golden gleams the western sky,
And twilight gray each valley fills,
And softly creeps upon the hills;
Now deep and deeper shadows fall,
And now within that trophied hall,
Flashing abroad on the brow of night,
The monarch’s council-fire burns bright.
The grim and murky spoils of war,
That hung in rude disorder there,
Glared out from pillar, wall, and nook,
And wild and hideous semblance took.
Some were bequeath’d from sire to son,
But Powhatan the most had won—
Huge tomahawks, and war-clubs stout,
And wampum belts, hung round about,
And mantles of skin, and robes of feather,
Piled in promiscuous heaps together.
VIII.
Aloft in stern and regal state,
Upon his throne the monarch sate;
His war-club rested in his hand,
The ensign of his high command;
His trusty bow, against the wall,
Lean’d, ready at a moment’s call;
Over his shoulders, lightly flung,
His feathery mantle graceful hung;
Rich skins beneath his feet were spread,
And eagle plumes waved o’er his head.
His chiefs and warriors soon were seen,
Like silent spectres, gliding in,
And, ranged in circle round the room,
Each dark brow knit in threatening gloom,
With blade in belt and bow in hand,
Like sculptured monuments they stand.
There waved full many a lofty crest,
But a raven-plume o’ertopp’d the rest,
For first and tallest in the ring,
Like giant, stood Pamunky’s king.
No word in that still hall was spoke,
Till Powhatan the silence broke,
And call’d a guardman to his side,
His faithful Rawhunt, true and tried,
And bade him the rites in order set,
And bring the lighted calumet.
Then through that long and mystic reed,{10}
Emblem of many a sacred deed,
Three solemn draughts the monarch drew,
And the smoke in three directions blew.
The first curl’d high above his head,
In homage of that spirit dread
Who ruleth in the upper air,
And maketh every man his care.
The second gently sunk to earth,
Where food and fruits and flowers have birth,
A thankful offering to that power,
Who both at morn and evening hour,
Opens his bounteous hand to bless
With life and health and happiness.
The third abroad on the air was blown,
A solemn token to make known
Unbroken faith to all who fain
Would still be bound in friendship’s chain.
Then, one by one, that warrior train
Smoked the long calumet again,
And gravely pass’d it round the ring,
Till, last of all, Pamunky’s king
Thrice drew the reed in princely pride,
Then laid it silently aside.
Upon his throne the monarch sate;
His war-club rested in his hand,
The ensign of his high command;
His trusty bow, against the wall,
Lean’d, ready at a moment’s call;
Over his shoulders, lightly flung,
His feathery mantle graceful hung;
Rich skins beneath his feet were spread,
And eagle plumes waved o’er his head.
His chiefs and warriors soon were seen,
Like silent spectres, gliding in,
And, ranged in circle round the room,
Each dark brow knit in threatening gloom,
With blade in belt and bow in hand,
Like sculptured monuments they stand.
There waved full many a lofty crest,
But a raven-plume o’ertopp’d the rest,
For first and tallest in the ring,
Like giant, stood Pamunky’s king.
No word in that still hall was spoke,
Till Powhatan the silence broke,
And call’d a guardman to his side,
His faithful Rawhunt, true and tried,
And bade him the rites in order set,
And bring the lighted calumet.
Then through that long and mystic reed,{10}
Emblem of many a sacred deed,
Three solemn draughts the monarch drew,
And the smoke in three directions blew.
The first curl’d high above his head,
In homage of that spirit dread
Who ruleth in the upper air,
And maketh every man his care.
The second gently sunk to earth,
Where food and fruits and flowers have birth,
A thankful offering to that power,
Who both at morn and evening hour,
Opens his bounteous hand to bless
With life and health and happiness.
The third abroad on the air was blown,
A solemn token to make known
Unbroken faith to all who fain
Would still be bound in friendship’s chain.
Then, one by one, that warrior train
Smoked the long calumet again,
And gravely pass’d it round the ring,
Till, last of all, Pamunky’s king
Thrice drew the reed in princely pride,
Then laid it silently aside.
IX.
To Powhatan now every chief
Turn’d his dark eye, while slow and brief,
As monarch speaketh to a man,
The council-talk he thus began.
‘Chiefs and warriors! let your ears
‘Be open to the words we say;
‘The cloud, that rests upon our land,
‘Portends a troubled day.
‘Chiefs and brothers! come what will,
‘Keep ye the chain of friendship bright,
‘And if the hour of conflict come,
‘Then hand to hand, like brothers, fight.
‘Chiefs and brothers! ye have heard
‘The strange events of yesterday,
‘The mighty shallop, full of men,
‘That thunder’d on our ocean bay,
‘Then boldly up our river went,
‘And stopp’d at Paspahey;
‘Now listen while Pamunky’s king
‘Reveals the tidings of to-day.’
Turn’d his dark eye, while slow and brief,
As monarch speaketh to a man,
The council-talk he thus began.
‘Chiefs and warriors! let your ears
‘Be open to the words we say;
‘The cloud, that rests upon our land,
‘Portends a troubled day.
‘Chiefs and brothers! come what will,
‘Keep ye the chain of friendship bright,
‘And if the hour of conflict come,
‘Then hand to hand, like brothers, fight.
‘Chiefs and brothers! ye have heard
‘The strange events of yesterday,
‘The mighty shallop, full of men,
‘That thunder’d on our ocean bay,
‘Then boldly up our river went,
‘And stopp’d at Paspahey;
‘Now listen while Pamunky’s king
‘Reveals the tidings of to-day.’
X.
Like heavy cloud, portending storm,
Slow rose Pamunky’s giant form;
And laying bow and war-club by,
On Powhatan he turn’d his eye,
And while the chiefs in silence hung
On every accent of his tongue,
With flashing eye and bearing bold
He thus the day’s adventure told.
‘Ere left the lark her grassy nest
‘To pour her song upon the air,
‘I call’d my warriors from their rest,
‘And bade them for the woods prepare.
‘Each one his stoutest war-club took,
‘And each his trustiest bow;
‘His hatchet above his girdle hung,
‘His scalping-knife below;
‘And well prepared for deadly fight,
‘If foes should cross our way,
‘Through forests dark we bent our course
‘To the groves of Paspahey.
‘And when we came to the river side
‘The sun was shining bright,
‘And the arms of a hundred pale-face men
‘Were gleaming in the light;
‘And thick upon the shallop’s deck
‘Like forest trees they stood,
‘And a hundred faces, pale as death,
‘Look’d out upon the wood.
‘But bravely to the river’s brink
‘I led my warrior train,
‘And face to face, each glance they sent,
‘We sent it back again.
‘Their werowance look’d stern at me,
‘And I look’d stern at him,
‘And all my warriors clasp’d their bows
‘And nerved each heart and limb;
‘I raised my heavy war-club high,
‘And swung it fiercely round,
‘And shook it toward the shallop’s side,
‘Then laid it on the ground.
‘And then the lighted calumet
‘I offer’d to their view,
‘And thrice I drew the sacred smoke
‘And toward the shallop blew;
‘And as the curling vapor rose,
‘Soft as a spirit prayer,
‘I saw the pale-face leader wave
‘A white flag in the air.
‘Then launching out their painted skiff,
‘They boldly came to land
‘And spoke us many a kindly word,
‘And took us by the hand,
‘Presenting rich and shining gifts,
‘Of copper, brass, and beads,
‘To show that they were men like us,
‘And prone to generous deeds.
‘We held a long and friendly talk,
‘Inquiring whence they came,
‘And who the leader of their band,
‘And what their country’s name;
‘And how their mighty shallop moved
‘Across the boundless sea,
‘And why they touch’d our great king’s land
‘Without his liberty.
‘They say that far beyond the sea
‘A pleasant land appears,
‘And there their sires have made their graves
‘For many a hundred years;
‘And there the men are numerous
‘As leaves upon the trees,
‘And a thousand mighty shallops there
‘Are moved by every breeze.
‘They call this bright land England,
‘’Tis surrounded by the sea;
‘King James they call their werowance,
‘And a mighty chief is he;
‘And brave Sir John is the name they give
‘To the leader of this band,
‘Who only ask to rest awhile
‘On Powhatan’s wide land,
‘To trade with us for skins and furs,
‘And corn to make them bread,
‘And a space to build their cabins,
‘And a spot to bury their dead.
‘If Powhatan will grant them this,
‘We have no cause to fear,
‘But loads of shining treasures
‘Shall enrich us every year.’
Slow rose Pamunky’s giant form;
And laying bow and war-club by,
On Powhatan he turn’d his eye,
And while the chiefs in silence hung
On every accent of his tongue,
With flashing eye and bearing bold
He thus the day’s adventure told.
‘Ere left the lark her grassy nest
‘To pour her song upon the air,
‘I call’d my warriors from their rest,
‘And bade them for the woods prepare.
‘Each one his stoutest war-club took,
‘And each his trustiest bow;
‘His hatchet above his girdle hung,
‘His scalping-knife below;
‘And well prepared for deadly fight,
‘If foes should cross our way,
‘Through forests dark we bent our course
‘To the groves of Paspahey.
‘And when we came to the river side
‘The sun was shining bright,
‘And the arms of a hundred pale-face men
‘Were gleaming in the light;
‘And thick upon the shallop’s deck
‘Like forest trees they stood,
‘And a hundred faces, pale as death,
‘Look’d out upon the wood.
‘But bravely to the river’s brink
‘I led my warrior train,
‘And face to face, each glance they sent,
‘We sent it back again.
‘Their werowance look’d stern at me,
‘And I look’d stern at him,
‘And all my warriors clasp’d their bows
‘And nerved each heart and limb;
‘I raised my heavy war-club high,
‘And swung it fiercely round,
‘And shook it toward the shallop’s side,
‘Then laid it on the ground.
‘And then the lighted calumet
‘I offer’d to their view,
‘And thrice I drew the sacred smoke
‘And toward the shallop blew;
‘And as the curling vapor rose,
‘Soft as a spirit prayer,
‘I saw the pale-face leader wave
‘A white flag in the air.
‘Then launching out their painted skiff,
‘They boldly came to land
‘And spoke us many a kindly word,
‘And took us by the hand,
‘Presenting rich and shining gifts,
‘Of copper, brass, and beads,
‘To show that they were men like us,
‘And prone to generous deeds.
‘We held a long and friendly talk,
‘Inquiring whence they came,
‘And who the leader of their band,
‘And what their country’s name;
‘And how their mighty shallop moved
‘Across the boundless sea,
‘And why they touch’d our great king’s land
‘Without his liberty.
‘They say that far beyond the sea
‘A pleasant land appears,
‘And there their sires have made their graves
‘For many a hundred years;
‘And there the men are numerous
‘As leaves upon the trees,
‘And a thousand mighty shallops there
‘Are moved by every breeze.
‘They call this bright land England,
‘’Tis surrounded by the sea;
‘King James they call their werowance,
‘And a mighty chief is he;
‘And brave Sir John is the name they give
‘To the leader of this band,
‘Who only ask to rest awhile
‘On Powhatan’s wide land,
‘To trade with us for skins and furs,
‘And corn to make them bread,
‘And a space to build their cabins,
‘And a spot to bury their dead.
‘If Powhatan will grant them this,
‘We have no cause to fear,
‘But loads of shining treasures
‘Shall enrich us every year.’
XI.
Here paused Pamunky’s giant king,
And slowly left the council ring,
And cross’d the hall to the outer door,
And soon returning, gravely bore
A loaded quiver—’twas not fill’d
With barbed shafts that blood had spill’d,
But gorgeous toys of English art
To captivate the savage heart.
While Powhatan with searching eyes
Survey’d the strange and glittering prize,
The chiefs and warriors gather near,
And wait their sovereign’s voice to hear,
And gazing eagerly, meanwhile,
Pour their whole soul upon the pile.
At length the monarch waved his hand,
The warriors backward farther stand,
And turn their ready ear and eye
To catch the words of his reply.
And slowly left the council ring,
And cross’d the hall to the outer door,
And soon returning, gravely bore
A loaded quiver—’twas not fill’d
With barbed shafts that blood had spill’d,
But gorgeous toys of English art
To captivate the savage heart.
While Powhatan with searching eyes
Survey’d the strange and glittering prize,
The chiefs and warriors gather near,
And wait their sovereign’s voice to hear,
And gazing eagerly, meanwhile,
Pour their whole soul upon the pile.
At length the monarch waved his hand,
The warriors backward farther stand,
And turn their ready ear and eye
To catch the words of his reply.
XII.
‘Chiefs and warriors! still to me
‘Our troubled sky looks dark;
‘How often a wasting fire has raged,
‘That sprung from a single spark!
‘This English tree, that shows so fair,
‘Must not in my realm take root,
‘Nor till I better know its stock,
‘Will I partake its fruit.
‘These strangers come in friendly guise,
‘And may for a time prove true,
‘But the day we give them a footing here
‘I fear we long shall rue.
‘Remember Madoc, and beware;
‘Guard well our council-fires,
‘Lest we be doom’d to meet the fate
‘That once befell our sires.’
‘Our troubled sky looks dark;
‘How often a wasting fire has raged,
‘That sprung from a single spark!
‘This English tree, that shows so fair,
‘Must not in my realm take root,
‘Nor till I better know its stock,
‘Will I partake its fruit.
‘These strangers come in friendly guise,
‘And may for a time prove true,
‘But the day we give them a footing here
‘I fear we long shall rue.
‘Remember Madoc, and beware;
‘Guard well our council-fires,
‘Lest we be doom’d to meet the fate
‘That once befell our sires.’
XIII.
The listening throng, with awe profound,
Of every word drank in the sound;
The voice of Powhatan was law;{11}
But in that glittering pile they saw
A charm that had a magic power
They never felt before that hour.
The monarch saw their kindling fire,
And yielded to their strong desire,
And when again they form’d the ring,
He gravely bade Pamunky’s king
Dispense the gifts, and see with care
That each received his proper share.
The chiefs, in dazzling toys array’d,
Each other with delight survey’d,
And turn’d their trinkets in the light,
And danced for joy at the very sight.
The war-cloud from their brows was chased,
And the pale-face foes had been embraced
As friends and brothers, had they been
But in that hall of council then.
But Powhatan’s dark eye of flame
Their ecstacy began to tame,
And when again his voice was heard
No word was spoke, no foot was stirr’d,
While he made known his sovereign will,
And bade them every word fulfil.
He charged them all to sleep at night
On tomahawk and bow,
And to watch by day with eagle eye
The footsteps of the foe;
To keep their arrows pointed well,
Their bow-strings strong and sure,
And see that among them friendship’s chain
Was ever bright and pure:
And then with royal majesty
His mantle around him threw,
And cross’d the hall with stately step,
And silently withdrew.
Of every word drank in the sound;
The voice of Powhatan was law;{11}
But in that glittering pile they saw
A charm that had a magic power
They never felt before that hour.
The monarch saw their kindling fire,
And yielded to their strong desire,
And when again they form’d the ring,
He gravely bade Pamunky’s king
Dispense the gifts, and see with care
That each received his proper share.
The chiefs, in dazzling toys array’d,
Each other with delight survey’d,
And turn’d their trinkets in the light,
And danced for joy at the very sight.
The war-cloud from their brows was chased,
And the pale-face foes had been embraced
As friends and brothers, had they been
But in that hall of council then.
But Powhatan’s dark eye of flame
Their ecstacy began to tame,
And when again his voice was heard
No word was spoke, no foot was stirr’d,
While he made known his sovereign will,
And bade them every word fulfil.
He charged them all to sleep at night
On tomahawk and bow,
And to watch by day with eagle eye
The footsteps of the foe;
To keep their arrows pointed well,
Their bow-strings strong and sure,
And see that among them friendship’s chain
Was ever bright and pure:
And then with royal majesty
His mantle around him threw,
And cross’d the hall with stately step,
And silently withdrew.
XIV.
The warrior train soon sunk to rest
On deer-skins spread around;
Each sleeper’s bow was in his hand,
But his sleep was deep and sound.
And now along the eastern sky
The day begins to dawn;
Now twilight breaks upon the hills,
Now on the dewy lawn;
And now across the brightening groves
The sun has pour’d his ray,
And now those warrior chiefs are up,
And each is on his way,
Through rugged woods, by the winding stream,
And across the tangled moor,
Each threading alone the track that leads
To his own cabin door.
On deer-skins spread around;
Each sleeper’s bow was in his hand,
But his sleep was deep and sound.
And now along the eastern sky
The day begins to dawn;
Now twilight breaks upon the hills,
Now on the dewy lawn;
And now across the brightening groves
The sun has pour’d his ray,
And now those warrior chiefs are up,
And each is on his way,
Through rugged woods, by the winding stream,
And across the tangled moor,
Each threading alone the track that leads
To his own cabin door.
END OF CANTO SECOND.
CANTO THIRD.
I.
Of all the knights of England,
That ever in armor shone,
The boldest and the truest heart
Was that of brave Sir John.{12}
He had pass’d through perils on the land,
And perils on the sea,
And oftentimes confronted death
In Gaul and Germany;
And many a Transylvanian
Could point to the spot and show
Where the boldest of the Turkish knights
Were by his hand laid low.
And when confined in dungeons,
Or driven as a slave,
The rescue that his own arm brought,
Proved well Sir John was brave.
But now he was a pioneer
In a new world’s solitude;
The first to tread his pathless way
Where frown’d the wild old wood;
And wilder still, the savage tribes
Like fiends look’d fierce and grim,
But they stirr’d not the blood of brave Sir John,
For nothing daunted him.
To plant a British colony
He had cross’d the wide, wide sea,
And found thy future heritage,
O sacred liberty!
Now, infant Jamestown, smiled the morn,
That should behold thy christening;
That gallant band have lined thy shores,
And named thee after England’s king;
And well might English hearts beat high
When first they breath’d thy virgin air,
For never to them seem’d sky so bright,
Nor ever a land so fair.{13}
Young hope was hovering o’er thy groves
With her banner wide unfurl’d,
And on it a mighty empire shone,
The glory of the world.
And fancy saw the wilderness
Like magic melt away,
And tender blossoms of the earth
Spring to the light of day;
And streams, that through the solemn wood
Their ancient courses run,
Felt the fresh breath of mountain airs,
And brighten’d in the sun;
And far along the ocean shore
The sails of commerce flew,
And up a thousand shelter’d bays
Bright cities rose to view;
And all the wide-spread continent,
That slept in dark repose,
Awoke to life and loveliness,
And blossom’d as the rose.
That ever in armor shone,
The boldest and the truest heart
Was that of brave Sir John.{12}
He had pass’d through perils on the land,
And perils on the sea,
And oftentimes confronted death
In Gaul and Germany;
And many a Transylvanian
Could point to the spot and show
Where the boldest of the Turkish knights
Were by his hand laid low.
And when confined in dungeons,
Or driven as a slave,
The rescue that his own arm brought,
Proved well Sir John was brave.
But now he was a pioneer
In a new world’s solitude;
The first to tread his pathless way
Where frown’d the wild old wood;
And wilder still, the savage tribes
Like fiends look’d fierce and grim,
But they stirr’d not the blood of brave Sir John,
For nothing daunted him.
To plant a British colony
He had cross’d the wide, wide sea,
And found thy future heritage,
O sacred liberty!
Now, infant Jamestown, smiled the morn,
That should behold thy christening;
That gallant band have lined thy shores,
And named thee after England’s king;
And well might English hearts beat high
When first they breath’d thy virgin air,
For never to them seem’d sky so bright,
Nor ever a land so fair.{13}
Young hope was hovering o’er thy groves
With her banner wide unfurl’d,
And on it a mighty empire shone,
The glory of the world.
And fancy saw the wilderness
Like magic melt away,
And tender blossoms of the earth
Spring to the light of day;
And streams, that through the solemn wood
Their ancient courses run,
Felt the fresh breath of mountain airs,
And brighten’d in the sun;
And far along the ocean shore
The sails of commerce flew,
And up a thousand shelter’d bays
Bright cities rose to view;
And all the wide-spread continent,
That slept in dark repose,
Awoke to life and loveliness,
And blossom’d as the rose.
II.
Now crack’d the woodman’s axe full loud,
And fast the sturdy forest bow’d:
Tall trees, that waved like fields of grain,
Came crackling, crashing to the plain;
Their green leaves faded in the sun,
And flashing fires across them run;
And openings spread, and fields were clear’d,
And rustic huts and cabins rear’d.
A picket fort by the river side
The battle-axe and bow defied;
And the mingled hum of the busy throng
Echo’d the hills and woods along,
And joyous shoutings, wild and free,
Rose from the infant colony.
And fast the sturdy forest bow’d:
Tall trees, that waved like fields of grain,
Came crackling, crashing to the plain;
Their green leaves faded in the sun,
And flashing fires across them run;
And openings spread, and fields were clear’d,
And rustic huts and cabins rear’d.
A picket fort by the river side
The battle-axe and bow defied;
And the mingled hum of the busy throng
Echo’d the hills and woods along,
And joyous shoutings, wild and free,
Rose from the infant colony.
III.
But Jamestown saw a darker day,
When months of toil had pass’d away,
For wailings sounded through the air,
And sorrow made her dwelling there.
The summer sun, now riding high,
Pour’d down the rays of hot July;
The woodman scarce his axe could wield,
Fainted the laborers in the field,
And pale disease began to spread,{14}
And scowling famine rear’d her head,
And many an exile droop’d and died
Along the lonely river side,
Where wearily he went to roam,
And weep unseen for his English home.
Great Powhatan had been obey’d—
No Indian now would come to trade;
But hovering round the settlement
With bow in hand and ready bent,
And peering out from his covert wood
On the fields where the English cabins stood,
Exulting saw pale-faces fade,
And often in the graveyard laid.
When months of toil had pass’d away,
For wailings sounded through the air,
And sorrow made her dwelling there.
The summer sun, now riding high,
Pour’d down the rays of hot July;
The woodman scarce his axe could wield,
Fainted the laborers in the field,
And pale disease began to spread,{14}
And scowling famine rear’d her head,
And many an exile droop’d and died
Along the lonely river side,
Where wearily he went to roam,
And weep unseen for his English home.
Great Powhatan had been obey’d—
No Indian now would come to trade;
But hovering round the settlement
With bow in hand and ready bent,
And peering out from his covert wood
On the fields where the English cabins stood,
Exulting saw pale-faces fade,
And often in the graveyard laid.