The aged monarch bow’d his head
In bitterness of wo;
In all his long eventful life
This was the deadliest blow.
In manhood’s prime he had look’d on
And seen his kindred die,
Without one muscle quivering,
Without one tear or sigh.
Two generations he had seen
Swept from his wide domain;
And war, and peace, and lapse of years,
Had battled him in vain;
But when this last, this brightest hope
Was torn from him apart,
It shook the strength of his iron frame,
And pierced him to the heart.
The eyes of his fierce warriors glow’d
And flash’d with living fire;
And leave to fly and leave to fight
Is all they now require.
Pamunky rises in his might,
His voice is loud and high--
‘This instant let us seek the foe,
‘And cut him down or die.’
Like an angry tiger, Nantaquas
Sends fiery glances round,
And clutching his huge war-club, growls,
And fiercely beats the ground;
And a hundred warriors seize their arms
And foam like a raging flood;
And a hundred voices cry with thirst
For a taste of English blood.
But while they raged with furious heat,
And long’d for the coming fight,
A swiftly flying messenger
From the forest came in sight.
’Twas faithful Rawhunt--six long days
At Jamestown he had been,
A captive in the picket fort--
How came he free again?
He rushes to the council-hall
And stands before the king,
And listening warriors bend to hear
What tidings he may bring.