The warm spring came, and the opening flower
On the sloping hill was seen;
And summer breathed on the waking woods,
And dress’d them in their green;
The wild-bird in the branches sung,
The wild-deer fed below;
Far up the river side appear’d
The hunter with his bow;
And on the fresh and sunny field,
Hard toiling through the day,
The weary colonist was out
By the groves of Paspahey.
Ship after ship came o’er the sea,
Laden with fresh supplies,
And men by hundreds came to join
This new world’s enterprise;
And up and down the noble James
Were settlements begun,
And many an opening in the woods
Look’d out upon the sun.
The busy tradesman ope’d his store
Of goods and wares for sale,
And blithely by the barnyard sang
The milkmaid with her pail;
The stout mechanic in his shop
Whistled the hours away,
And sturdily his labor plied
Through the long summer day.
With boding and uneasy mind
The thoughtful Indian view’d
The fatal signs of English power
Spread o’er his solitude;
And oft he brooded many a scheme,
And much he long’d to see
A withering blight or death-blow given
To this wide-spreading tree.
On the sloping hill was seen;
And summer breathed on the waking woods,
And dress’d them in their green;
The wild-bird in the branches sung,
The wild-deer fed below;
Far up the river side appear’d
The hunter with his bow;
And on the fresh and sunny field,
Hard toiling through the day,
The weary colonist was out
By the groves of Paspahey.
Ship after ship came o’er the sea,
Laden with fresh supplies,
And men by hundreds came to join
This new world’s enterprise;
And up and down the noble James
Were settlements begun,
And many an opening in the woods
Look’d out upon the sun.
The busy tradesman ope’d his store
Of goods and wares for sale,
And blithely by the barnyard sang
The milkmaid with her pail;
The stout mechanic in his shop
Whistled the hours away,
And sturdily his labor plied
Through the long summer day.
With boding and uneasy mind
The thoughtful Indian view’d
The fatal signs of English power
Spread o’er his solitude;
And oft he brooded many a scheme,
And much he long’d to see
A withering blight or death-blow given
To this wide-spreading tree.
II.
At evening sat King Powhatan
Beside his daughter fair,
To watch the far-off lightning’s flash,
And breathe the cooling air:
’ Twas by the door of his summer lodge;
His guards stood round in sight,
The moon between the flying clouds
Sent down a paly light,
When Opechancanough arrived,
With an air of kingly pride,
And greeting great King Powhatan,
Sat thoughtful by his side.
Beside his daughter fair,
To watch the far-off lightning’s flash,
And breathe the cooling air:
’ Twas by the door of his summer lodge;
His guards stood round in sight,
The moon between the flying clouds
Sent down a paly light,
When Opechancanough arrived,
With an air of kingly pride,
And greeting great King Powhatan,
Sat thoughtful by his side.
III.
‘What tidings, Opechancanough?’
Said the monarch to his guest;
‘Has the tree of these pale-faces spread
‘So wide thou canst not rest?
‘And hast thou come in sadness now
‘To tell thy thoughts to me,
‘And to pray the spirit of yonder fires
‘To blast the pale-face tree?’
Said the monarch to his guest;
‘Has the tree of these pale-faces spread
‘So wide thou canst not rest?
‘And hast thou come in sadness now
‘To tell thy thoughts to me,
‘And to pray the spirit of yonder fires
‘To blast the pale-face tree?’
IV.
Then spoke Pamunky’s king, and said,
With half triumphant mein,
‘True, strongly grows the pale-face tree,
‘Its boughs are fresh and green;
‘But I have found a secret fire,
‘That will at my bidding go,
‘And, creeping through the pale-face tree,
‘Lay its tall branches low.
‘My priest a subtle poison keeps,
‘From deadly weeds distill’d;
‘A single drop, where the red-deer feeds,
‘A red-deer oft has kill’d.
‘Rich venison and wild fowls, imbued
‘With this dark drug, have gone
‘To feed the famish’d pale-face foe,
‘A present to Sir John.
‘And ere to-morrow’s noonday hour
‘They’ll droop, and fade, and die,
‘And strew the ground, like autumn leaves
‘When the storm-god passes by.
‘The breeze all day across the land
‘Shall bear their dying groans,
‘And the river-god shall many a year
‘Behold their whitening bones.’
With half triumphant mein,
‘True, strongly grows the pale-face tree,
‘Its boughs are fresh and green;
‘But I have found a secret fire,
‘That will at my bidding go,
‘And, creeping through the pale-face tree,
‘Lay its tall branches low.
‘My priest a subtle poison keeps,
‘From deadly weeds distill’d;
‘A single drop, where the red-deer feeds,
‘A red-deer oft has kill’d.
‘Rich venison and wild fowls, imbued
‘With this dark drug, have gone
‘To feed the famish’d pale-face foe,
‘A present to Sir John.
‘And ere to-morrow’s noonday hour
‘They’ll droop, and fade, and die,
‘And strew the ground, like autumn leaves
‘When the storm-god passes by.
‘The breeze all day across the land
‘Shall bear their dying groans,
‘And the river-god shall many a year
‘Behold their whitening bones.’
V.
He paused and look’d at Powhatan
For some approving word;
But a bitter sigh from Metoka
Was the only sound he heard.
‘If it is done, then be it so,’
The monarch said, at last;
‘Though rather would I see them fall
‘By the spirit’s lightning blast;
‘Or that our arms in open fight
‘Might hurl the deadly blow,
‘And show them Powhatan has power
‘To conquer any foe.
‘But if the deed is done, ’tis well—
‘The agent or the hour
‘We will not question, if it serve
‘To crush their growing power.
‘Come, let us to the lodge retire;
‘Thou’lt rest with us to-night:
‘The clouds rise dark; the lightning fires
‘Flash with a fiercer light.’
Now sitting in the lodge, they talk
Of their mighty pale-face foe:
Pamunky broods with secret joy
Upon the impending blow;
But Powhatan walks up and down
With sadness in his eye;
For though it was his settled will
The pale-face foe should die,
Yet still he feels ’ twould better suit
His prowess and his pride,
If warriors’ arms in the battle-field
The deadly strife had tried.
For some approving word;
But a bitter sigh from Metoka
Was the only sound he heard.
‘If it is done, then be it so,’
The monarch said, at last;
‘Though rather would I see them fall
‘By the spirit’s lightning blast;
‘Or that our arms in open fight
‘Might hurl the deadly blow,
‘And show them Powhatan has power
‘To conquer any foe.
‘But if the deed is done, ’tis well—
‘The agent or the hour
‘We will not question, if it serve
‘To crush their growing power.
‘Come, let us to the lodge retire;
‘Thou’lt rest with us to-night:
‘The clouds rise dark; the lightning fires
‘Flash with a fiercer light.’
Now sitting in the lodge, they talk
Of their mighty pale-face foe:
Pamunky broods with secret joy
Upon the impending blow;
But Powhatan walks up and down
With sadness in his eye;
For though it was his settled will
The pale-face foe should die,
Yet still he feels ’ twould better suit
His prowess and his pride,
If warriors’ arms in the battle-field
The deadly strife had tried.
VI.
And now all silent in the lodge,
The chiefs are both at rest;
But, oh! what wild and harrowing thoughts
Fair Metoka oppress’d.
She loved her sire, she loved his land:
She loved them as her life—
What feeling in her heart is now
With that pure love at strife?
’ Tis pity, pleading for the lives
Of those who soon must fall—
It pleadeth with an angel’s voice,
And loud as a trumpet-call.
Mayhap another feeling too
Its secret influence wrought
In her pure heart; but if ’ twere so,
She understood it not—
But true it was, that since Sir John
First pass’d before her sight,
Something was twining round her heart;
She felt it day and night.
Her heart is sad, her bosom bleeds
For the cruel fate of those,
In whom she knows no crime or fault,
Nor can she deem them foes.
Alone and restless she looks out
Upon the fearful night;
The warring elements are there,
The lightning fires gleam bright;
She hears the muttering thunders growl
Along the distant hills,
And many a pause the thunders make
The wolves’ wild howling fills.
The awful clouds roll high and dark,
The winds have a roaring, sound,
The branches from stout trees are torn
And hurl’d upon the ground;
And now the rain in torrents falls—
How her feeble limbs do shake!
Such gloom without, such grief within,
Her young heart sure must break.
The chiefs are both at rest;
But, oh! what wild and harrowing thoughts
Fair Metoka oppress’d.
She loved her sire, she loved his land:
She loved them as her life—
What feeling in her heart is now
With that pure love at strife?
’ Tis pity, pleading for the lives
Of those who soon must fall—
It pleadeth with an angel’s voice,
And loud as a trumpet-call.
Mayhap another feeling too
Its secret influence wrought
In her pure heart; but if ’ twere so,
She understood it not—
But true it was, that since Sir John
First pass’d before her sight,
Something was twining round her heart;
She felt it day and night.
Her heart is sad, her bosom bleeds
For the cruel fate of those,
In whom she knows no crime or fault,
Nor can she deem them foes.
Alone and restless she looks out
Upon the fearful night;
The warring elements are there,
The lightning fires gleam bright;
She hears the muttering thunders growl
Along the distant hills,
And many a pause the thunders make
The wolves’ wild howling fills.
The awful clouds roll high and dark,
The winds have a roaring, sound,
The branches from stout trees are torn
And hurl’d upon the ground;
And now the rain in torrents falls—
How her feeble limbs do shake!
Such gloom without, such grief within,
Her young heart sure must break.
VII.
But Jamestown’s death-devoted sons
In conscious safety rest;
The natives, months before, had ceased
The pale-face to molest;
Pamunky’s rich and generous gift
Their confidence increased,
And on the morrow all would share
In joyfulness their feast.
’ Tis now the darkest midnight hour,
But yet Sir John sleeps not—
He listeth to the storm without;
The rain beats down like shot
Against the wall and on the roof;
The wind is strong and high,
And bellowing thunders burst and roll
Athwart the troubled sky.
A moment’s pause—what sound is that?
A light tap at the door—
Can mortal be abroad to-night?
That feeble tap once more—
He opes the door; his dim light falls
Upon a slender form—
The monarch’s daughter standeth there,
Like a spirit of the storm!
Through dark wild woods, in that fearful night,
She had peril’d life and limb,
And suffer’d all but death to bring
Safety and life to him.
And now, her object gain’d, she turns
In haste her home to seek—
Sir John such strong emotion feels,
At first he scarce can speak:
But soon he urged her, while the storm
Was raging, to remain;
But she with earnestness replied,
‘I must not heed the rain.’
‘But the night is dark, the way is rough,
‘Till morning you must stay—’
With tears she said, ‘I must return
‘Before the break of day.’
‘Then I will go with a file of men
‘To guard you on your way—’
But still her eyes with tears were fill’d,
And still she answer’d nay—
‘Through woods and rain to my father’s lodge
‘I must return alone,
‘And never must my father know
‘The errand I have done.’
And away she flew from the cottage door,
To the forest wild again:
Sir John upon the darkness look’d,
And listen’d to the rain;
And still he look’d where the pathway lay
Across the distant field,
Until the lightning’s sudden flash
Her flying form reveal’d;
And still with sad and anxious thought
And moveless eyes he stood,
Till he saw her by another flash
Enter the midnight wood.{24}
In conscious safety rest;
The natives, months before, had ceased
The pale-face to molest;
Pamunky’s rich and generous gift
Their confidence increased,
And on the morrow all would share
In joyfulness their feast.
’ Tis now the darkest midnight hour,
But yet Sir John sleeps not—
He listeth to the storm without;
The rain beats down like shot
Against the wall and on the roof;
The wind is strong and high,
And bellowing thunders burst and roll
Athwart the troubled sky.
A moment’s pause—what sound is that?
A light tap at the door—
Can mortal be abroad to-night?
That feeble tap once more—
He opes the door; his dim light falls
Upon a slender form—
The monarch’s daughter standeth there,
Like a spirit of the storm!
Through dark wild woods, in that fearful night,
She had peril’d life and limb,
And suffer’d all but death to bring
Safety and life to him.
And now, her object gain’d, she turns
In haste her home to seek—
Sir John such strong emotion feels,
At first he scarce can speak:
But soon he urged her, while the storm
Was raging, to remain;
But she with earnestness replied,
‘I must not heed the rain.’
‘But the night is dark, the way is rough,
‘Till morning you must stay—’
With tears she said, ‘I must return
‘Before the break of day.’
‘Then I will go with a file of men
‘To guard you on your way—’
But still her eyes with tears were fill’d,
And still she answer’d nay—
‘Through woods and rain to my father’s lodge
‘I must return alone,
‘And never must my father know
‘The errand I have done.’
And away she flew from the cottage door,
To the forest wild again:
Sir John upon the darkness look’d,
And listen’d to the rain;
And still he look’d where the pathway lay
Across the distant field,
Until the lightning’s sudden flash
Her flying form reveal’d;
And still with sad and anxious thought
And moveless eyes he stood,
Till he saw her by another flash
Enter the midnight wood.{24}
VIII.
Day came and went—another pass’d—
And now a week has gone—
The dark-brow’d chiefs are puzzled much,
That the pale-face men live on.
Early and late had Powhatan
Been out on the calm hill-side,
But on the air no death-wail came
At morn or eventide:
And when his spies, returning home
From Jamestown day by day,
Told him the pale-face tree was green,
Nor blight upon it lay,
The doubting monarch shook his head,
And on his daughter cast
A look more chilling to her heart
Than winter’s dreary blast.
But not a word the monarch spoke;
His thought he never told;
Though she could often in his eye
That dreadful glance behold.
And though in all his troubled hours
To give him peace she strove,
And though she tried all tender ways
To touch his heart with love;
And though sometimes he smiled on her,
As once he used to smile,
Yet in his eye that cheerless look
Was lurking all the while;
And Metoka for many a day
His lost love did deplore,
And felt that her sweet peace of mind
Was gone forevermore.
Lonely and sad one day she sat
In her bower beside the spring,
When coming from the woods she saw
Approach Pamunky’s king.
He was her uncle, and though rough
To others he might prove,
To Metoka he nought had shown
But tenderness and love.
Then with a sad confiding look
She towards Pamunky ran,
Who told her he had come to bring
Great news to Powhatan;
And straightway to the council-hall
He led her by the hand,
Where chiefs and warriors eagerly
Around the monarch stand,
In deep debate, devising means
To crush the pale-face race;
But all, when came Pamunky’s king,
Stood back to give him place.
And now a week has gone—
The dark-brow’d chiefs are puzzled much,
That the pale-face men live on.
Early and late had Powhatan
Been out on the calm hill-side,
But on the air no death-wail came
At morn or eventide:
And when his spies, returning home
From Jamestown day by day,
Told him the pale-face tree was green,
Nor blight upon it lay,
The doubting monarch shook his head,
And on his daughter cast
A look more chilling to her heart
Than winter’s dreary blast.
But not a word the monarch spoke;
His thought he never told;
Though she could often in his eye
That dreadful glance behold.
And though in all his troubled hours
To give him peace she strove,
And though she tried all tender ways
To touch his heart with love;
And though sometimes he smiled on her,
As once he used to smile,
Yet in his eye that cheerless look
Was lurking all the while;
And Metoka for many a day
His lost love did deplore,
And felt that her sweet peace of mind
Was gone forevermore.
Lonely and sad one day she sat
In her bower beside the spring,
When coming from the woods she saw
Approach Pamunky’s king.
He was her uncle, and though rough
To others he might prove,
To Metoka he nought had shown
But tenderness and love.
Then with a sad confiding look
She towards Pamunky ran,
Who told her he had come to bring
Great news to Powhatan;
And straightway to the council-hall
He led her by the hand,
Where chiefs and warriors eagerly
Around the monarch stand,
In deep debate, devising means
To crush the pale-face race;
But all, when came Pamunky’s king,
Stood back to give him place.
IX.
‘Your deep debate,’ Pamunky said,
‘Ye may no longer hold,
‘Nor longer fear our pale-face foe;
‘His days at last are told.
‘Their mighty werowance, Sir John,
‘Who exercised such skill,
‘That all the poison of our land
‘Could not his people kill,
‘His death-wound has received at last—
‘From their strange fire it came;
‘That fire which thunders in their hands,
‘And burns with a lightning flame—
‘That fire they brought across the sea,
‘To hunt us from the earth,
‘Has turn’d on them its serpent fang,
‘And stung them to the death.
‘I saw Sir John with his bleeding wounds,
‘And his muffled face and head,
‘Creep slowly to their tall ship’s deck,
‘Like one that was near dead.
‘And away that ship is sailing now
‘Across the ocean wave,
‘To carry Sir John to his English isle
‘To rest in his English grave.
‘And now this land is ours again;
‘The rest of the pale-face crew
‘We’ll brush away from our forest home,
‘As we brush the drops of dew.’{25}
Great joy then felt King Powhatan,
Great joy felt all his men,
And wild and loud were the shouts that made
Their forests ring again.
No more in long suspense and fear
They lay like a strong man bound,
But light and free, the feast and song
Through all the tribes went round;
And every hunter freely breathed
Along by the winding shore,
And warriors trod their native woods
In conscious pride once more.
‘Ye may no longer hold,
‘Nor longer fear our pale-face foe;
‘His days at last are told.
‘Their mighty werowance, Sir John,
‘Who exercised such skill,
‘That all the poison of our land
‘Could not his people kill,
‘His death-wound has received at last—
‘From their strange fire it came;
‘That fire which thunders in their hands,
‘And burns with a lightning flame—
‘That fire they brought across the sea,
‘To hunt us from the earth,
‘Has turn’d on them its serpent fang,
‘And stung them to the death.
‘I saw Sir John with his bleeding wounds,
‘And his muffled face and head,
‘Creep slowly to their tall ship’s deck,
‘Like one that was near dead.
‘And away that ship is sailing now
‘Across the ocean wave,
‘To carry Sir John to his English isle
‘To rest in his English grave.
‘And now this land is ours again;
‘The rest of the pale-face crew
‘We’ll brush away from our forest home,
‘As we brush the drops of dew.’{25}
Great joy then felt King Powhatan,
Great joy felt all his men,
And wild and loud were the shouts that made
Their forests ring again.
No more in long suspense and fear
They lay like a strong man bound,
But light and free, the feast and song
Through all the tribes went round;
And every hunter freely breathed
Along by the winding shore,
And warriors trod their native woods
In conscious pride once more.
X.
But where’s the straggling colonist,
Who came not home last night?
His friends are out in search of him
By the earliest morning light.
At last away in a lonely spot,
His bleeding corpse is found;
His scalp is off, and his gory head
Lies weltering on the ground.
His wife in yonder graveyard sleeps:
She long before had died;
They feel it were a pious act
To place him by her side;
And slow they bear the corse along
Where the homeward pathway leads,
But a deadly arrow cleaves the air,
And another victim bleeds.
They see no foe, they hear no sound,
But they know that death is nigh;
They fly, and leave the death-stricken one
Alone with the dead to die.
Who came not home last night?
His friends are out in search of him
By the earliest morning light.
At last away in a lonely spot,
His bleeding corpse is found;
His scalp is off, and his gory head
Lies weltering on the ground.
His wife in yonder graveyard sleeps:
She long before had died;
They feel it were a pious act
To place him by her side;
And slow they bear the corse along
Where the homeward pathway leads,
But a deadly arrow cleaves the air,
And another victim bleeds.
They see no foe, they hear no sound,
But they know that death is nigh;
They fly, and leave the death-stricken one
Alone with the dead to die.
XI.
Now deep the sorrow, pale the fear,
That fell on Jamestown’s sons;
New forts are built, their swords new sharp’d,
And loaded are their guns;
And all their homes are picketed,
And all their doors are barr’d,
And fifty men with loaded arms
By day and night keep guard.
And now they sadly wish Sir John
Were there again to throw
The terror of his valiant arm
Around their savage foe.
But where they could, and where they must,
They still their labor plied,
And in the field the farmer toil’d
With musket by his side.
Oh, these were sad and fearful days;
Death lurk’d in every sound;
And English blood was often spilt
Like water on the ground;
And eagerly revenge and fear
Watch’d every dark wood-side,
And the sound of many a musket shot
Told where an Indian died.
That fell on Jamestown’s sons;
New forts are built, their swords new sharp’d,
And loaded are their guns;
And all their homes are picketed,
And all their doors are barr’d,
And fifty men with loaded arms
By day and night keep guard.
And now they sadly wish Sir John
Were there again to throw
The terror of his valiant arm
Around their savage foe.
But where they could, and where they must,
They still their labor plied,
And in the field the farmer toil’d
With musket by his side.
Oh, these were sad and fearful days;
Death lurk’d in every sound;
And English blood was often spilt
Like water on the ground;
And eagerly revenge and fear
Watch’d every dark wood-side,
And the sound of many a musket shot
Told where an Indian died.
XII.
Where rests the monarch’s daughter now?
Can she such scenes abide?
She’s gone a far and weary way,
To bright Potomac’s side.
The coldness of her father’s eye
Has made her eye grow dim—
Sir John has gone beyond the sea,
And her heart is gone with him;
And the sound of war, and the sight of blood,
That stain’d her native wild,
Have thrown a gloom on the weary life
Of the fair and gentle child.
She could not rest in her father’s lodge,
Nor bide in her summer bower,
But wander’d alone about the woods,
And droop’d like a fading flower.
The monarch watch’d her changing hue
In sunshine and in shade,
And the father’s heart within him yearn’d
When he saw her beauty fade.
For fifteen years her joyous heart,
And smiling cheek and eye,
Had been the light of the old man’s life,
And he could not see her die.
Can she such scenes abide?
She’s gone a far and weary way,
To bright Potomac’s side.
The coldness of her father’s eye
Has made her eye grow dim—
Sir John has gone beyond the sea,
And her heart is gone with him;
And the sound of war, and the sight of blood,
That stain’d her native wild,
Have thrown a gloom on the weary life
Of the fair and gentle child.
She could not rest in her father’s lodge,
Nor bide in her summer bower,
But wander’d alone about the woods,
And droop’d like a fading flower.
The monarch watch’d her changing hue
In sunshine and in shade,
And the father’s heart within him yearn’d
When he saw her beauty fade.
For fifteen years her joyous heart,
And smiling cheek and eye,
Had been the light of the old man’s life,
And he could not see her die.
XIII.
He call’d her to his side, and said,
With kind and gentle tone,
‘Why does my daughter weep all day,
‘And wander thus alone?
‘These days are evil days, my child,
‘But long they will not last;
‘I would thou hadst a safe retreat
‘Till the raging storm be past.
‘Potomac’s skies are bright and blue,
‘Potomac’s groves are green,
‘And brightly roll Potomac’s waves
‘Her lovely banks between;
‘And gladly would King Japazaws
‘All friendly rites extend
‘To the daughter of King Powhatan,
‘His sovereign and his friend.
‘Then go, my child, and rest awhile
‘On fair Potomac’s side;
‘There will thy days glide gently on,
‘As the peaceful waters glide;
‘And there young health will come again
‘And kiss thy fading cheek,
‘And in thy cheerful voice once more
‘Thy mother’s soul will speak.
‘No sound of war will there disturb
‘Thy silent rest at night,
‘Nor wilt thou wake to the sight of blood
‘When comes the morning light.
‘And when from our dark-shadow’d land
‘The clouds shall all pass o’er,
‘And all these strange and dreadful foes
‘Are driven from our shore,
‘Thou’lt come again, all life and love,
‘In thy father’s lodge to rest,
‘And the closing days of Powhatan
‘Will yet be bright and blest.’
Thus spoke the monarch, and away
His gentle child has gone,
A weary way through pathless woods,
Like a lost and lonely fawn;
And now, a sweet transplanted flower,
She breathes the balmy air
On fair Potomac’s sunny banks,
And sheds her fragrance there.
With kind and gentle tone,
‘Why does my daughter weep all day,
‘And wander thus alone?
‘These days are evil days, my child,
‘But long they will not last;
‘I would thou hadst a safe retreat
‘Till the raging storm be past.
‘Potomac’s skies are bright and blue,
‘Potomac’s groves are green,
‘And brightly roll Potomac’s waves
‘Her lovely banks between;
‘And gladly would King Japazaws
‘All friendly rites extend
‘To the daughter of King Powhatan,
‘His sovereign and his friend.
‘Then go, my child, and rest awhile
‘On fair Potomac’s side;
‘There will thy days glide gently on,
‘As the peaceful waters glide;
‘And there young health will come again
‘And kiss thy fading cheek,
‘And in thy cheerful voice once more
‘Thy mother’s soul will speak.
‘No sound of war will there disturb
‘Thy silent rest at night,
‘Nor wilt thou wake to the sight of blood
‘When comes the morning light.
‘And when from our dark-shadow’d land
‘The clouds shall all pass o’er,
‘And all these strange and dreadful foes
‘Are driven from our shore,
‘Thou’lt come again, all life and love,
‘In thy father’s lodge to rest,
‘And the closing days of Powhatan
‘Will yet be bright and blest.’
Thus spoke the monarch, and away
His gentle child has gone,
A weary way through pathless woods,
Like a lost and lonely fawn;
And now, a sweet transplanted flower,
She breathes the balmy air
On fair Potomac’s sunny banks,
And sheds her fragrance there.
END OF CANTO SIXTH.
CANTO SEVENTH.
I.
Still far along the winding James
War’s muttering thunders ran,
And dark and gloomy clouds hung round
The hills of Powhatan;
And, as the storm more threatening seem’d,
The savage fiercer grew,
And thick around the settlements
His hurtling arrows flew.
As Powhatan in council sat
Among his warriors brave,
And for the coming night’s campaign
His bloody orders gave,
Old Japazaws, who came not there
For many months before,
With hurrying step and haggard look
Came tottering to the door.
Each voice was hush’d, and every eye
Look’d anxiously about,
For well they knew no light affair
Had brought the old chief out.
War’s muttering thunders ran,
And dark and gloomy clouds hung round
The hills of Powhatan;
And, as the storm more threatening seem’d,
The savage fiercer grew,
And thick around the settlements
His hurtling arrows flew.
As Powhatan in council sat
Among his warriors brave,
And for the coming night’s campaign
His bloody orders gave,
Old Japazaws, who came not there
For many months before,
With hurrying step and haggard look
Came tottering to the door.
Each voice was hush’d, and every eye
Look’d anxiously about,
For well they knew no light affair
Had brought the old chief out.
II.
‘Speak, Japazaws,’ with sadden’d tone,
The anxious monarch said;
‘Another cloud of blackness now
‘Is settling o’er my head—
‘Soon as I saw thy steps approach,
‘I felt it in the air,
‘I felt it in my aching heart,
‘I felt it every where.
‘I see it now in thy speaking eye,
‘So sorrowful and wild—
‘Speak out thy thoughts, and tell what blight
‘Has come upon my child.’
The anxious monarch said;
‘Another cloud of blackness now
‘Is settling o’er my head—
‘Soon as I saw thy steps approach,
‘I felt it in the air,
‘I felt it in my aching heart,
‘I felt it every where.
‘I see it now in thy speaking eye,
‘So sorrowful and wild—
‘Speak out thy thoughts, and tell what blight
‘Has come upon my child.’
III.
‘Oh, sad the tale I have to tell,’
The trembling chief replied,
‘And gladly to have saved thy child,
‘Would Japazaws have died.
‘Like a beam of light fair Metoka
‘Went dancing through our grove,
‘Her voice was like the nightingale,
‘Her spirit like the dove,
‘And every thing was happier,
‘On which her brightness shone;
‘Such innocence and love were hers,
‘We loved her as our own.
‘But, oh, the cruel pale-face came,
‘In his shallop dark and tall,
‘And he seized her on the river bank—
‘We heard her feeble call,
‘And ran to rescue, but in vain;
‘They bore her from the shore,
‘Away, away, and much I fear
‘Thou’lt never see her more.’{26}
The trembling chief replied,
‘And gladly to have saved thy child,
‘Would Japazaws have died.
‘Like a beam of light fair Metoka
‘Went dancing through our grove,
‘Her voice was like the nightingale,
‘Her spirit like the dove,
‘And every thing was happier,
‘On which her brightness shone;
‘Such innocence and love were hers,
‘We loved her as our own.
‘But, oh, the cruel pale-face came,
‘In his shallop dark and tall,
‘And he seized her on the river bank—
‘We heard her feeble call,
‘And ran to rescue, but in vain;
‘They bore her from the shore,
‘Away, away, and much I fear
‘Thou’lt never see her more.’{26}
IV.
The aged monarch bow’d his head
In bitterness of wo;
In all his long eventful life
This was the deadliest blow.
In manhood’s prime he had look’d on
And seen his kindred die,
Without one muscle quivering,
Without one tear or sigh.
Two generations he had seen
Swept from his wide domain;
And war, and peace, and lapse of years,
Had battled him in vain;
But when this last, this brightest hope
Was torn from him apart,
It shook the strength of his iron frame,
And pierced him to the heart.
The eyes of his fierce warriors glow’d
And flash’d with living fire;
And leave to fly and leave to fight
Is all they now require.
Pamunky rises in his might,
His voice is loud and high—
‘This instant let us seek the foe,
‘And cut him down or die.’
Like an angry tiger, Nantaquas
Sends fiery glances round,
And clutching his huge war-club, growls,
And fiercely beats the ground;
And a hundred warriors seize their arms
And foam like a raging flood;
And a hundred voices cry with thirst
For a taste of English blood.
But while they raged with furious heat,
And long’d for the coming fight,
A swiftly flying messenger
From the forest came in sight.
’Twas faithful Rawhunt—six long days
At Jamestown he had been,
A captive in the picket fort—
How came he free again?
He rushes to the council-hall
And stands before the king,
And listening warriors bend to hear
What tidings he may bring.
In bitterness of wo;
In all his long eventful life
This was the deadliest blow.
In manhood’s prime he had look’d on
And seen his kindred die,
Without one muscle quivering,
Without one tear or sigh.
Two generations he had seen
Swept from his wide domain;
And war, and peace, and lapse of years,
Had battled him in vain;
But when this last, this brightest hope
Was torn from him apart,
It shook the strength of his iron frame,
And pierced him to the heart.
The eyes of his fierce warriors glow’d
And flash’d with living fire;
And leave to fly and leave to fight
Is all they now require.
Pamunky rises in his might,
His voice is loud and high—
‘This instant let us seek the foe,
‘And cut him down or die.’
Like an angry tiger, Nantaquas
Sends fiery glances round,
And clutching his huge war-club, growls,
And fiercely beats the ground;
And a hundred warriors seize their arms
And foam like a raging flood;
And a hundred voices cry with thirst
For a taste of English blood.
But while they raged with furious heat,
And long’d for the coming fight,
A swiftly flying messenger
From the forest came in sight.
’Twas faithful Rawhunt—six long days
At Jamestown he had been,
A captive in the picket fort—
How came he free again?
He rushes to the council-hall
And stands before the king,
And listening warriors bend to hear
What tidings he may bring.
V.
‘O, sire,’ the faithful servant said,
‘Would that the pale-face foe
‘Had sent his lightning through the heart
‘Of Rawhunt long ago;
‘Then had I never lived to see
‘The sorrow and distress
‘Of that sweet child, whose life has been
‘All love and tenderness.
‘They led her to the inner fort—
‘I saw her as she pass’d;
‘Her head was bent like a dying flower,
‘And her tears were falling fast.
‘And then their council bade me bear
‘This message to my king,
‘And ere the setting sun goes down
‘His answer back to bring.
‘The pale-face now, of Powhatan,
‘Demands that war shall cease,
‘And holds his daughter as a pledge
‘That he will live at peace;
‘But if another white man falls,
‘Or a drop of blood is shed,
‘That instant shall the monarch’s child
‘Sleep with the sleeping dead.
‘Twelve circling moons a captive bound
‘Must Metoka remain,
‘And if good faith be kept till then,
‘She shall be free again.
‘And more than this, great Powhatan
‘His royal word must give
‘To keep the truce, if he would have
‘His daughter longer live;
‘And I must fly with the monarch’s pledge,
‘As swift as the eagle flies,
‘For if the pledge come not to-night,
‘This night his daughter dies.’
He ceased, and silence fill’d the hall,
Like midnight deep and still;
All eyes were bent on Powhatan,
Waiting the monarch’s will.
‘Would that the pale-face foe
‘Had sent his lightning through the heart
‘Of Rawhunt long ago;
‘Then had I never lived to see
‘The sorrow and distress
‘Of that sweet child, whose life has been
‘All love and tenderness.
‘They led her to the inner fort—
‘I saw her as she pass’d;
‘Her head was bent like a dying flower,
‘And her tears were falling fast.
‘And then their council bade me bear
‘This message to my king,
‘And ere the setting sun goes down
‘His answer back to bring.
‘The pale-face now, of Powhatan,
‘Demands that war shall cease,
‘And holds his daughter as a pledge
‘That he will live at peace;
‘But if another white man falls,
‘Or a drop of blood is shed,
‘That instant shall the monarch’s child
‘Sleep with the sleeping dead.
‘Twelve circling moons a captive bound
‘Must Metoka remain,
‘And if good faith be kept till then,
‘She shall be free again.
‘And more than this, great Powhatan
‘His royal word must give
‘To keep the truce, if he would have
‘His daughter longer live;
‘And I must fly with the monarch’s pledge,
‘As swift as the eagle flies,
‘For if the pledge come not to-night,
‘This night his daughter dies.’
He ceased, and silence fill’d the hall,
Like midnight deep and still;
All eyes were bent on Powhatan,
Waiting the monarch’s will.
VI.
Then slowly look’d the old chief round;
In his eye a strange light shone,
And slowly these brief words he spoke
In a strange and solemn tone.
‘The Spirit wills it—we must yield—
‘For vain the power of man
‘To strive against the Spirit’s power:
‘Gladly would Powhatan,
‘Alone, unaided, meet the foe,
‘And all his host defy—
‘But the Spirit wills it—we must yield—
‘That daughter must not die.’
Fair wampum-belts of shining hue
Were hanging on the wall;
The monarch took from its resting-place
The richest one of all;
And placing it on Rawhunt’s arm,
He bade him speed his flight,
And bear it to the pale-face chiefs
Ere fall the shades of night;
And tell them, ‘Powhatan accepts
‘The proffer they have made:
‘If they are faithful to the truce,
‘’Twill be by him obey’d.’
Swiftly the faithful Rawhunt flew
Away through the distant wood;
But the monarch still among his chiefs
Like a solemn statue stood.
At last, with sadden’d look and tone,
The chiefs he thus address’d:
‘The old tree cannot always last;
‘The monarch needeth rest.
‘While twelve fair moons in quietness
‘Shall run their circling round,
‘No war-whoop will awake the woods,
‘No blood will stain the ground.
‘Till then, to a solitary lodge
‘Will Powhatan depart,
‘And rest his head from weary cares,
‘And rest his weary heart.
‘Meantime let brave Pamunky’s king
‘Our sovereign sceptre sway,
‘And him, instead of Powhatan,
‘Let all the tribes obey.’
He said—and slowly round the hall
A sober look he cast;
A lingering, doubting, troubled look,
As though it were the last;
And taking up his bow and club,
That lean’d against the wall,
The monarch turn’d with stately step
And left the silent hall.
In his eye a strange light shone,
And slowly these brief words he spoke
In a strange and solemn tone.
‘The Spirit wills it—we must yield—
‘For vain the power of man
‘To strive against the Spirit’s power:
‘Gladly would Powhatan,
‘Alone, unaided, meet the foe,
‘And all his host defy—
‘But the Spirit wills it—we must yield—
‘That daughter must not die.’
Fair wampum-belts of shining hue
Were hanging on the wall;
The monarch took from its resting-place
The richest one of all;
And placing it on Rawhunt’s arm,
He bade him speed his flight,
And bear it to the pale-face chiefs
Ere fall the shades of night;
And tell them, ‘Powhatan accepts
‘The proffer they have made:
‘If they are faithful to the truce,
‘’Twill be by him obey’d.’
Swiftly the faithful Rawhunt flew
Away through the distant wood;
But the monarch still among his chiefs
Like a solemn statue stood.
At last, with sadden’d look and tone,
The chiefs he thus address’d:
‘The old tree cannot always last;
‘The monarch needeth rest.
‘While twelve fair moons in quietness
‘Shall run their circling round,
‘No war-whoop will awake the woods,
‘No blood will stain the ground.
‘Till then, to a solitary lodge
‘Will Powhatan depart,
‘And rest his head from weary cares,
‘And rest his weary heart.
‘Meantime let brave Pamunky’s king
‘Our sovereign sceptre sway,
‘And him, instead of Powhatan,
‘Let all the tribes obey.’
He said—and slowly round the hall
A sober look he cast;
A lingering, doubting, troubled look,
As though it were the last;
And taking up his bow and club,
That lean’d against the wall,
The monarch turn’d with stately step
And left the silent hall.
VII.
Far up the Chickahominy
The banks are green and fair,
And through the groves of Orapakes
There breathes a balmy air;
And there beneath tall shady trees
A quiet lodge is found;
Bright birds are darting through the boughs
And hopping on the ground;
Refreshing waters from the hills
Through groves and valleys glide;
And gentle deer come down to drink
By the cool river-side;
And there among the stout old trees,
From toil and conflict free,
The aged monarch moves about,
And muses silently.
He sighs to think of his distant child
At night on his bed of fur:
And if he sleep in the lonely hours,
’Tis but to dream of her.
And he thinks of her in his sunny walks,
With the sportive deer about,
And he thinks of her by the bending brook
Where glides the golden trout.
The banks are green and fair,
And through the groves of Orapakes
There breathes a balmy air;
And there beneath tall shady trees
A quiet lodge is found;
Bright birds are darting through the boughs
And hopping on the ground;
Refreshing waters from the hills
Through groves and valleys glide;
And gentle deer come down to drink
By the cool river-side;
And there among the stout old trees,
From toil and conflict free,
The aged monarch moves about,
And muses silently.
He sighs to think of his distant child
At night on his bed of fur:
And if he sleep in the lonely hours,
’Tis but to dream of her.
And he thinks of her in his sunny walks,
With the sportive deer about,
And he thinks of her by the bending brook
Where glides the golden trout.
VIII.
Long time had Opechancanough
A burning hatred borne
Against the pale-face, who had caused
His native land to mourn.
Sir John had led him by the hair,{27}
With pistol at his breast;
The rankling thought was a raging fire,
That never let him rest.
And the insult offer’d to his god
He never could forget,
Till the sun of this whole hated race
In night and blood should set.
Sage Powhatan knew well the power
The English arms possess’d,
And made his warriors keep aloof,
And their rash fire repress’d.
But now Pamunky is the chief,
Whom all the tribes obey,
And vengeance its hot strife for blood
No longer will delay.
He boldly goes to the white man’s lodge,
And talks of friendship’s chain,
And tells how strong and bright it is,
And long shall so remain;
And all unarm’d his warriors roam
The colonists among,
And words of peace and kindness flow
From every Indian tongue.
But in his deep and gloomy wilds,
Where white man never came,
He breathed into his warriors’ hearts
His bosom’s burning flame.
And round and round, from tribe to tribe,
Through many a summer’s night,
He whisper’d dark words in their ears
Beneath the dim starlight:
And a thousand times those mutter’d words
In his low breath were said,
And a thousand hearts their secret kept,
As voiceless as the dead.
He bade them think of Powhatan,
An exile sad and lone;
And the pleasant light of that lovely star
That once among them shone;
He bade them think of Okee’s wrongs
Received from the pale-face crew;
And the deadly shade that the pale-face tree
Far over the land now threw.
The secret fire is kindling well;
A thousand hearts are strong,
And a thousand eager warriors wait
To avenge their country’s wrong.
A burning hatred borne
Against the pale-face, who had caused
His native land to mourn.
Sir John had led him by the hair,{27}
With pistol at his breast;
The rankling thought was a raging fire,
That never let him rest.
And the insult offer’d to his god
He never could forget,
Till the sun of this whole hated race
In night and blood should set.
Sage Powhatan knew well the power
The English arms possess’d,
And made his warriors keep aloof,
And their rash fire repress’d.
But now Pamunky is the chief,
Whom all the tribes obey,
And vengeance its hot strife for blood
No longer will delay.
He boldly goes to the white man’s lodge,
And talks of friendship’s chain,
And tells how strong and bright it is,
And long shall so remain;
And all unarm’d his warriors roam
The colonists among,
And words of peace and kindness flow
From every Indian tongue.
But in his deep and gloomy wilds,
Where white man never came,
He breathed into his warriors’ hearts
His bosom’s burning flame.
And round and round, from tribe to tribe,
Through many a summer’s night,
He whisper’d dark words in their ears
Beneath the dim starlight:
And a thousand times those mutter’d words
In his low breath were said,
And a thousand hearts their secret kept,
As voiceless as the dead.
He bade them think of Powhatan,
An exile sad and lone;
And the pleasant light of that lovely star
That once among them shone;
He bade them think of Okee’s wrongs
Received from the pale-face crew;
And the deadly shade that the pale-face tree
Far over the land now threw.
The secret fire is kindling well;
A thousand hearts are strong,
And a thousand eager warriors wait
To avenge their country’s wrong.
IX.
The day of blood arrives at last,
When vengeance shall be hurl’d
On every pale-face in the land,
And sweep him from the world.
Through the silent night, in the upland groves,
And down by the murky fen,
And deep in the solitary wood,
There’s a mustering of men—
Old Chesapeake sends forth the tribes
That live along the shore;
Potomac’s warriors, arm’d for death,
Are on the march once more;
Fierce Kecoughtans and Nansamonds
Creep noiselessly along;
Pamunky’s valiant tribe sends out
A band five hundred strong;
And a hundred silent winding streams,
By the twinkling stars’ dim light,
Beheld dark warriors whispering
Along their banks that night.
Each band knew well its pathless route
In darkness or in day:
Each had its several task assign’d,
And panted for its prey.
They came where the outer settlements
Were skirted by the wood,
And waiting for the appointed hour,
In breathless silence stood.
The gray tops of the cottages
Gleam’d in the misty air;
They look’d and listen’d eagerly—
No light, no sound was there.
No watchful guards with loaded arms
In field or fort appear;
There lay the slumbering colony
Without defence or fear.
When vengeance shall be hurl’d
On every pale-face in the land,
And sweep him from the world.
Through the silent night, in the upland groves,
And down by the murky fen,
And deep in the solitary wood,
There’s a mustering of men—
Old Chesapeake sends forth the tribes
That live along the shore;
Potomac’s warriors, arm’d for death,
Are on the march once more;
Fierce Kecoughtans and Nansamonds
Creep noiselessly along;
Pamunky’s valiant tribe sends out
A band five hundred strong;
And a hundred silent winding streams,
By the twinkling stars’ dim light,
Beheld dark warriors whispering
Along their banks that night.
Each band knew well its pathless route
In darkness or in day:
Each had its several task assign’d,
And panted for its prey.
They came where the outer settlements
Were skirted by the wood,
And waiting for the appointed hour,
In breathless silence stood.
The gray tops of the cottages
Gleam’d in the misty air;
They look’d and listen’d eagerly—
No light, no sound was there.
No watchful guards with loaded arms
In field or fort appear;
There lay the slumbering colony
Without defence or fear.