Gone are the sweet dreamy days of the summer,
In from the ocean the winter winds shriek;
Dangers encompass and enemies threaten,
Mother and child other refuge must seek.
Mother and child, as in Bethlehem story,
Flee from the hate of their blood-thirsty foes;
Hopeless of help from their own land and people,
They seek friendly tribes to find rest from their woes.
To the fair borders of Croatoan Island,
Over the night-covered waters they flee;
Seeking for safety with Manteo's people,
Leaving the word "Croatoan" on a tree.[K]
Name of the refuge in which they sought shelter,
Only the name of a tribe, nothing more;[L]
Sign whereby those who would seek them might follow
To their new home on the Croatoan's shore.
Why did they leave the rude fort they had builded?
Why did they seek far away a new home?
O innocent babe! Roanoak's lost nestling!
How shall we learn where thy footsteps did roam?
'Mid the rude tribes of the primeval forest,
Bearing the signet of Christ on thy brow,
Wert thou the teacher and guide of the savage?
Who, of thy mission, can aught tell us now?
Through the dim ages comes only the perfume,
Left where the flowers of Truth fell to earth;
With ne'er a gleaner to treasure the blossoms,
Save the sweet petals of baptism and birth.
Vainly we seek on Time's shore for thy footprints,
Hid in a mist of pathos is thy fate;
Yet of a life under savage enchantment
Quaint Indian legends do strangely relate.