There sang a mother to her babe— A mother young and fair— “No flower like thee adorns the vale, O sweet Virginia Dare! Thou art the lily of our love, The forest’s sylph-like queen, The first-born bud from Saxon stem That this New World hath seen; “Thy father’s axe in thicket rings, To fell the kingly tree; Thy grandsire sails o’er ocean-brine— A gallant man is he! And when once more, from England’s realm, He comes with bounty rare, A thousand gifts to thee he’ll bring, Mine own Virginia Dare!” As sweet that mother’s loving tones Their warbled music shed, As though in proud baronial hall, O’er silken cradle-bed; No more the pomps and gauds of life Maintained their strong control, For holy love’s new gift had shed Fresh greenness o’er her soul. And when the husband from his toil Returned at closing day, How dear to him the lowly home Where all his treasures lay. “O, Ellinor! ’tis naught to me, The hardship or the storm, While thus thy blessed smile I see, And clasp our infant’s form.” No secret sigh o’er pleasures lost Convulsed their tranquil breast, For where the pure affections dwell The heart hath perfect rest. So fled the Summer’s balmy prime, The Autumn’s golden wing, And Winter laid his hoary head Upon the lap of Spring. Yet oft, with wily, wary step, The red-browed Indian crept Close round his pale-faced neighbor’s home, And listened while they slept; But fierce Wingina, lofty chief, Aloof, their movements eyed, Nor courteous bowed his pluméd head, Nor checked his haughty stride. John White leaped from his vessel’s prow, He had braved the boisterous sea, And boldly rode the mountain-wave— A stalwart man was he. John White leaped from his vessel’s prow, And joy was in his eye; For his daughter’s smile had lured him on Amid the stormiest sky.