_Roundelay Chorus._ Now crimson sinks the setting sun, And our tasks are fairly done. Jolly comrades, home to bed, Taste the sweets by labour shed; Let his poppy seal your eyes, Till another day arise, For our tasks are fairly done, As crimson sinks the setting sun. ACT II. SCENE I. _Inside the palace at Werocomoco. POWHATAN in state, GRIMOSCO, &c., his wives, and warriors, ranged on each side. Music._ POWHATAN. My people, strange beings have appeared among us; they come from the bosom of the waters, amid fire and thunder; one of them has our war-god delivered into our hands: behold the white being! _Music. SMITH is brought in; his appearance excites universal wonder; POCAHONTAS expresses peculiar admiration._ POCAHONTAS. O Nima! is it not a God! POWHATAN. Miami, though thy years are few, thou art experienced as age; give us thy voice of counsel. MIAMI. Brothers, this stranger is of a fearful race of beings; their barren hunting grounds lie beneath the world, and they have risen, in monstrous canoes, through the great water, to spoil and ravish from us our fruitful inheritance. Brothers, this stranger must die; six of our brethren have fall'n by his hand. Before we lay their bones in the narrow house, we must avenge them: their unappeased spirits will not go to rest beyond the mountains; they cry out for the stranger's blood. NANTAQUAS. Warriors, listen to my words; listen, my father, while your son tells the deeds of the brave white man. I saw him when 300 of our fiercest chiefs formed the warring around him. But he defied their arms; he held lightning in his hand. Wherever his arm fell, there sunk a warrior: as the tall tree falls, blasted and riven, to the earth, when the angry Spirit darts his fires through the forest. I thought him a God; my feet grew to the ground; I could not move! POCAHONTAS. Nima, dost thou hear the words of my brother. NANTAQUAS. The battle ceased, for courage left the bosom of our warriors; their arrows rested in their quivers; their bowstrings no longer sounded; the tired chieftains leaned on their war-clubs, and gazed at the terrible stranger, whom they dared not approach. Give an ear to me, king: 't was then I held out the hand of peace to him, and he became my brother; he forgot his arms, for he trusted to his brother: he was discoursing wonders to his friend, when our chiefs rushed upon him, and bore him away. But oh! my father, he must not die; for he is not a war captive; I promised that the chain of friendship should be bright between us. Chieftains, your prince must not falsify his word; father, your son must not be a liar! POCAHONTAS. Listen, warriors; listen, father; the white man is my brother's brother!