Though well he saw her bosom's gentle fire,
Stern is the soul that worships fame or gold,
To all that softer ecstacies inspire.
A stony heart these tyrants e'er require,
Brave Smith ne'er thought of Pocahontas' love,
But only that his name would glitter higher
In coming centuries, others' names above,
Whose soon contented souls an humbler distance rove.
To cheat her pining soul of this dear dream,
They told a dreary tale that he had died,