‘O, Matachanna, must I go‘From this loved spot away?‘No more among these green old trees,‘With thee, dear sister, play?‘No more upon the hill-side run,‘And chase the butterfly,‘Or down the shady valley see‘The nimble deer dart by?‘A pleasant thing it is to see‘The lovely light of day,‘When gentle Matachanna is‘Companion of my way!‘But away alone with a cruel one,‘My day will turn to night,‘And never more will Metoka‘Behold the pleasant light.‘But when, dear sister, I am gone,‘Still love our greenwood bowers,‘And plant around our lovely spring‘The pretty summer flowers.‘And love our father fervently,‘And bless him every day,‘And sometimes gently speak to him‘Of her that’s far away—’
‘O, Matachanna, must I go‘From this loved spot away?‘No more among these green old trees,‘With thee, dear sister, play?‘No more upon the hill-side run,‘And chase the butterfly,‘Or down the shady valley see‘The nimble deer dart by?‘A pleasant thing it is to see‘The lovely light of day,‘When gentle Matachanna is‘Companion of my way!‘But away alone with a cruel one,‘My day will turn to night,‘And never more will Metoka‘Behold the pleasant light.‘But when, dear sister, I am gone,‘Still love our greenwood bowers,‘And plant around our lovely spring‘The pretty summer flowers.‘And love our father fervently,‘And bless him every day,‘And sometimes gently speak to him‘Of her that’s far away—’
‘O, Matachanna, must I go‘From this loved spot away?‘No more among these green old trees,‘With thee, dear sister, play?‘No more upon the hill-side run,‘And chase the butterfly,‘Or down the shady valley see‘The nimble deer dart by?‘A pleasant thing it is to see‘The lovely light of day,‘When gentle Matachanna is‘Companion of my way!‘But away alone with a cruel one,‘My day will turn to night,‘And never more will Metoka‘Behold the pleasant light.‘But when, dear sister, I am gone,‘Still love our greenwood bowers,‘And plant around our lovely spring‘The pretty summer flowers.‘And love our father fervently,‘And bless him every day,‘And sometimes gently speak to him‘Of her that’s far away—’
But hark! a shout comes on the air,A war-cry loud and shrill;It seems a shout of victory—Again, and louder still.Old Powhatan rush’d from the hallWith war-club in his hand,And a hundred warriors seize their arms,And round the old chief stand,And listen to that coming shout,That now rings loud and clear;And soon from out the darkling groveA warrior train appear.‘Pamunky’s king!’ cried Powhatan,‘’Tis Opechancanough;‘I see his raven-plume on high,‘His giant form below.‘Now let a cry of welcome rise‘Till hill and forest ring,‘For a truer chief no tribe can boast,‘Than brave Pamunky’s king.’At once with one united voiceTheir answering shout rose high,And loud and long the echo swell’d,Like an army’s battle-cry.Pamunky led his warriors up,Form’d in a hollow square,With bowstrings drawn and arrows notch’d,All pointing in with care,To guard a prisoner, who with armsTight-pinion’d might be seenAdvancing with a stately step,And calm and noble mein.On either side three warriors stoutHeld fast upon each arm,With weapons ready for the deathUpon the least alarm.‘Why come so late,’ said Powhatan,‘Our festive rites to share?‘And what brave captive hast thou brought‘Amid thy warriors there?’
But hark! a shout comes on the air,A war-cry loud and shrill;It seems a shout of victory—Again, and louder still.Old Powhatan rush’d from the hallWith war-club in his hand,And a hundred warriors seize their arms,And round the old chief stand,And listen to that coming shout,That now rings loud and clear;And soon from out the darkling groveA warrior train appear.‘Pamunky’s king!’ cried Powhatan,‘’Tis Opechancanough;‘I see his raven-plume on high,‘His giant form below.‘Now let a cry of welcome rise‘Till hill and forest ring,‘For a truer chief no tribe can boast,‘Than brave Pamunky’s king.’At once with one united voiceTheir answering shout rose high,And loud and long the echo swell’d,Like an army’s battle-cry.Pamunky led his warriors up,Form’d in a hollow square,With bowstrings drawn and arrows notch’d,All pointing in with care,To guard a prisoner, who with armsTight-pinion’d might be seenAdvancing with a stately step,And calm and noble mein.On either side three warriors stoutHeld fast upon each arm,With weapons ready for the deathUpon the least alarm.‘Why come so late,’ said Powhatan,‘Our festive rites to share?‘And what brave captive hast thou brought‘Amid thy warriors there?’
But hark! a shout comes on the air,A war-cry loud and shrill;It seems a shout of victory—Again, and louder still.Old Powhatan rush’d from the hallWith war-club in his hand,And a hundred warriors seize their arms,And round the old chief stand,And listen to that coming shout,That now rings loud and clear;And soon from out the darkling groveA warrior train appear.‘Pamunky’s king!’ cried Powhatan,‘’Tis Opechancanough;‘I see his raven-plume on high,‘His giant form below.‘Now let a cry of welcome rise‘Till hill and forest ring,‘For a truer chief no tribe can boast,‘Than brave Pamunky’s king.’At once with one united voiceTheir answering shout rose high,And loud and long the echo swell’d,Like an army’s battle-cry.Pamunky led his warriors up,Form’d in a hollow square,With bowstrings drawn and arrows notch’d,All pointing in with care,To guard a prisoner, who with armsTight-pinion’d might be seenAdvancing with a stately step,And calm and noble mein.On either side three warriors stoutHeld fast upon each arm,With weapons ready for the deathUpon the least alarm.‘Why come so late,’ said Powhatan,‘Our festive rites to share?‘And what brave captive hast thou brought‘Amid thy warriors there?’
‘True, I am late,’ Pamunky said,‘But my lateness to atone,‘I bring you here a captive bound,‘The mighty chief, Sir John.’A moment, struck with deep surprise,Each warrior held his breath,And a stillness reign’d through all the crowd,Like that in the halls of death.First Powhatan at the prisoner glanced,Then at Nemattanow,Who look’d as though he’d sink to earthWith wonder, shame, and wo.And when the first surprise was o’er,The gathering throngs drew round,And a mighty swell of triumph rose,That shook the very ground.Warrior and chief, and old and young,Pour’d their full voices out,And never did woods give echo backTo such a ringing shout.When silence was again restoredThe old chief waved his hand,And with imperial look and tone,To all gave this command.‘The evening shades begin to fall,‘Let noise and revel cease;‘Our three days’ feasting now requires‘A night of rest and peace.‘The captive to the inner hall‘Convey with special care,‘And forty of our bravest men,‘Till morning, guard him there.‘To-morrow let our feast again‘With double rites be crown’d,‘And a double song of victory‘Through all our tribes resound;‘Then solemn council shall decide‘What fate shall be prepared‘For this proud chief, that in our realm‘Our sovereign power has dared.‘And thou, Nemattanow, shalt be—’Here turn’d the monarch round,But lo! the fierce NemattanowWas nowhere to be found.His name was shouted on the airA thousand times in vain,And runners flew this way and that,O’er rugged hill and plain;And hall and lodge were search’d throughout,And grove and glen explored,But all the search till night set inNo tidings could afford.
‘True, I am late,’ Pamunky said,‘But my lateness to atone,‘I bring you here a captive bound,‘The mighty chief, Sir John.’A moment, struck with deep surprise,Each warrior held his breath,And a stillness reign’d through all the crowd,Like that in the halls of death.First Powhatan at the prisoner glanced,Then at Nemattanow,Who look’d as though he’d sink to earthWith wonder, shame, and wo.And when the first surprise was o’er,The gathering throngs drew round,And a mighty swell of triumph rose,That shook the very ground.Warrior and chief, and old and young,Pour’d their full voices out,And never did woods give echo backTo such a ringing shout.When silence was again restoredThe old chief waved his hand,And with imperial look and tone,To all gave this command.‘The evening shades begin to fall,‘Let noise and revel cease;‘Our three days’ feasting now requires‘A night of rest and peace.‘The captive to the inner hall‘Convey with special care,‘And forty of our bravest men,‘Till morning, guard him there.‘To-morrow let our feast again‘With double rites be crown’d,‘And a double song of victory‘Through all our tribes resound;‘Then solemn council shall decide‘What fate shall be prepared‘For this proud chief, that in our realm‘Our sovereign power has dared.‘And thou, Nemattanow, shalt be—’Here turn’d the monarch round,But lo! the fierce NemattanowWas nowhere to be found.His name was shouted on the airA thousand times in vain,And runners flew this way and that,O’er rugged hill and plain;And hall and lodge were search’d throughout,And grove and glen explored,But all the search till night set inNo tidings could afford.
‘True, I am late,’ Pamunky said,‘But my lateness to atone,‘I bring you here a captive bound,‘The mighty chief, Sir John.’A moment, struck with deep surprise,Each warrior held his breath,And a stillness reign’d through all the crowd,Like that in the halls of death.First Powhatan at the prisoner glanced,Then at Nemattanow,Who look’d as though he’d sink to earthWith wonder, shame, and wo.And when the first surprise was o’er,The gathering throngs drew round,And a mighty swell of triumph rose,That shook the very ground.Warrior and chief, and old and young,Pour’d their full voices out,And never did woods give echo backTo such a ringing shout.When silence was again restoredThe old chief waved his hand,And with imperial look and tone,To all gave this command.‘The evening shades begin to fall,‘Let noise and revel cease;‘Our three days’ feasting now requires‘A night of rest and peace.‘The captive to the inner hall‘Convey with special care,‘And forty of our bravest men,‘Till morning, guard him there.‘To-morrow let our feast again‘With double rites be crown’d,‘And a double song of victory‘Through all our tribes resound;‘Then solemn council shall decide‘What fate shall be prepared‘For this proud chief, that in our realm‘Our sovereign power has dared.‘And thou, Nemattanow, shalt be—’Here turn’d the monarch round,But lo! the fierce NemattanowWas nowhere to be found.His name was shouted on the airA thousand times in vain,And runners flew this way and that,O’er rugged hill and plain;And hall and lodge were search’d throughout,And grove and glen explored,But all the search till night set inNo tidings could afford.
Again the day is dawning,And the revellers are out,And their whooping and their cheeringMight be heard for miles about;And the day is spent in feasting,And ’tis joy and music all,Save where the mighty monarch,In his great council-hall,In his royal robes is sitting,And his war-chiefs round him wait,To decide in solemn councilTheir illustrious captive’s fate.
Again the day is dawning,And the revellers are out,And their whooping and their cheeringMight be heard for miles about;And the day is spent in feasting,And ’tis joy and music all,Save where the mighty monarch,In his great council-hall,In his royal robes is sitting,And his war-chiefs round him wait,To decide in solemn councilTheir illustrious captive’s fate.
Again the day is dawning,And the revellers are out,And their whooping and their cheeringMight be heard for miles about;And the day is spent in feasting,And ’tis joy and music all,Save where the mighty monarch,In his great council-hall,In his royal robes is sitting,And his war-chiefs round him wait,To decide in solemn councilTheir illustrious captive’s fate.
Though many honor’d brave Sir JohnFor his spirit bold and high,The solemn council now decideThat brave Sir John must die;For this alone, they deem’d, would serveTo appease great Okee’s wrath;And safety to the monarch’s realmRequired the strange chief’s death.So great a foe and terribleTheir tribes had never known:Hence ’twas decreed, that in his fall,Great Powhatan aloneWas worthy to inflict the blowThis mighty chief to slay;And all demanded that the deedBe done without delay.
Though many honor’d brave Sir JohnFor his spirit bold and high,The solemn council now decideThat brave Sir John must die;For this alone, they deem’d, would serveTo appease great Okee’s wrath;And safety to the monarch’s realmRequired the strange chief’s death.So great a foe and terribleTheir tribes had never known:Hence ’twas decreed, that in his fall,Great Powhatan aloneWas worthy to inflict the blowThis mighty chief to slay;And all demanded that the deedBe done without delay.
Though many honor’d brave Sir JohnFor his spirit bold and high,The solemn council now decideThat brave Sir John must die;For this alone, they deem’d, would serveTo appease great Okee’s wrath;And safety to the monarch’s realmRequired the strange chief’s death.So great a foe and terribleTheir tribes had never known:Hence ’twas decreed, that in his fall,Great Powhatan aloneWas worthy to inflict the blowThis mighty chief to slay;And all demanded that the deedBe done without delay.
The monarch sitteth on his throne,In his dignity array’d;Mysterious power is in his eye,That maketh man afraid;The women of his court stand upWith awe behind the throne,But his daughters in their beauty sitOn either hand alone;While all around the spacious hallLong rows of warriors stand,With nodding war-plume on each head,And each with weapon in his hand;And scalps and trophies line the walls,That fifty wars supplied,And richest robes and shining beltsAppear on every side.And all is placed in fit arrayTo take the captive’s eye,When he should come within the hallTo be condemn’d and die—For ’twas not meet to take the lifeOf so great and strange a man,Till he had seen the greatness tooOf great King Powhatan.
The monarch sitteth on his throne,In his dignity array’d;Mysterious power is in his eye,That maketh man afraid;The women of his court stand upWith awe behind the throne,But his daughters in their beauty sitOn either hand alone;While all around the spacious hallLong rows of warriors stand,With nodding war-plume on each head,And each with weapon in his hand;And scalps and trophies line the walls,That fifty wars supplied,And richest robes and shining beltsAppear on every side.And all is placed in fit arrayTo take the captive’s eye,When he should come within the hallTo be condemn’d and die—For ’twas not meet to take the lifeOf so great and strange a man,Till he had seen the greatness tooOf great King Powhatan.
The monarch sitteth on his throne,In his dignity array’d;Mysterious power is in his eye,That maketh man afraid;The women of his court stand upWith awe behind the throne,But his daughters in their beauty sitOn either hand alone;While all around the spacious hallLong rows of warriors stand,With nodding war-plume on each head,And each with weapon in his hand;And scalps and trophies line the walls,That fifty wars supplied,And richest robes and shining beltsAppear on every side.And all is placed in fit arrayTo take the captive’s eye,When he should come within the hallTo be condemn’d and die—For ’twas not meet to take the lifeOf so great and strange a man,Till he had seen the greatness tooOf great King Powhatan.
Now through the festal crowds abroadHeralds aloud make known,That soon the great Sir John must die,Before the monarch’s throne.Hush’d is the song and ceased the dance,And darkening throngs draw near,In awful silence round the hall,And bend a listening ear,To catch the floating sounds that come,Perchance the fatal blow,Perchance the death-song of Sir John,Or his dying shriek of wo.A private door to that great hallIs open’d slow and wide,And a guard of forty men march inWith looks of lofty pride,For in their midst that captive walksWith tightly pinion’d arm,Whose very name had power to shakeThe boldest with alarm.The captive’s step is firm and free,His bearing grave and high,And calm and quiet dignityIs beaming from his eye.One universal shout aroseWhen first Sir John appear’d,And all the gathering throng withoutIn answer loudly cheer’d.And then the monarch waved his hand,And all was still again;And round the hall the prisoner march’d,Led by the warrior train;And thrice they went the circuit round,That all might see the faceThat bore such pale and spirit marksOf a strange and mighty race.
Now through the festal crowds abroadHeralds aloud make known,That soon the great Sir John must die,Before the monarch’s throne.Hush’d is the song and ceased the dance,And darkening throngs draw near,In awful silence round the hall,And bend a listening ear,To catch the floating sounds that come,Perchance the fatal blow,Perchance the death-song of Sir John,Or his dying shriek of wo.A private door to that great hallIs open’d slow and wide,And a guard of forty men march inWith looks of lofty pride,For in their midst that captive walksWith tightly pinion’d arm,Whose very name had power to shakeThe boldest with alarm.The captive’s step is firm and free,His bearing grave and high,And calm and quiet dignityIs beaming from his eye.One universal shout aroseWhen first Sir John appear’d,And all the gathering throng withoutIn answer loudly cheer’d.And then the monarch waved his hand,And all was still again;And round the hall the prisoner march’d,Led by the warrior train;And thrice they went the circuit round,That all might see the faceThat bore such pale and spirit marksOf a strange and mighty race.
Now through the festal crowds abroadHeralds aloud make known,That soon the great Sir John must die,Before the monarch’s throne.Hush’d is the song and ceased the dance,And darkening throngs draw near,In awful silence round the hall,And bend a listening ear,To catch the floating sounds that come,Perchance the fatal blow,Perchance the death-song of Sir John,Or his dying shriek of wo.A private door to that great hallIs open’d slow and wide,And a guard of forty men march inWith looks of lofty pride,For in their midst that captive walksWith tightly pinion’d arm,Whose very name had power to shakeThe boldest with alarm.The captive’s step is firm and free,His bearing grave and high,And calm and quiet dignityIs beaming from his eye.One universal shout aroseWhen first Sir John appear’d,And all the gathering throng withoutIn answer loudly cheer’d.And then the monarch waved his hand,And all was still again;And round the hall the prisoner march’d,Led by the warrior train;And thrice they went the circuit round,That all might see the faceThat bore such pale and spirit marksOf a strange and mighty race.
In the centre of the hall is placedA square and massive stone,And beds of twigs and forest leavesAre thickly round it strown;And there a heavy war-club stands,With knots all cover’d o’er;It bears the marks of many wars,Hard, smooth, and stain’d with gore.It was the monarch’s favorite club,For times of peril kept,’Twas near him when upon the throne,And near him when he slept.No other hands had ever daredThat ponderous club to wield,And never could a foe escapeWhen that club swept the field.Now slowly to this fatal spotThey lead Sir John with care,And bind his feet about with withes,And lay him prostrate there;And look and listen eagerlyFor him to groan or weep;But he lays his head down tranquilly,As a child that goes to sleep.The monarch with a stately stepDescendeth from the throne,And all give back before the light,From his fiery eye that shone.He raiseth that huge war-club high;The warriors hold their breath,And look to see that mighty armHurl down the blow of death—A sudden shriek bursts through the air,A wild and piercing cry,And swift as light a form is seenAcross the hall to fly.The startled monarch stays his hand,For now, beneath his blow,He sees his lovely MetokaBy the captive kneeling low.Her gentle arm is round his head,Her tearful eyes upturn’d,And there the pure and hallow’d lightOf angel mercy burn’d.Compassion lit its gentle fires{22}In the breast of Powhatan;The warrior to the father yields,The monarch to the man.Slowly his war-club sinks to earth,And slowly from his eyeRecedes the fierce, vindictive fire,That burn’d before so high.His nerves relax—he looks aroundUpon his warrior men—Perchance their unsubdued revengeHis soul might fire again—But no; the soft contagion spreads,And all have felt its power,And hearts are touch’d and passions hush’d,For mercy ruled the hour.
In the centre of the hall is placedA square and massive stone,And beds of twigs and forest leavesAre thickly round it strown;And there a heavy war-club stands,With knots all cover’d o’er;It bears the marks of many wars,Hard, smooth, and stain’d with gore.It was the monarch’s favorite club,For times of peril kept,’Twas near him when upon the throne,And near him when he slept.No other hands had ever daredThat ponderous club to wield,And never could a foe escapeWhen that club swept the field.Now slowly to this fatal spotThey lead Sir John with care,And bind his feet about with withes,And lay him prostrate there;And look and listen eagerlyFor him to groan or weep;But he lays his head down tranquilly,As a child that goes to sleep.The monarch with a stately stepDescendeth from the throne,And all give back before the light,From his fiery eye that shone.He raiseth that huge war-club high;The warriors hold their breath,And look to see that mighty armHurl down the blow of death—A sudden shriek bursts through the air,A wild and piercing cry,And swift as light a form is seenAcross the hall to fly.The startled monarch stays his hand,For now, beneath his blow,He sees his lovely MetokaBy the captive kneeling low.Her gentle arm is round his head,Her tearful eyes upturn’d,And there the pure and hallow’d lightOf angel mercy burn’d.Compassion lit its gentle fires{22}In the breast of Powhatan;The warrior to the father yields,The monarch to the man.Slowly his war-club sinks to earth,And slowly from his eyeRecedes the fierce, vindictive fire,That burn’d before so high.His nerves relax—he looks aroundUpon his warrior men—Perchance their unsubdued revengeHis soul might fire again—But no; the soft contagion spreads,And all have felt its power,And hearts are touch’d and passions hush’d,For mercy ruled the hour.
In the centre of the hall is placedA square and massive stone,And beds of twigs and forest leavesAre thickly round it strown;And there a heavy war-club stands,With knots all cover’d o’er;It bears the marks of many wars,Hard, smooth, and stain’d with gore.It was the monarch’s favorite club,For times of peril kept,’Twas near him when upon the throne,And near him when he slept.No other hands had ever daredThat ponderous club to wield,And never could a foe escapeWhen that club swept the field.Now slowly to this fatal spotThey lead Sir John with care,And bind his feet about with withes,And lay him prostrate there;And look and listen eagerlyFor him to groan or weep;But he lays his head down tranquilly,As a child that goes to sleep.The monarch with a stately stepDescendeth from the throne,And all give back before the light,From his fiery eye that shone.He raiseth that huge war-club high;The warriors hold their breath,And look to see that mighty armHurl down the blow of death—A sudden shriek bursts through the air,A wild and piercing cry,And swift as light a form is seenAcross the hall to fly.The startled monarch stays his hand,For now, beneath his blow,He sees his lovely MetokaBy the captive kneeling low.Her gentle arm is round his head,Her tearful eyes upturn’d,And there the pure and hallow’d lightOf angel mercy burn’d.Compassion lit its gentle fires{22}In the breast of Powhatan;The warrior to the father yields,The monarch to the man.Slowly his war-club sinks to earth,And slowly from his eyeRecedes the fierce, vindictive fire,That burn’d before so high.His nerves relax—he looks aroundUpon his warrior men—Perchance their unsubdued revengeHis soul might fire again—But no; the soft contagion spreads,And all have felt its power,And hearts are touch’d and passions hush’d,For mercy ruled the hour.
The monarch gently raised his child,And brush’d her tears away;And call’d Pamunky to his side,And bade without delayTo free the captive from his bonds,And show him honors due,And lead him to the festive hallTheir banquet to renew.
The monarch gently raised his child,And brush’d her tears away;And call’d Pamunky to his side,And bade without delayTo free the captive from his bonds,And show him honors due,And lead him to the festive hallTheir banquet to renew.
The monarch gently raised his child,And brush’d her tears away;And call’d Pamunky to his side,And bade without delayTo free the captive from his bonds,And show him honors due,And lead him to the festive hallTheir banquet to renew.
The day is past, and past the night,And now again the morning light,With golden pinions all unfurl’d,Comes forth to wake a sleeping world;And brave Sir John, with footsteps free,And a trusty guard of warriors three,Through the deep woods is on his wayTo greet his friends at Paspahey.
The day is past, and past the night,And now again the morning light,With golden pinions all unfurl’d,Comes forth to wake a sleeping world;And brave Sir John, with footsteps free,And a trusty guard of warriors three,Through the deep woods is on his wayTo greet his friends at Paspahey.
The day is past, and past the night,And now again the morning light,With golden pinions all unfurl’d,Comes forth to wake a sleeping world;And brave Sir John, with footsteps free,And a trusty guard of warriors three,Through the deep woods is on his wayTo greet his friends at Paspahey.
END OF CANTO FOURTH.
December’ssun is pale and low,Chilly and raw the north winds blow,Dark threatening clouds are floating by,And Jamestown’s sons with sadden’d eyeLook out upon the dreary wildOf woods and waters, where exiled,And distant far from friends and home,They see the storms of winter come.One half their number they had lost,Since on this wild and desert coastThey first set foot; and ere the springFresh fruits and flowers again would bring,They felt that others too must fall:For though their number was but small,Their store of food was smaller still;And oft this thought a deadly chillSent to each heart: they saw the hourWas coming soon, when famine’s powerMust sweep them off, as leaves are castOn the cold earth by autumn’s blast.But mid this gloom and prospect dread,That o’er all hearts a sadness shed,No matter by what foe assail’d,Sir John’s brave spirit never quail’d.Early and late he knew no rest;He nursed the sick, sooth’d the distress’d,Cheer’d the despairing, and anon,With gun in hand, away has goneTo seek the wild duck on the wave,Or game within the darksome wood,The famish’d colonists to save,And spread their common board with food.
December’ssun is pale and low,Chilly and raw the north winds blow,Dark threatening clouds are floating by,And Jamestown’s sons with sadden’d eyeLook out upon the dreary wildOf woods and waters, where exiled,And distant far from friends and home,They see the storms of winter come.One half their number they had lost,Since on this wild and desert coastThey first set foot; and ere the springFresh fruits and flowers again would bring,They felt that others too must fall:For though their number was but small,Their store of food was smaller still;And oft this thought a deadly chillSent to each heart: they saw the hourWas coming soon, when famine’s powerMust sweep them off, as leaves are castOn the cold earth by autumn’s blast.But mid this gloom and prospect dread,That o’er all hearts a sadness shed,No matter by what foe assail’d,Sir John’s brave spirit never quail’d.Early and late he knew no rest;He nursed the sick, sooth’d the distress’d,Cheer’d the despairing, and anon,With gun in hand, away has goneTo seek the wild duck on the wave,Or game within the darksome wood,The famish’d colonists to save,And spread their common board with food.
December’ssun is pale and low,Chilly and raw the north winds blow,Dark threatening clouds are floating by,And Jamestown’s sons with sadden’d eyeLook out upon the dreary wildOf woods and waters, where exiled,And distant far from friends and home,They see the storms of winter come.One half their number they had lost,Since on this wild and desert coastThey first set foot; and ere the springFresh fruits and flowers again would bring,They felt that others too must fall:For though their number was but small,Their store of food was smaller still;And oft this thought a deadly chillSent to each heart: they saw the hourWas coming soon, when famine’s powerMust sweep them off, as leaves are castOn the cold earth by autumn’s blast.But mid this gloom and prospect dread,That o’er all hearts a sadness shed,No matter by what foe assail’d,Sir John’s brave spirit never quail’d.Early and late he knew no rest;He nursed the sick, sooth’d the distress’d,Cheer’d the despairing, and anon,With gun in hand, away has goneTo seek the wild duck on the wave,Or game within the darksome wood,The famish’d colonists to save,And spread their common board with food.
One morning early, while the grayAnd sleeping mist on the river lay,Ere yet the sun from his ocean bedHad tinged the distant hills with red,In quest of game Sir John had goneFar down the river vale alone;And standing on a gentle heightHe view’d the silver winding James—What vision glances on his sight?What sudden fire his cheek inflames?Is that a sail? Is that a ship,Glides slowly round the headland dim?With straining eye and parted lip,He breathless stands, with moveless limb,And throws his eager look afar,Like the quick shooting of a star.A sail? a ship? He looks again—It is, it is—he sees it plain;He sees the sails, he sees the hull,An English flag at mast-head flies:And now his throbbing heart is full,And tears are crowding to his eyes;Those eyes which had not known a tear,Before this hour, for many a year.
One morning early, while the grayAnd sleeping mist on the river lay,Ere yet the sun from his ocean bedHad tinged the distant hills with red,In quest of game Sir John had goneFar down the river vale alone;And standing on a gentle heightHe view’d the silver winding James—What vision glances on his sight?What sudden fire his cheek inflames?Is that a sail? Is that a ship,Glides slowly round the headland dim?With straining eye and parted lip,He breathless stands, with moveless limb,And throws his eager look afar,Like the quick shooting of a star.A sail? a ship? He looks again—It is, it is—he sees it plain;He sees the sails, he sees the hull,An English flag at mast-head flies:And now his throbbing heart is full,And tears are crowding to his eyes;Those eyes which had not known a tear,Before this hour, for many a year.
One morning early, while the grayAnd sleeping mist on the river lay,Ere yet the sun from his ocean bedHad tinged the distant hills with red,In quest of game Sir John had goneFar down the river vale alone;And standing on a gentle heightHe view’d the silver winding James—What vision glances on his sight?What sudden fire his cheek inflames?Is that a sail? Is that a ship,Glides slowly round the headland dim?With straining eye and parted lip,He breathless stands, with moveless limb,And throws his eager look afar,Like the quick shooting of a star.A sail? a ship? He looks again—It is, it is—he sees it plain;He sees the sails, he sees the hull,An English flag at mast-head flies:And now his throbbing heart is full,And tears are crowding to his eyes;Those eyes which had not known a tear,Before this hour, for many a year.
With a light heart, and step as light,He soon retraced his homeward route,And there the ship was full in sight,And all the colonists were outAnd gazing off upon the river.With pious thankfulness some liftTheir eyes and hands to the great GiverOf every good and perfect gift;Some, wild with joy, run here and there,Grasping each other’s eager hand;Some with quick motion beat the air,And some like moveless statues stand.Slowly the ship comes sailing on,And now she rides abreast the town;The sailors up the shrouds have gone,The ponderous anchor plunges down,And curbs her gently to the breeze,Like a proud steed that feels the bit;And now she heads the rippling seas,And her furling sails on the long yards flit.A light boat launches from the shore,Each oarsman nimbly plies his oarAcross the waters, bright and clear.The tall ship rapidly they near,And soon, half lost to view, they glideTo the deep shadow of her side,Where the rocking boat seems but a speck;Man after man mounts to the deck,And here Sir John with joyous smileGreets Newport from Britannia’s isle.
With a light heart, and step as light,He soon retraced his homeward route,And there the ship was full in sight,And all the colonists were outAnd gazing off upon the river.With pious thankfulness some liftTheir eyes and hands to the great GiverOf every good and perfect gift;Some, wild with joy, run here and there,Grasping each other’s eager hand;Some with quick motion beat the air,And some like moveless statues stand.Slowly the ship comes sailing on,And now she rides abreast the town;The sailors up the shrouds have gone,The ponderous anchor plunges down,And curbs her gently to the breeze,Like a proud steed that feels the bit;And now she heads the rippling seas,And her furling sails on the long yards flit.A light boat launches from the shore,Each oarsman nimbly plies his oarAcross the waters, bright and clear.The tall ship rapidly they near,And soon, half lost to view, they glideTo the deep shadow of her side,Where the rocking boat seems but a speck;Man after man mounts to the deck,And here Sir John with joyous smileGreets Newport from Britannia’s isle.
With a light heart, and step as light,He soon retraced his homeward route,And there the ship was full in sight,And all the colonists were outAnd gazing off upon the river.With pious thankfulness some liftTheir eyes and hands to the great GiverOf every good and perfect gift;Some, wild with joy, run here and there,Grasping each other’s eager hand;Some with quick motion beat the air,And some like moveless statues stand.Slowly the ship comes sailing on,And now she rides abreast the town;The sailors up the shrouds have gone,The ponderous anchor plunges down,And curbs her gently to the breeze,Like a proud steed that feels the bit;And now she heads the rippling seas,And her furling sails on the long yards flit.A light boat launches from the shore,Each oarsman nimbly plies his oarAcross the waters, bright and clear.The tall ship rapidly they near,And soon, half lost to view, they glideTo the deep shadow of her side,Where the rocking boat seems but a speck;Man after man mounts to the deck,And here Sir John with joyous smileGreets Newport from Britannia’s isle.
A thousand questions now are ask’d,And a thousand answers given;Sir John tells how with savages,And famine, he has striven;How in his light and open barge,With scarce a dozen men,He had scour’d the mighty Chesapeake,Round all her shores had been,And up the rivers from the bayTo where the waters fall,And seen the wild and warlike tribes,And dared the power of all.
A thousand questions now are ask’d,And a thousand answers given;Sir John tells how with savages,And famine, he has striven;How in his light and open barge,With scarce a dozen men,He had scour’d the mighty Chesapeake,Round all her shores had been,And up the rivers from the bayTo where the waters fall,And seen the wild and warlike tribes,And dared the power of all.
A thousand questions now are ask’d,And a thousand answers given;Sir John tells how with savages,And famine, he has striven;How in his light and open barge,With scarce a dozen men,He had scour’d the mighty Chesapeake,Round all her shores had been,And up the rivers from the bayTo where the waters fall,And seen the wild and warlike tribes,And dared the power of all.
Then Captain Newport told what joyKing James’s heart had known,That such a goodly land as thisWas added to his throne;And that to make the savage tribesWith English power content,To their great chieftain, Powhatan,King James by him had sentRich, royal presents, such as kingsOf power and dignityMight to a royal brother make;Gold rings, rich cutlery,A robe of state of finest woofAnd of a scarlet red,And a sparkling crown thick-set with gems,Fit for a monarch’s head.And as the kings had worn no crownsAs yet in this new land,It was King James’s special will,And thus he gave command,That Captain Newport and Sir JohnThis kingly crown should seePlaced on the head of PowhatanWith due solemnity.Now on the shore in merry bandsLight-hearted sailors roam,And listening ears of colonistsAre fill’d with news from home.
Then Captain Newport told what joyKing James’s heart had known,That such a goodly land as thisWas added to his throne;And that to make the savage tribesWith English power content,To their great chieftain, Powhatan,King James by him had sentRich, royal presents, such as kingsOf power and dignityMight to a royal brother make;Gold rings, rich cutlery,A robe of state of finest woofAnd of a scarlet red,And a sparkling crown thick-set with gems,Fit for a monarch’s head.And as the kings had worn no crownsAs yet in this new land,It was King James’s special will,And thus he gave command,That Captain Newport and Sir JohnThis kingly crown should seePlaced on the head of PowhatanWith due solemnity.Now on the shore in merry bandsLight-hearted sailors roam,And listening ears of colonistsAre fill’d with news from home.
Then Captain Newport told what joyKing James’s heart had known,That such a goodly land as thisWas added to his throne;And that to make the savage tribesWith English power content,To their great chieftain, Powhatan,King James by him had sentRich, royal presents, such as kingsOf power and dignityMight to a royal brother make;Gold rings, rich cutlery,A robe of state of finest woofAnd of a scarlet red,And a sparkling crown thick-set with gems,Fit for a monarch’s head.And as the kings had worn no crownsAs yet in this new land,It was King James’s special will,And thus he gave command,That Captain Newport and Sir JohnThis kingly crown should seePlaced on the head of PowhatanWith due solemnity.Now on the shore in merry bandsLight-hearted sailors roam,And listening ears of colonistsAre fill’d with news from home.
The council-hall of PowhatanIn quietness was closed;And in his warmer winter lodgeThe aged chief reposed:And when the piercing northwest windThe crevices came through,He closer drew his robe of fur,And fed his fire anew.And when upon his cabin wallHis glowing fire grew bright,And brighter still, betokeningThe coming on of night,The monarch took his usual roundThrough hall and lodge and yard,To see that all was well secured,And set his nightly guard.First to the east and then the westHe glanced his restless eye,The trees were rocking in the wind,Dark clouds were in the sky,And well the experienced monarch sawIn their motion and their form,And heard along the groaning hills,The spirit of the storm.
The council-hall of PowhatanIn quietness was closed;And in his warmer winter lodgeThe aged chief reposed:And when the piercing northwest windThe crevices came through,He closer drew his robe of fur,And fed his fire anew.And when upon his cabin wallHis glowing fire grew bright,And brighter still, betokeningThe coming on of night,The monarch took his usual roundThrough hall and lodge and yard,To see that all was well secured,And set his nightly guard.First to the east and then the westHe glanced his restless eye,The trees were rocking in the wind,Dark clouds were in the sky,And well the experienced monarch sawIn their motion and their form,And heard along the groaning hills,The spirit of the storm.
The council-hall of PowhatanIn quietness was closed;And in his warmer winter lodgeThe aged chief reposed:And when the piercing northwest windThe crevices came through,He closer drew his robe of fur,And fed his fire anew.And when upon his cabin wallHis glowing fire grew bright,And brighter still, betokeningThe coming on of night,The monarch took his usual roundThrough hall and lodge and yard,To see that all was well secured,And set his nightly guard.First to the east and then the westHe glanced his restless eye,The trees were rocking in the wind,Dark clouds were in the sky,And well the experienced monarch sawIn their motion and their form,And heard along the groaning hills,The spirit of the storm.
And as he look’d, and as he turn’d,He saw a pale-face man—How quick the leaping blood went throughThe veins of Powhatan!Changed in an instant was his form,From a feeble man and old,Slow moving in his furry robe,To a warrior stout and bold.His outer cloak was dash’d aside,And left his shoulders bare;No more he heard the whistling windOr felt the biting air;His buskin’d feet were planted firm,His heavy club swung light,And had a thousand foes been there,He was ready for the fight.That pale-face man came out aloneFrom the moaning woods’ deep shade,And still alone approach’d the lodge,Nor hostile sign display’d;But with a fearless air came up,And with a stately stride,And Powhatan and brave Sir JohnWere standing side by side.And now within the inner lodgeTogether they retire,And on the monarch’s furry couchSit by the glowing fire.No word or look from PowhatanBetray’d his secret thought,Nor deign’d he to inquire what causeHis visiter had brought;But sat and look’d him in the faceHis guest’s deep thoughts to scan,Until Sir John the silence broke,And thus his speech began.
And as he look’d, and as he turn’d,He saw a pale-face man—How quick the leaping blood went throughThe veins of Powhatan!Changed in an instant was his form,From a feeble man and old,Slow moving in his furry robe,To a warrior stout and bold.His outer cloak was dash’d aside,And left his shoulders bare;No more he heard the whistling windOr felt the biting air;His buskin’d feet were planted firm,His heavy club swung light,And had a thousand foes been there,He was ready for the fight.That pale-face man came out aloneFrom the moaning woods’ deep shade,And still alone approach’d the lodge,Nor hostile sign display’d;But with a fearless air came up,And with a stately stride,And Powhatan and brave Sir JohnWere standing side by side.And now within the inner lodgeTogether they retire,And on the monarch’s furry couchSit by the glowing fire.No word or look from PowhatanBetray’d his secret thought,Nor deign’d he to inquire what causeHis visiter had brought;But sat and look’d him in the faceHis guest’s deep thoughts to scan,Until Sir John the silence broke,And thus his speech began.
And as he look’d, and as he turn’d,He saw a pale-face man—How quick the leaping blood went throughThe veins of Powhatan!Changed in an instant was his form,From a feeble man and old,Slow moving in his furry robe,To a warrior stout and bold.His outer cloak was dash’d aside,And left his shoulders bare;No more he heard the whistling windOr felt the biting air;His buskin’d feet were planted firm,His heavy club swung light,And had a thousand foes been there,He was ready for the fight.That pale-face man came out aloneFrom the moaning woods’ deep shade,And still alone approach’d the lodge,Nor hostile sign display’d;But with a fearless air came up,And with a stately stride,And Powhatan and brave Sir JohnWere standing side by side.And now within the inner lodgeTogether they retire,And on the monarch’s furry couchSit by the glowing fire.No word or look from PowhatanBetray’d his secret thought,Nor deign’d he to inquire what causeHis visiter had brought;But sat and look’d him in the faceHis guest’s deep thoughts to scan,Until Sir John the silence broke,And thus his speech began.
‘Great werowance, I come to bring‘A greeting kind and true‘From great King James beyond the sea,‘Who sends good-will to you.‘He is a king all terrible,‘With ships and wealth and power,‘Sufficient to o’erwhelm your tribes‘And slay them in an hour.‘Let Manahocks and Manakins‘And Powhatans combine,‘They could not stand one day before‘This mighty king of mine.‘But yet his love to Powhatan‘Is brotherly and pure;‘And as a token that it will‘Forever warm endure,‘He sends you rich and royal gifts,‘A robe of scarlet red,‘A sparkling crown thick-set with gems,‘Fit for a monarch’s head,‘And other presents rich and rare,‘As you shall see and know,‘When to be crown’d in solemn form‘To Jamestown you shall go.‘He sent them in a mighty ship‘By a captain of the sea,‘Who has commission from our king,‘In company with me,‘To place the crown upon your head,‘A deed to great kings done‘In all the lands beyond the sea‘To the rising of the sun.‘And Captain Newport waits to know‘What day you will be there,‘That all things for the solemn rite‘We duly may prepare.’
‘Great werowance, I come to bring‘A greeting kind and true‘From great King James beyond the sea,‘Who sends good-will to you.‘He is a king all terrible,‘With ships and wealth and power,‘Sufficient to o’erwhelm your tribes‘And slay them in an hour.‘Let Manahocks and Manakins‘And Powhatans combine,‘They could not stand one day before‘This mighty king of mine.‘But yet his love to Powhatan‘Is brotherly and pure;‘And as a token that it will‘Forever warm endure,‘He sends you rich and royal gifts,‘A robe of scarlet red,‘A sparkling crown thick-set with gems,‘Fit for a monarch’s head,‘And other presents rich and rare,‘As you shall see and know,‘When to be crown’d in solemn form‘To Jamestown you shall go.‘He sent them in a mighty ship‘By a captain of the sea,‘Who has commission from our king,‘In company with me,‘To place the crown upon your head,‘A deed to great kings done‘In all the lands beyond the sea‘To the rising of the sun.‘And Captain Newport waits to know‘What day you will be there,‘That all things for the solemn rite‘We duly may prepare.’
‘Great werowance, I come to bring‘A greeting kind and true‘From great King James beyond the sea,‘Who sends good-will to you.‘He is a king all terrible,‘With ships and wealth and power,‘Sufficient to o’erwhelm your tribes‘And slay them in an hour.‘Let Manahocks and Manakins‘And Powhatans combine,‘They could not stand one day before‘This mighty king of mine.‘But yet his love to Powhatan‘Is brotherly and pure;‘And as a token that it will‘Forever warm endure,‘He sends you rich and royal gifts,‘A robe of scarlet red,‘A sparkling crown thick-set with gems,‘Fit for a monarch’s head,‘And other presents rich and rare,‘As you shall see and know,‘When to be crown’d in solemn form‘To Jamestown you shall go.‘He sent them in a mighty ship‘By a captain of the sea,‘Who has commission from our king,‘In company with me,‘To place the crown upon your head,‘A deed to great kings done‘In all the lands beyond the sea‘To the rising of the sun.‘And Captain Newport waits to know‘What day you will be there,‘That all things for the solemn rite‘We duly may prepare.’
Proudly the monarch raised his head,And proudly turn’d his eyeUpon the spoils of many wars,And scalps that hung on high;And then his trusty bow and clubHe haughtily survey’d,And thus with stately air and toneHis brief reply he made.‘If such rare presents have been sent‘From your great king to me,‘Remember too,I am a king,‘And all this land you see,‘And all these woods and groves are mine,‘And the mighty rivers too,‘That pour down from the mountain sides‘And glide these valleys through.‘And thirty tribes with all their chiefs‘Their homage pay to me,‘And fight my battles when I call—‘Your captain of the sea‘Should better know the place he fills:‘His presents to bestow,‘He may, when suits him, come to me;‘To him I shall not go.’
Proudly the monarch raised his head,And proudly turn’d his eyeUpon the spoils of many wars,And scalps that hung on high;And then his trusty bow and clubHe haughtily survey’d,And thus with stately air and toneHis brief reply he made.‘If such rare presents have been sent‘From your great king to me,‘Remember too,I am a king,‘And all this land you see,‘And all these woods and groves are mine,‘And the mighty rivers too,‘That pour down from the mountain sides‘And glide these valleys through.‘And thirty tribes with all their chiefs‘Their homage pay to me,‘And fight my battles when I call—‘Your captain of the sea‘Should better know the place he fills:‘His presents to bestow,‘He may, when suits him, come to me;‘To him I shall not go.’
Proudly the monarch raised his head,And proudly turn’d his eyeUpon the spoils of many wars,And scalps that hung on high;And then his trusty bow and clubHe haughtily survey’d,And thus with stately air and toneHis brief reply he made.‘If such rare presents have been sent‘From your great king to me,‘Remember too,I am a king,‘And all this land you see,‘And all these woods and groves are mine,‘And the mighty rivers too,‘That pour down from the mountain sides‘And glide these valleys through.‘And thirty tribes with all their chiefs‘Their homage pay to me,‘And fight my battles when I call—‘Your captain of the sea‘Should better know the place he fills:‘His presents to bestow,‘He may, when suits him, come to me;‘To him I shall not go.’
Sir John knew well the monarch’s prideAnd firm unbending will,And well he knew ’twere vain to seekHis purpose to fulfil;He therefore urged his suit no more,But at the chief’s request,Consented to abide till morn,And in his lodge to rest.And soundly slept Sir John that nightUpon his deer-skin bed,With hand upon his broadsword hiltAnd pistol by his head.And the first red morning ray that came,Bright gleaming o’er the plain,Beheld him on the forest routeTo Jamestown’s homes again.
Sir John knew well the monarch’s prideAnd firm unbending will,And well he knew ’twere vain to seekHis purpose to fulfil;He therefore urged his suit no more,But at the chief’s request,Consented to abide till morn,And in his lodge to rest.And soundly slept Sir John that nightUpon his deer-skin bed,With hand upon his broadsword hiltAnd pistol by his head.And the first red morning ray that came,Bright gleaming o’er the plain,Beheld him on the forest routeTo Jamestown’s homes again.
Sir John knew well the monarch’s prideAnd firm unbending will,And well he knew ’twere vain to seekHis purpose to fulfil;He therefore urged his suit no more,But at the chief’s request,Consented to abide till morn,And in his lodge to rest.And soundly slept Sir John that nightUpon his deer-skin bed,With hand upon his broadsword hiltAnd pistol by his head.And the first red morning ray that came,Bright gleaming o’er the plain,Beheld him on the forest routeTo Jamestown’s homes again.
A week of winter storms had pass’d,And brighter days now shone,And Powhatan no longer satIn his winter lodge alone,But in his council-hall appear’dAmong his warriors bold;And all his chiefs were gather’d there,A council-talk to hold.And long about those royal giftsThey talk’d with solemn air;Gifts from a land beyond the sea,Which only kings might wear;And many questions had been raised,And many doubts remain’d,What secret charm for good or illThose wondrous gifts contain’d.But ere those doubts were half resolved,While yet the talk went on,One of the outer guard rush’d in,Exclaiming that Sir JohnAnd fifty of his pale-face tribe,All marching in a fileAcross the woods, with shining arms,Were now within a mileOf the council-hall. An instant fireFlash’d from each warrior’s eye,But there was no tumultuous rush,No shout or battle-cry;With knitted brow and silent stepEach seized his club and bow,And girded on his scalping-knife;And now in one grim row,A hundred warriors arm’d for death,And led by their great king,Before the council-hall appear,And wait what fate may bring.
A week of winter storms had pass’d,And brighter days now shone,And Powhatan no longer satIn his winter lodge alone,But in his council-hall appear’dAmong his warriors bold;And all his chiefs were gather’d there,A council-talk to hold.And long about those royal giftsThey talk’d with solemn air;Gifts from a land beyond the sea,Which only kings might wear;And many questions had been raised,And many doubts remain’d,What secret charm for good or illThose wondrous gifts contain’d.But ere those doubts were half resolved,While yet the talk went on,One of the outer guard rush’d in,Exclaiming that Sir JohnAnd fifty of his pale-face tribe,All marching in a fileAcross the woods, with shining arms,Were now within a mileOf the council-hall. An instant fireFlash’d from each warrior’s eye,But there was no tumultuous rush,No shout or battle-cry;With knitted brow and silent stepEach seized his club and bow,And girded on his scalping-knife;And now in one grim row,A hundred warriors arm’d for death,And led by their great king,Before the council-hall appear,And wait what fate may bring.
A week of winter storms had pass’d,And brighter days now shone,And Powhatan no longer satIn his winter lodge alone,But in his council-hall appear’dAmong his warriors bold;And all his chiefs were gather’d there,A council-talk to hold.And long about those royal giftsThey talk’d with solemn air;Gifts from a land beyond the sea,Which only kings might wear;And many questions had been raised,And many doubts remain’d,What secret charm for good or illThose wondrous gifts contain’d.But ere those doubts were half resolved,While yet the talk went on,One of the outer guard rush’d in,Exclaiming that Sir JohnAnd fifty of his pale-face tribe,All marching in a fileAcross the woods, with shining arms,Were now within a mileOf the council-hall. An instant fireFlash’d from each warrior’s eye,But there was no tumultuous rush,No shout or battle-cry;With knitted brow and silent stepEach seized his club and bow,And girded on his scalping-knife;And now in one grim row,A hundred warriors arm’d for death,And led by their great king,Before the council-hall appear,And wait what fate may bring.
And soon the pale-face men came out,And halted by the wood,Their bright guns gleaming in their hands,Facing the hall they stood,While brave Sir John, like an armed knight,March’d forward and alone,And his errand and his companyTo Powhatan made known.He told him that his men had comeKing James’s gifts to bear,And that the captain of the seaStood with his warriors there;And all things were in readiness,If it pleased his sovereign will,The high behest of great King JamesIn the crowning to fulfil.A sharp glance then the monarch sentTo the borders of the wood,And ask’d Sir John to point him outWhere that sea-captain stood.And on him long and steadilyHe fix’d his eagle ken,To learn if that strange captain look’dLike other pale-face men.At last the monarch gave consentFor the gifts to be convey’dTo the council-hall: but only fourOf the armed men should aidThe captain and Sir John; the restShould strictly be compell’dTo stay beside the distant wood,While the royal rite was held.
And soon the pale-face men came out,And halted by the wood,Their bright guns gleaming in their hands,Facing the hall they stood,While brave Sir John, like an armed knight,March’d forward and alone,And his errand and his companyTo Powhatan made known.He told him that his men had comeKing James’s gifts to bear,And that the captain of the seaStood with his warriors there;And all things were in readiness,If it pleased his sovereign will,The high behest of great King JamesIn the crowning to fulfil.A sharp glance then the monarch sentTo the borders of the wood,And ask’d Sir John to point him outWhere that sea-captain stood.And on him long and steadilyHe fix’d his eagle ken,To learn if that strange captain look’dLike other pale-face men.At last the monarch gave consentFor the gifts to be convey’dTo the council-hall: but only fourOf the armed men should aidThe captain and Sir John; the restShould strictly be compell’dTo stay beside the distant wood,While the royal rite was held.
And soon the pale-face men came out,And halted by the wood,Their bright guns gleaming in their hands,Facing the hall they stood,While brave Sir John, like an armed knight,March’d forward and alone,And his errand and his companyTo Powhatan made known.He told him that his men had comeKing James’s gifts to bear,And that the captain of the seaStood with his warriors there;And all things were in readiness,If it pleased his sovereign will,The high behest of great King JamesIn the crowning to fulfil.A sharp glance then the monarch sentTo the borders of the wood,And ask’d Sir John to point him outWhere that sea-captain stood.And on him long and steadilyHe fix’d his eagle ken,To learn if that strange captain look’dLike other pale-face men.At last the monarch gave consentFor the gifts to be convey’dTo the council-hall: but only fourOf the armed men should aidThe captain and Sir John; the restShould strictly be compell’dTo stay beside the distant wood,While the royal rite was held.
And now within the council-hall,And by the monarch’s throne,Around in rich profusion spread,The royal presents shone.There stood Sir John with four arm’d men,And the captain of the sea,But the monarch’s warriors in the hallWere a hundred men and three.The queens of twenty tribes appear,And in their midst they bringTwo maidens bright to grace the scene,The daughters of the king.And there in his great dignitySat Powhatan alone,In the broad circle that was madeAround the monarch’s throne;And while his people peer’d and press’dThose splendid gifts to see,He never moved his princely eyes,But kept his dignity.And when Sir John the signal gaveFor the monarch to come down,And, standing by the throne, receiveThe robe of state and crown,With motion slow and lofty airHe stepp’d upon the floor,And as he pass’d, with careless eyeHe glanced the presents o’er.
And now within the council-hall,And by the monarch’s throne,Around in rich profusion spread,The royal presents shone.There stood Sir John with four arm’d men,And the captain of the sea,But the monarch’s warriors in the hallWere a hundred men and three.The queens of twenty tribes appear,And in their midst they bringTwo maidens bright to grace the scene,The daughters of the king.And there in his great dignitySat Powhatan alone,In the broad circle that was madeAround the monarch’s throne;And while his people peer’d and press’dThose splendid gifts to see,He never moved his princely eyes,But kept his dignity.And when Sir John the signal gaveFor the monarch to come down,And, standing by the throne, receiveThe robe of state and crown,With motion slow and lofty airHe stepp’d upon the floor,And as he pass’d, with careless eyeHe glanced the presents o’er.
And now within the council-hall,And by the monarch’s throne,Around in rich profusion spread,The royal presents shone.There stood Sir John with four arm’d men,And the captain of the sea,But the monarch’s warriors in the hallWere a hundred men and three.The queens of twenty tribes appear,And in their midst they bringTwo maidens bright to grace the scene,The daughters of the king.And there in his great dignitySat Powhatan alone,In the broad circle that was madeAround the monarch’s throne;And while his people peer’d and press’dThose splendid gifts to see,He never moved his princely eyes,But kept his dignity.And when Sir John the signal gaveFor the monarch to come down,And, standing by the throne, receiveThe robe of state and crown,With motion slow and lofty airHe stepp’d upon the floor,And as he pass’d, with careless eyeHe glanced the presents o’er.
Then took Sir John the robe of stateAnd gave it to the king;And now with look of majestyHe eyed the curious thing;And felt it o’er and o’er again—As soft and fine it seemsAs any beaver’s fur that livesBeside his woodland streams.And much the color fills his eye;A shade so pure and bright,In any work of art before,Had never met his sight.And now the captain and Sir JohnThe robe of state unfold,With outstretch’d arms and lifted handsAloft the fabric hold;And while the monarch’s noble formThey wrap the vesture round,Its many broad and shining foldsSweep gracefully the ground.Stately the monarch walks the hallAnd turns from side to side,And all his men and warriors standAnd look with awe and pride.
Then took Sir John the robe of stateAnd gave it to the king;And now with look of majestyHe eyed the curious thing;And felt it o’er and o’er again—As soft and fine it seemsAs any beaver’s fur that livesBeside his woodland streams.And much the color fills his eye;A shade so pure and bright,In any work of art before,Had never met his sight.And now the captain and Sir JohnThe robe of state unfold,With outstretch’d arms and lifted handsAloft the fabric hold;And while the monarch’s noble formThey wrap the vesture round,Its many broad and shining foldsSweep gracefully the ground.Stately the monarch walks the hallAnd turns from side to side,And all his men and warriors standAnd look with awe and pride.
Then took Sir John the robe of stateAnd gave it to the king;And now with look of majestyHe eyed the curious thing;And felt it o’er and o’er again—As soft and fine it seemsAs any beaver’s fur that livesBeside his woodland streams.And much the color fills his eye;A shade so pure and bright,In any work of art before,Had never met his sight.And now the captain and Sir JohnThe robe of state unfold,With outstretch’d arms and lifted handsAloft the fabric hold;And while the monarch’s noble formThey wrap the vesture round,Its many broad and shining foldsSweep gracefully the ground.Stately the monarch walks the hallAnd turns from side to side,And all his men and warriors standAnd look with awe and pride.
Then Newport lifted up the crown,With sparkling gems that shone,And told the monarch to kneel downWith hand upon the throne;For this mysterious, sacred thingWas a type of sovereignty,And all great kings that had been crown’d,Were crown’d on bended knee.A strange look then the monarch gaveTo the captain of the sea,As though he comprehended notThis type of sovereignty;And Newport long confronted himWith arguments profound,To make him understand that kingsMust kneel when they are crown’d.But still the monarch could not seeThe force of what he said,And to his labor’d argumentHe gravely shook his head.His iron knee had never learn’dTo any power to bow,And ’twas not all the kings on earthCould make him bend it now.But glancing round upon his men,Unbending still he stood,{23}Upright in native dignity,Like an old oak of the wood.This trouble vex’d exceedinglyThe captain of the sea,Who tried by every art to gainSome slight bend of the knee,That he on his return might tellKing James, and tell him true,That Powhatan unto the crownHad paid the homage due.But all in vain; the more he strove,The firmer stood the king:Example or persuasive skillCould no compliance bring,Till on his shoulders both his handsWith gentle force he laid,And pressing forward, thought he sawThe monarch bend his head.‘It is enough,’ the captain said;‘To bow the head, or knee,‘With equal honor vindicates‘The type of sovereignty:’And then upon that lofty browHe placed the glittering thing,And in King James’s stead pronouncedA blessing on the king.
Then Newport lifted up the crown,With sparkling gems that shone,And told the monarch to kneel downWith hand upon the throne;For this mysterious, sacred thingWas a type of sovereignty,And all great kings that had been crown’d,Were crown’d on bended knee.A strange look then the monarch gaveTo the captain of the sea,As though he comprehended notThis type of sovereignty;And Newport long confronted himWith arguments profound,To make him understand that kingsMust kneel when they are crown’d.But still the monarch could not seeThe force of what he said,And to his labor’d argumentHe gravely shook his head.His iron knee had never learn’dTo any power to bow,And ’twas not all the kings on earthCould make him bend it now.But glancing round upon his men,Unbending still he stood,{23}Upright in native dignity,Like an old oak of the wood.This trouble vex’d exceedinglyThe captain of the sea,Who tried by every art to gainSome slight bend of the knee,That he on his return might tellKing James, and tell him true,That Powhatan unto the crownHad paid the homage due.But all in vain; the more he strove,The firmer stood the king:Example or persuasive skillCould no compliance bring,Till on his shoulders both his handsWith gentle force he laid,And pressing forward, thought he sawThe monarch bend his head.‘It is enough,’ the captain said;‘To bow the head, or knee,‘With equal honor vindicates‘The type of sovereignty:’And then upon that lofty browHe placed the glittering thing,And in King James’s stead pronouncedA blessing on the king.
Then Newport lifted up the crown,With sparkling gems that shone,And told the monarch to kneel downWith hand upon the throne;For this mysterious, sacred thingWas a type of sovereignty,And all great kings that had been crown’d,Were crown’d on bended knee.A strange look then the monarch gaveTo the captain of the sea,As though he comprehended notThis type of sovereignty;And Newport long confronted himWith arguments profound,To make him understand that kingsMust kneel when they are crown’d.But still the monarch could not seeThe force of what he said,And to his labor’d argumentHe gravely shook his head.His iron knee had never learn’dTo any power to bow,And ’twas not all the kings on earthCould make him bend it now.But glancing round upon his men,Unbending still he stood,{23}Upright in native dignity,Like an old oak of the wood.This trouble vex’d exceedinglyThe captain of the sea,Who tried by every art to gainSome slight bend of the knee,That he on his return might tellKing James, and tell him true,That Powhatan unto the crownHad paid the homage due.But all in vain; the more he strove,The firmer stood the king:Example or persuasive skillCould no compliance bring,Till on his shoulders both his handsWith gentle force he laid,And pressing forward, thought he sawThe monarch bend his head.‘It is enough,’ the captain said;‘To bow the head, or knee,‘With equal honor vindicates‘The type of sovereignty:’And then upon that lofty browHe placed the glittering thing,And in King James’s stead pronouncedA blessing on the king.
END OF CANTO FIFTH.