Powhatan; A Metrical Romance, in Seven CantosSmith, Seba
General
Powhatan; A Metrical Romance, in Seven Cantos
Smith, Seba
Indians of North America -- Poetry; Powhatan, approximately 1550-1618 -- Poetry; Virginia -- Poetry
Deep in a sea of waving wood{4}
The monarch’s rustic lodge was seen,
Where brightly roll’d the river down,
And gently sloped the banks of green.
No princely dome that lodge appear’d,
No tall and shapely columns rear’d
Their finished architraves on high,
With cornice mounting to the sky;
No foreign artist’s skilful hand
Had shed Corinthian graces there:
That simple dwelling had been plann’d
By workmen under nature’s care.
The sun by day, or moon by night,
Had never sent a ray of light
Upon a lovelier spot than this,
Or seen a home of purer bliss.
Beneath the tall elms’ branching shade
The eye might reach a fairy glade,
Where sprightly deer were often seen,
In frolic sport, on plats of green,
From morning’s dawn till noontide heat
Invited to some cool retreat;
Then away to the sheltering grove they fled
With a high-curved neck and a lofty tread.
Beside the open glade there grew
Green clustering oaks, and maples tall,
Forming a native bower, whose view
Was more enchanting far than all
The stiff embellishments of art,
That human culture could impart
To garden, grot, or waterfall.
Within that bower a fountain, gushing,
Babbled sweetly all the day,
And round it many a wild-flower, blushing,
Drank the morning dew of May.
IV.
But one sweet floweret flourish’d there,
Beneath the aged monarch’s care,
Whose bloom that happy bower had bless’d
With brighter charms than all the rest.
’Twas his loved daughter--she had been
The comfort of his widowhood
For twelve long years; through grove and glen
She roam’d with him the pathless wood,
And wheresoe’er that old man hied,
Fair Metoka[B] was ever at his side.
She was the gem of her father’s home,
The pride and joy of his forest cell;
And if alone she chanced to roam
To pluck the rose and gay hairbell,
The rudest savage stopp’d and smiled,
Whene’er he met the monarch’s child.
V.
Mild was the air, and the setting rays
Of the ruddy sun now seem’d to blaze
On many a tree-top’s lofty spire,
When May-day’s tranquil evening hour
Beheld the daughter and the sire
Together in their summer bower.
VI.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account