XI.
Here paused Pamunky’s giant king,
And slowly left the council ring,
And cross’d the hall to the outer door,
And soon returning, gravely bore
A loaded quiver—’twas not fill’d
With barbed shafts that blood had spill’d,
But gorgeous toys of English art
To captivate the savage heart.
While Powhatan with searching eyes
Survey’d the strange and glittering prize,
The chiefs and warriors gather near,
And wait their sovereign’s voice to hear,
And gazing eagerly, meanwhile,
Pour their whole soul upon the pile.
At length the monarch waved his hand,
The warriors backward farther stand,
And turn their ready ear and eye
To catch the words of his reply.