XI.
Now deep the sorrow, pale the fear,
That fell on Jamestown’s sons;
New forts are built, their swords new sharp’d,
And loaded are their guns;
And all their homes are picketed,
And all their doors are barr’d,
And fifty men with loaded arms
By day and night keep guard.
And now they sadly wish Sir John
Were there again to throw
The terror of his valiant arm
Around their savage foe.
But where they could, and where they must,
They still their labor plied,
And in the field the farmer toil’d
With musket by his side.
Oh, these were sad and fearful days;
Death lurk’d in every sound;
And English blood was often spilt
Like water on the ground;
And eagerly revenge and fear
Watch’d every dark wood-side,
And the sound of many a musket shot
Told where an Indian died.