Declares her kindred to thy own wild race,
The swift-foot wanderer of thy early day;
When by Powhatan’s stream thy footstep’s trace
Told, where like fawns ye frolick’d in your play.
And one, in beauty of majestic form,
Who stands erect, with scorn like lightning’s gleam
Darting from eyes as black as ebon-storm,
When midnight revels with its vivid beam—
Who will not brook a sister’s sacred vow,
The solemn faith, the strange baptismal rite—