VIII.
The monarch was feasting in royal state,
And many brave chiefs at the banquet sate:
His hunters had brought in their choicest store,
His fishers came loaded from Chesapeake’s shore;
His menials hasten a feast to prepare
From the mingled spoils of earth, ocean, and air,
And a merry hum circled round the board,
That so simply was spread and so richly was stored.
Fair Metoka sat at the monarch’s right hand,
The waiters stood watchful to do his command,{[16]}
And while on his left his younger child,
The gay Matachanna, look’d on him and smiled,
And amid the guests, that graced his hall,
His own valiant son was the pride of all,
The patriarch monarch gave thanks from his heart,
That the Spirit such blessings to him did impart.
But a messenger comes from the spying scout,
Which Powhatan’s caution kept constantly out,
To watch every movement the pale-faces made,
And see that his people went not there to trade.
‘What tidings from Jamestown?’ the monarch inquires;
‘Do the pale-faces thrive by their council-fires?
‘Are their hearts as light as the wild-bird’s song?
‘Do they walk like a people who feel they are strong?
‘Do our tribes still obey our imperial command?’
‘Or has food been bestow’d by a traitor’s hand?’
—‘The tree of the pale-face is sapless and dried,’
The messenger spy to the monarch replied;
‘Its branches are wither’d, and sear’d is its leaf,
‘And the reign of the pale-face is harmless and brief.
‘No hand brings them food, their own fountain is dry;
‘A blight is upon them, they fade and they die,
‘And soon Powhatan will be rid of his foe,
‘Without wielding the war-club or drawing the bow.’
When the tale of the colonists’ woes was done,
A smile sat on every brow save one:
A murmur of joy spread the hall throughout,
The warriors gave a triumphant shout;
But while other hearts with delight beat high,
Fair Metoka’s bosom still heaved with a sigh.