‘Your deep debate,’ Pamunky said, ‘Ye may no longer hold, ‘Nor longer fear our pale-face foe; ‘His days at last are told. ‘Their mighty werowance, Sir John, ‘Who exercised such skill, ‘That all the poison of our land ‘Could not his people kill, ‘His death-wound has received at last-- ‘From their strange fire it came; ‘That fire which thunders in their hands, ‘And burns with a lightning flame-- ‘That fire they brought across the sea, ‘To hunt us from the earth, ‘Has turn’d on them its serpent fang, ‘And stung them to the death. ‘I saw Sir John with his bleeding wounds, ‘And his muffled face and head, ‘Creep slowly to their tall ship’s deck, ‘Like one that was near dead. ‘And away that ship is sailing now ‘Across the ocean wave, ‘To carry Sir John to his English isle ‘To rest in his English grave. ‘And now this land is ours again; ‘The rest of the pale-face crew ‘We’ll brush away from our forest home, ‘As we brush the drops of dew.’{25} Great joy then felt King Powhatan, Great joy felt all his men, And wild and loud were the shouts that made Their forests ring again. No more in long suspense and fear They lay like a strong man bound, But light and free, the feast and song Through all the tribes went round; And every hunter freely breathed Along by the winding shore, And warriors trod their native woods In conscious pride once more. X. But where’s the straggling colonist, Who came not home last night? His friends are out in search of him By the earliest morning light. At last away in a lonely spot, His bleeding corpse is found; His scalp is off, and his gory head Lies weltering on the ground. His wife in yonder graveyard sleeps: She long before had died; They feel it were a pious act To place him by her side; And slow they bear the corse along Where the homeward pathway leads, But a deadly arrow cleaves the air, And another victim bleeds. They see no foe, they hear no sound, But they know that death is nigh; They fly, and leave the death-stricken one Alone with the dead to die. XI.