But returned no more the Florentine brave To the courtly knights of fair Rochelle; 'Neath the lilies of France he found a grave, And not 'neath the roses he loved so well. But the lessons of beauty his fond heart bore From the gardens of God were never lost; And the fairest name of the Eastern shore Bears the fairest isle of the Western coast. HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH. The Spaniards still dreamed of a great empire somewhere in Florida, and in 1528 Pánfilo de Narvaez set out with an expedition in search of it. Only four members of the party got back to Cuba alive, the others having been killed or captured by the Indians. Among those captured and enslaved was Juan Ortiz. He was rescued by De Soto nearly ten years later. ORTIZ [1528] "Go bring the captive, he shall die," He said, with faltering breath; "Him stretch upon a scaffold high, And light the fire of death!" The young Creeks danced the captive round, And sang the Song of Doom,-- "Fly, fly, ye hawks, in the open sky, Fly, wings of the warrior's plume!" They brought the fagots for the flame, The braves and maids together, When came the princess--sweet her name: The Red Flamingo Feather. Then danced the Creeks the scaffold round, And sang the Song of Doom,-- "Fly, fly, ye hawks, in the open sky, Fly, wings of the warrior's plume!" In shaded plumes of silver gray, The young Creeks danced together, But she danced not with them that day, The Red Flamingo Feather. Wild sped the feet the scaffold round, Wild rose the Song of Doom,-- "Fly, fly, ye hawks, in the open sky, Fly, wings of the warrior's plume!" They stretched the stranger from the sea, Above the fagots lighted,-- Ortiz,--a courtly man was he, With deeds heroic knighted. And sped the feet the scaffold round, And rose the Song of Doom,-- "Fly, fly, ye hawks, in the open sky, Fly, wings of the warrior's plume!" The white smoke rose, the braves were gay, The war drums beat together, But sad in heart and face that day Was Red Flamingo Feather. They streaked with flames the dusky air, They streaked the Song of Doom,-- "Fly, fly, ye hawks, in the open sky, Fly, wings of the warrior's plume!" "Dance, dance, my girl, the torches gleam, Dance, dance, the gray plumes gather, Dance, dance, my girl, the war-hawks scream, Dance, Red Flamingo Feather!" More swiftly now the torches sped, Amid the Dance of Doom,-- "Fly, fly, ye hawks, in the open sky, Fly, wings of the warrior's plume!" She knelt upon the green moss there, And clasped her father's knees: "My heart is weak, O father, spare The wanderer from the seas!" Like madness now swept on the dance, And rose the Song of Doom,-- "Fly, fly, ye hawks, in the open sky, Ye wings of the warrior's plume!"