Where nature hath in store Fowl, venison, and fish, And the fruitful'st soil, Without your toil, Three harvests more, All greater than your wish. And the ambitious vine Crowns with his purple mass The cedar reaching high To kiss the sky, The cypress, pine, And useful sassafras. To whom the Golden Age Still nature's laws doth give, No other cares attend, But them to defend From winter's rage, That long there doth not live. When as the luscious smell Of that delicious land, Above the seas that flows, The clear wind throws, Your hearts to swell Approaching the dear strand; In kenning of the shore (Thanks to God first given) O you the happiest men, Be frolic then! Let cannons roar, Frighting the wide heaven; And in regions far Such heroes bring ye forth As those from whom we came, And plant our name Under that star Not known unto our North; And as there plenty grows Of laurel everywhere,-- Apollo's sacred tree,-- You it may see, A poet's brows To crown, that may sing there. Thy _Voyages_ attend Industrious Hackluit, Whose reading shall inflame Men to seek fame, And much commend To after-times thy wit. MICHAEL DRAYTON. Among the planters at Jamestown was John Rolfe, a zealous Christian, who became interested in Pocahontas. Finally, either captivated by her grace and beauty as the romancists believe, or in spite of personal scruples and "for the good of the colony," as Hamor wrote, he proposed marriage. The Princess was willing, her father consented, though he refused to be present at the ceremony (April 5, 1614), and the bride was given away by her uncle Opachisco. They had one son, Thomas Rolfe, whose descendants are still living in Virginia. THE MARRIAGE OF POCAHONTAS [April 5, 1614] That balmy eve, within a trellised bower, Rudely constructed on the sounding shore, Her plighted troth the forest maiden gave Ere sought the skiff that bore them o'er the wave To the dark home-bound ship, whose restless sway Rocked to the winds and waves, impatient of delay. * * * * * Short was the word that pledged triumphant love; That vow, that claims its registry above. And low the cadence of that hymn of praise Whose hallowed incense rose, as rose its lays; And few the worshippers 'neath that pure cope Which emblems to the soul eternal hope. One native maiden waited the command Of the young Princess of Virginia's strand; And that dark youth, the Page of Cedar Isle, Who wept her woes, and shared her sad exile, With his loved bride, who owned the royal blood, And near the forest Queen majestically stood. Some others bent beside the rural shrine In adoration to the Power divine; When at the altar knelt, with minds serene, The gallant Soldier and the dark-browed Queen.