Chapter 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.’

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.

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.