So flowed the life their gracious Maker gave,
Nor felt the obstructive power of obvious pain;
So deep o'er them was Passion's rapturous reign,
That mid their bower's delicious solitude,
They dreamed their hearts might never sigh again;
By love their gentle spirits were subdued,
To the deep rapture of a heavenly seeming mood.
Alas! the race of Pocahontas flow,
As waves, away, which can return no more;
No more o'er plain and peak they bear the bow,