III.
But Jamestown saw a darker day,
When months of toil had pass’d away,
For wailings sounded through the air,
And sorrow made her dwelling there.
The summer sun, now riding high,
Pour’d down the rays of hot July;
The woodman scarce his axe could wield,
Fainted the laborers in the field,
And pale disease began to spread,{[14]}
And scowling famine rear’d her head,
And many an exile droop’d and died
Along the lonely river side,
Where wearily he went to roam,
And weep unseen for his English home.
Great Powhatan had been obey’d—
No Indian now would come to trade;
But hovering round the settlement
With bow in hand and ready bent,
And peering out from his covert wood
On the fields where the English cabins stood,
Exulting saw pale-faces fade,
And often in the graveyard laid.