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.