Chapter 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?’

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.’

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.