IX.
‘What tidings, brave Pamunky’s king,
‘Dost thou to our high presence bring?
‘What tribe has dared to hurl the brand
‘Of rebel war across our land?
‘Have traitorous warriors dipp’d in gore
‘The tomahawk, and rashly swore
‘The peace-tree’s leaves are struck with blight,
‘And they will drink our blood to-night?
‘Or have the Manakins conspired
‘With the fierce nations of the west,
‘By the vain hope of conquest fired,
‘Our sceptre from our hands to wrest,
‘And from their mountain homes come down
‘To meet the vengeance of our frown?
‘For by the swiftness of thy flight,
‘And by the lateness of the night,
‘And by thy darken’d brow, ’ tis clear
‘Thou’rt on no common errand here;
‘And be it wo, or be it weal,
‘Thy message, warrior, now reveal.’