Why perish thus the exiled band,
Where plenty teemeth in the land?
For one abides among them there
With hand to do and heart to dare,
And in his eye and on his brow
Are deeds of daring written now,
That to the fainting band shall be
Warrant for their high destiny.
V
A gallant barge is on the tide,
And stoutly twelve good oars are plied,
Sir John the guiding helm commands,
His loaded gun beside him stands,
His broadsword glistens on his thigh,
The woods are pierced by his beaming eye,
As down by the river shore they sweep,
Where the shadows of the forest sleep,
Till their weary oars they rest awhile
On the fragrant banks of Cedar Isle.
Not long they rest, but onward soon,
Beneath the fervid glow of noon,
In the glassy flood their oars they bend,
And the vessel forward swiftly send,
Till nearing now they clearly scan
The groves and beach of Kecoughtan.
As nearer to the shore they drew,
A warrior train appear’d in view,
And each a bow and war-club bore,
And now they reach the winding shore,
And stand like statues, mute and still,
Waiting to learn the bargemen’s will.
Like rider reining in his steed,
The oarsmen slacken now their speed,
And slowly floats the barge along
Close to that wild and warlike throng,
And as it grates upon the sand
Each rower’s gun is in his hand.