III.
Not long she gazed on those masts so tall,
And that ship so gallant and trim,
For a hero’s form eclipsed them all,
And her eyes were fix’d on him.
And peering forth from a friendly screen
Of spruce and darkling fir,
She plainly beheld the stranger’s mein,
But the stranger saw not her.
With martial cap and coat of red,
And bright sword at his side,
He paced the deck with a princely tread,
And the dark woods calmly eyed.
But soon o’er forest, glade, and stream
Darted the sun’s bright morning beam,
And, glancing through her sheltering tree,
Awoke that maiden’s revery.
She started, for ’ twas now the hour
When Opechancanough would come,
And thrice in haste she left the bower
To trace her pathless journey home;
But thrice return’d, she knew not why,
And, lingering, look’d with soul-lit eye
Upon that stranger still;
Nor wist she what should make a sigh
Her throbbing bosom fill.
But hark! a voice is on the breeze,
The raven-crested chief is near,
And, moving through the distant trees,
His train of warriors now appear;
And like a wild and startled fawn,
Lightly that forest child has gone,
Through dark morass, and grove, and glen,
To seek her father’s home again.