The council-hall of Powhatan
In quietness was closed;
And in his warmer winter lodge
The aged chief reposed:
And when the piercing northwest wind
The crevices came through,
He closer drew his robe of fur,
And fed his fire anew.
And when upon his cabin wall
His glowing fire grew bright,
And brighter still, betokening
The coming on of night,
The monarch took his usual round
Through hall and lodge and yard,
To see that all was well secured,
And set his nightly guard.
First to the east and then the west
He glanced his restless eye,
The trees were rocking in the wind,
Dark clouds were in the sky,
And well the experienced monarch saw
In their motion and their form,
And heard along the groaning hills,
The spirit of the storm.