VIII.
Aloft in stern and regal state,
Upon his throne the monarch sate;
His war-club rested in his hand,
The ensign of his high command;
His trusty bow, against the wall,
Lean’d, ready at a moment’s call;
Over his shoulders, lightly flung,
His feathery mantle graceful hung;
Rich skins beneath his feet were spread,
And eagle plumes waved o’er his head.
His chiefs and warriors soon were seen,
Like silent spectres, gliding in,
And, ranged in circle round the room,
Each dark brow knit in threatening gloom,
With blade in belt and bow in hand,
Like sculptured monuments they stand.
There waved full many a lofty crest,
But a raven-plume o’ertopp’d the rest,
For first and tallest in the ring,
Like giant, stood Pamunky’s king.
No word in that still hall was spoke,
Till Powhatan the silence broke,
And call’d a guardman to his side,
His faithful Rawhunt, true and tried,
And bade him the rites in order set,
And bring the lighted calumet.
Then through that long and mystic reed,{[10]}
Emblem of many a sacred deed,
Three solemn draughts the monarch drew,
And the smoke in three directions blew.
The first curl’d high above his head,
In homage of that spirit dread
Who ruleth in the upper air,
And maketh every man his care.
The second gently sunk to earth,
Where food and fruits and flowers have birth,
A thankful offering to that power,
Who both at morn and evening hour,
Opens his bounteous hand to bless
With life and health and happiness.
The third abroad on the air was blown,
A solemn token to make known
Unbroken faith to all who fain
Would still be bound in friendship’s chain.
Then, one by one, that warrior train
Smoked the long calumet again,
And gravely pass’d it round the ring,
Till, last of all, Pamunky’s king
Thrice drew the reed in princely pride,
Then laid it silently aside.