Softly and light the moonbeams fell
Upon that forest-cinctur’d cell,
Whose wicker walls were mottled brown
Where shadows of the trees came down,
And gently moved and quiver’d there,
Like spirits dancing in the air.
A stout and trusty guard was placed{[9]}
Around the lodge, whose hands embraced
The battle-axe or bended bow,
Ready to meet a coming foe;
And silent as the stars of night
They watch’d from dusk till dawning light.
Hush’d were the echoes of the grove,
Where feeding deer in quiet rove;
The softly whispering zephyr’s breath
Came by with a stillness next to death,
And silence hover’d with noiseless wing
Over the monarch slumbering.
Slept Powhatan? Why think it strange?
Terror in him could work no change;
For he had seen too much of life
To heed the approach of toil or strife;
In perilous vicissitude grown old,
He now could calmly rest though thunders round him roll’d.
II.
But o’er the monarch’s child, in vain,
Sleep sought to hold her wonted reign.
With active thought she ponder’d o’er
The plumed chieftain’s evening lore,
Till half it seem’d before her view
Appear’d the strange unearthly crew;
And that wild tale on her had wrought such power,
That she with sleepless eye had pass’d the midnight hour.
Forth in her airy summer dress,
With footsteps light and echoless,
All-unperceived she left the cell,
By servant, sire, or sentinel.
In such divine apparel seem’d
That lovely night, you would have deem’d
It had its bridal vesture on
To wait and wed the coming dawn.
Its moonlight robe flow’d rich and free,
Thick set with star-embroidery,
And round the earth and o’er the sky
Hung like a garb of Deity.
The pageant of that glorious night
Might well be gazed on with delight,
But still the loveliest object there
Was that lone maiden, young and fair,
Gliding abroad at such an hour,
By forest tree and summer bower.
On the distant groves of Paspahey
Her eye was brightly turn’d,
And to be where that land in dimness lay
Her bosom as warmly burn’d.
What though the way was lonely and far?
The dread of the stilly night,
Nor dark morass, had power to bar
That maiden’s romantic flight;
And when from the east the azure tide
Of day came over the wild,
There stood alone by the river side
The monarch’s artless child.
And she was gazing in wild surprise
On a barque majestic and proud,
Whose masts appear’d, to her wondering eyes,
High towering up to the vaulty skies,
And as deep in the waters bow’d.
III.
Not long she gazed on those masts so tall,
And that ship so gallant and trim,
For a hero’s form eclipsed them all,
And her eyes were fix’d on him.
And peering forth from a friendly screen
Of spruce and darkling fir,
She plainly beheld the stranger’s mein,
But the stranger saw not her.
With martial cap and coat of red,
And bright sword at his side,
He paced the deck with a princely tread,
And the dark woods calmly eyed.
But soon o’er forest, glade, and stream
Darted the sun’s bright morning beam,
And, glancing through her sheltering tree,
Awoke that maiden’s revery.
She started, for ’ twas now the hour
When Opechancanough would come,
And thrice in haste she left the bower
To trace her pathless journey home;
But thrice return’d, she knew not why,
And, lingering, look’d with soul-lit eye
Upon that stranger still;
Nor wist she what should make a sigh
Her throbbing bosom fill.
But hark! a voice is on the breeze,
The raven-crested chief is near,
And, moving through the distant trees,
His train of warriors now appear;
And like a wild and startled fawn,
Lightly that forest child has gone,
Through dark morass, and grove, and glen,
To seek her father’s home again.
IV.
At dawning Powhatan arose
From calm and undisturb’d repose,
And when his brief repast was done
He summon’d forth his valiant son,
Dark Nantaquas, of manly form,
And soul with native courage warm,
So nimble of foot and stout of limb,
That few could wrestle or run with him.
‘List, Nantaquas—hear our command;
‘Take bow and hatchet in thy hand,
‘And a full quiver at thy back,
‘Lest foes may chance to cross thy track,
‘And haste thee to our chieftains all,
‘And each unto our council call.
‘Call Chesapeakes and Nansamonds,
‘And broad Potomac’s warlike sons,
‘And rouse the chiefs of every clan,
‘From Orapakes to Kecoughtan.’
Fleet Nantaquas his sire obey’d,
And, in his warrior arms array’d,
His quiver over his shoulders threw,
And away on the wings of morning flew.
V.
Now Powhatan, in musing mood,
Abroad upon the hill-side stood;
Deep thoughts in his stern bosom burn’d,
His eyes toward Paspahey were turn’d,
Watching each quivering tree and bird,
As if mysterious foes had stirr’d
His calm old woods, where he had reign’d
For years, despotic, unrestrain’d,
And none had dared, or friend or foe,
Against his will to come or go.
His left hand clasp’d his bow new-strung,
His hatchet from his belt was hung,
Keen shafts his wolf-skin quiver press’d,
And on his war-club lean’d his breast.
Sudden a form glanced on his sight,
At distance where the warm sun-light
Pour’d through the trees its mellow ray,
And flowers rejoiced at the coming day.
And swiftly as that sun-light went
His springing bow was up and bent:
An arrow leapt into its place;
The strain’d string almost touch’d his face,
And every muscle, fix’d and still,
Waited to do the monarch’s will.
Again that form broke on his view,
But ere the deadly arrow flew,
His eagle eye had told him well
’ Twas his loved daughter—Nerveless fell
His brawny arm, and o’er his frame
A cold a sickly shuddering came,
And reel’d his brain, and o’er his sight
Came darkness like the depths of night.
He rested on a fallen tree,
And soon his child, on bended knee,
Had clasp’d and kiss’d his aged hand,
And met his eye with look so bland,
It made the clouds from his brow depart,
And quicken’d the life-blood in his heart.
‘Speak, semblance of thy mother, speak,
‘And tell where thou hast been;
‘I saw thee beyond the old oak tree,
‘On the farther side of the glen.
‘This is no time for a child like thee
‘To wander away from home;
‘Thou canst not tell what dangerous foes
‘Through our dark, deep forests roam.
‘So soon hast thou forgotten, child,
‘The tale of yesternight?
‘That shallop, and the pale-face men,
‘Who may in blood delight?
‘A thousand trophies of my power
‘Hang up in my council hall,
‘But sooner than trust thee abroad alone,
‘I’d sacrifice them all.
‘Dear Metoka, where hast thou been
‘Through woods so dark and wild,
‘Beyond the reach of thy father’s arm
‘To guard his gentle child?’