The warm spring came, and the opening flower On the sloping hill was seen; And summer breathed on the waking woods, And dress’d them in their green; The wild-bird in the branches sung, The wild-deer fed below; Far up the river side appear’d The hunter with his bow; And on the fresh and sunny field, Hard toiling through the day, The weary colonist was out By the groves of Paspahey. Ship after ship came o’er the sea, Laden with fresh supplies, And men by hundreds came to join This new world’s enterprise; And up and down the noble James Were settlements begun, And many an opening in the woods Look’d out upon the sun. The busy tradesman ope’d his store Of goods and wares for sale, And blithely by the barnyard sang The milkmaid with her pail; The stout mechanic in his shop Whistled the hours away, And sturdily his labor plied Through the long summer day. With boding and uneasy mind The thoughtful Indian view’d The fatal signs of English power Spread o’er his solitude; And oft he brooded many a scheme, And much he long’d to see A withering blight or death-blow given To this wide-spreading tree. II. At evening sat King Powhatan Beside his daughter fair, To watch the far-off lightning’s flash, And breathe the cooling air: ’ Twas by the door of his summer lodge; His guards stood round in sight, The moon between the flying clouds Sent down a paly light, When Opechancanough arrived, With an air of kingly pride, And greeting great King Powhatan, Sat thoughtful by his side. III. ‘What tidings, Opechancanough?’ Said the monarch to his guest; ‘Has the tree of these pale-faces spread ‘So wide thou canst not rest? ‘And hast thou come in sadness now ‘To tell thy thoughts to me, ‘And to pray the spirit of yonder fires ‘To blast the pale-face tree?’ IV. Then spoke Pamunky’s king, and said, With half triumphant mein, ‘True, strongly grows the pale-face tree, ‘Its boughs are fresh and green; ‘But I have found a secret fire, ‘That will at my bidding go, ‘And, creeping through the pale-face tree, ‘Lay its tall branches low. ‘My priest a subtle poison keeps, ‘From deadly weeds distill’d; ‘A single drop, where the red-deer feeds, ‘A red-deer oft has kill’d. ‘Rich venison and wild fowls, imbued ‘With this dark drug, have gone ‘To feed the famish’d pale-face foe, ‘A present to Sir John. ‘And ere to-morrow’s noonday hour ‘They’ll droop, and fade, and die, ‘And strew the ground, like autumn leaves ‘When the storm-god passes by. ‘The breeze all day across the land ‘Shall bear their dying groans, ‘And the river-god shall many a year ‘Behold their whitening bones.’ V.