Chapter VIII

Then Powhatan, to sooth to rest
His daughter’s agitated breast,
Bethought to make some kind reply,
When sudden toward the east his eye
Caught the glimpse of a warrior form:
Swift as an eagle wings the storm,
He sweeps along the far hill-side,
Dimly mid dusky woods descried.
Uprose the monarch nimbly then,
And sternly sent his eagle ken
Through opening grove and o’er the glen,
And watch’d the form that now drew near,
Bounding along, like a mountain deer.
He marvell’d if the warrior came
With foeman’s brand to light the flame
Of ruthless war; for sure his speed
Might well portend a foeman’s deed.
But as he gain’d an open height,
That mark’d him clearer to the sight--
‘I know him now,’ the monarch said,
‘By his robe of blue and belt of red;
‘He bears a quiver and a bow,
‘His plume is a raven wing--{5}
‘Our brother, Opechancanough,[C]
‘Pamunky’s wily king.’
As summer breezes, quick and strong,
Hurry a fleecy cloud along,
We see the shadow softly creep,
Fast as the following eye can sweep,
Darkening blade, and bough, and leaf,
O’er grassy mead and woody dell;
So flew that raven-crested chief,
And reach’d the monarch’s cell.
And now the day is closing in,
And one by one the stars begin,
Around an unbeclouded sky,
To hang their glittering lamps on high;
Chilly and damp the night dews fall,
And brightly in the monarch’s hall
The evening torches glow;
Thither the royal group repair,
The monarch sage, the daughter fair,
And princely Opechancanough.
Mutely the monarch eyed his guest,
For on his brow there seem’d impress’d
A more disturb’d and ruffled air
Than e’er before had mantled there.
At length with questions, few and brief,
He gravely thus address’d the chief.

IX.

‘What tidings, brave Pamunky’s king,
‘Dost thou to our high presence bring?
‘What tribe has dared to hurl the brand
‘Of rebel war across our land?
‘Have traitorous warriors dipp’d in gore
‘The tomahawk, and rashly swore
‘The peace-tree’s leaves are struck with blight,
‘And they will drink our blood to-night?
‘Or have the Manakins conspired
‘With the fierce nations of the west,
‘By the vain hope of conquest fired,
‘Our sceptre from our hands to wrest,
‘And from their mountain homes come down
‘To meet the vengeance of our frown?
‘For by the swiftness of thy flight,
‘And by the lateness of the night,
‘And by thy darken’d brow, ’
tis clear
‘Thou’rt on no common errand here;
‘And be it wo, or be it weal,
‘Thy message, warrior, now reveal.’

X.

‘Whether weal or wo betide,’
He of the raven plume replied,
‘Or whether war or death be near,
‘Monarch, I neither know nor fear.
‘My soul ne’er trembled at the sight
‘Of foeman yet in bloodiest fight,
‘Though many a chief, in battle slain,
‘This arm has stretch’d upon the plain.
‘And in thy conflict’s darkest hour,
‘Who rush’d amid the arrowy shower,
‘And met the foremost of the foe,
‘So oft as Opechancanough?
‘And though my nerves may tremble now,
‘And looks of terror clothe my brow,
‘Yet I protest, and may great Okee[D] hear,
‘These signs, that in my looks are blent,
‘Are marks of wild astonishment,
‘But not the work of fear.
‘And wouldst thou know what makes me pale,
‘Monarch, listen to my tale.