His blood and mine shall mingled flow;
Strike him! but in the spirit-land
With him shall Pocahontas stand,
Nor live to say her tribe hath slain
The chief for whom she prayed in vain!”
There is a spell in woman’s eye
When, injured Virtue’s cause defending,
Her soul is roused to energy,
Vigour with sweetness blending!
Soft plumes that tremble in the air