The third day of the festival Now drawing to its close, Promised the weary revellers Cessation and repose. Nemattanow with joyful eyes Beheld that sun go down, Whose setting hour would give to him Earth’s richest, fairest crown. But though the time had joyous pass’d Since first the feast began, One circumstance there was, that still Disturb’d old Powhatan. His favorite chief, Pamunky’s king, Though call’d with special care To grace these glad rejoicing days, Had never once been there. Why he came not, no one could tell; A messenger each day, Had been despatch’d to learn the cause Which kept that chief away; The first reported he had left With fifty of his clan, At dawning of the first feast-day, For the halls of Powhatan; And those who follow’d, day by day, No other news could bring, And great the marvel was, at this Strange absence of the king. IX. The sun is low, and lodge and tree Long shadows now impart, But a sadder, deeper shadow fell On Metoka’s young heart; For now the dreaded hour had come When she abroad must rove, Away from childhood’s happy home, With the man she could not love. She took her sister by the hand To bid a sad farewell, And these the soft and tender words From her trembling lips that fell. X. ‘O, Matachanna, must I go ‘From this loved spot away? ‘No more among these green old trees, ‘With thee, dear sister, play? ‘No more upon the hill-side run, ‘And chase the butterfly, ‘Or down the shady valley see ‘The nimble deer dart by? ‘A pleasant thing it is to see ‘The lovely light of day, ‘When gentle Matachanna is ‘Companion of my way! ‘But away alone with a cruel one, ‘My day will turn to night, ‘And never more will Metoka ‘Behold the pleasant light. ‘But when, dear sister, I am gone, ‘Still love our greenwood bowers, ‘And plant around our lovely spring ‘The pretty summer flowers. ‘And love our father fervently, ‘And bless him every day, ‘And sometimes gently speak to him ‘Of her that’s far away--’ XI.