She lean’d against the monarch’s knee, And again she kiss’d his hand-- ‘I’ve been to Paspahey, to see ‘That strange mysterious band, ‘That in the mighty shallop came, ‘Loaded with thunder loud, ‘And roll’d it out upon the bay, ‘As Okee rolls it from a cloud. ‘And in the river I beheld ‘Their shallop dark and tall, ‘And their werowance so stately stepp’d, ‘I knew him from them all.’ These words roused up the monarch’s blood, And made it quicker flow; He rose instinctive from his seat, And firmly clasp’d his bow-- ‘Thy spirit came from mine, my child, ‘As light comes from the sun; ‘None but a Powhatan would dare ‘To do what thou hast done. ‘Go, girl, arrange our council hall; ‘Prepare the fires to light, ‘For a deep and solemn council-talk ‘Our chiefs must hold to-night.’ VII. The summer day glides slowly by; Now golden gleams the western sky, And twilight gray each valley fills, And softly creeps upon the hills; Now deep and deeper shadows fall, And now within that trophied hall, Flashing abroad on the brow of night, The monarch’s council-fire burns bright. The grim and murky spoils of war, That hung in rude disorder there, Glared out from pillar, wall, and nook, And wild and hideous semblance took. Some were bequeath’d from sire to son, But Powhatan the most had won-- Huge tomahawks, and war-clubs stout, And wampum belts, hung round about, And mantles of skin, and robes of feather, Piled in promiscuous heaps together. VIII.