Now walking his accustom’d round At closing of the day, Old Powhatan the hill-side clomb, And look’d toward Paspahey, Where the English band had marr’d his groves And made his forest bow, And bitter was the curse he breathed, And dark his frowning brow. And here beside his old loved tree Reclined Nemattanow, Whose sadden’d eye and heaving breast Betray’d his secret wo. ‘Let not the warrior’s eye grow sad,’ The monarch gravely said, ‘Because his gifts are not approved ‘By a young light-hearted maid. ‘It is not meet that Powhatan ‘Should bid his daughter love ‘The warrior, or receive his gifts, ‘Unless her heart approve. ‘But let the warrior bring to me ‘The scalp of brave Sir John, ‘And Metoka shall be his bride, ‘And he the monarch’s son.’ XIX. New fire lit up the glowing eyes Of sad Nemattanow; He smote his war-club on the ground, And firmly grasp’d his bow; And tomahawk and scalping-knife He buckled to his side, Gave one fierce look toward Paspahey, And down the valley hied. END OF CANTO THIRD. CANTO FOURTH. I. The moon look’d down with loving light On river, grove, and hill, And Jamestown slept in quietness, Her homes were closed and still; The evening prayer from pious lips Had been address’d to heaven, And for relief from famine’s power Had many thanks been given; And while his people were at rest Sir John was out alone, And walking by the river bank, Where the moon-lit waters shone, To see his vessel well secured Against the chafing wave. Fear not for him; Sir John was arm’d-- And more, Sir John was brave. But as he turn’d him from the shore, His homeward route to trace, An arrow swift as light flew past-- So near, it fann’d his face; And quick upon his pathway rush’d An Indian, stout and tall. Sir John his faithful carbine drew, Well-charged with shot and ball; But though a squirrel he could bring From the highest forest bough, And though he took deliberate aim, His carbine fail’d him now. On came the savage, dark and fierce, Fire beaming from his eye, Leaping like tiger on his prey, His war-club raised on high; But when within ten feet he came, He made a sudden stand, For now Sir John’s bright sword was out, And flashing in his hand; And firm he stood and sternly look’d Upon his savage foe, In readiness, at every point, To give him blow for blow. A moment’s pause, and then again The Indian forward sprang, And now against his falling club Sir John’s keen broadsword rang; And thrice the clash of club and sword Echo’d the woods around, And then the weapon of Sir John Fell broken to the ground. At once he rush’d with desperate power And grappled with his foe, And, face to face, he saw and knew ’