But hark! a shout comes on the air, A war-cry loud and shrill; It seems a shout of victory-- Again, and louder still. Old Powhatan rush’d from the hall With war-club in his hand, And a hundred warriors seize their arms, And round the old chief stand, And listen to that coming shout, That now rings loud and clear; And soon from out the darkling grove A warrior train appear. ‘Pamunky’s king!’ cried Powhatan, ‘’Tis Opechancanough; ‘I see his raven-plume on high, ‘His giant form below. ‘Now let a cry of welcome rise ‘Till hill and forest ring, ‘For a truer chief no tribe can boast, ‘Than brave Pamunky’s king.’ At once with one united voice Their answering shout rose high, And loud and long the echo swell’d, Like an army’s battle-cry. Pamunky led his warriors up, Form’d in a hollow square, With bowstrings drawn and arrows notch’d, All pointing in with care, To guard a prisoner, who with arms Tight-pinion’d might be seen Advancing with a stately step, And calm and noble mein. On either side three warriors stout Held fast upon each arm, With weapons ready for the death Upon the least alarm. ‘Why come so late,’ said Powhatan, ‘Our festive rites to share? ‘And what brave captive hast thou brought ‘Amid thy warriors there?’ XII. ‘True, I am late,’ Pamunky said, ‘But my lateness to atone, ‘I bring you here a captive bound, ‘The mighty chief, Sir John.’ A moment, struck with deep surprise, Each warrior held his breath, And a stillness reign’d through all the crowd, Like that in the halls of death. First Powhatan at the prisoner glanced, Then at Nemattanow, Who look’d as though he’d sink to earth With wonder, shame, and wo. And when the first surprise was o’er, The gathering throngs drew round, And a mighty swell of triumph rose, That shook the very ground. Warrior and chief, and old and young, Pour’d their full voices out, And never did woods give echo back To such a ringing shout. When silence was again restored The old chief waved his hand, And with imperial look and tone, To all gave this command. ‘The evening shades begin to fall, ‘Let noise and revel cease; ‘Our three days’ feasting now requires ‘A night of rest and peace. ‘The captive to the inner hall ‘Convey with special care, ‘And forty of our bravest men, ‘Till morning, guard him there. ‘To-morrow let our feast again ‘With double rites be crown’d, ‘And a double song of victory ‘Through all our tribes resound; ‘Then solemn council shall decide ‘What fate shall be prepared ‘For this proud chief, that in our realm ‘Our sovereign power has dared. ‘And thou, Nemattanow, shalt be--’ Here turn’d the monarch round, But lo! the fierce Nemattanow Was nowhere to be found.