Wlliam Gilmore Simms
Southward Ho! A Spell of Sunshine >> Chapter VII / Pocahontas; A Legend of Virginia >> Page 118

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Page 118

Poetry | Redfield | 1854
Transcription 118

The pale-face with his thunder-fires,
his lightning-shafts, and wizard charms, Ilath baffled strength and courage.�We
May fold our arms�the glorious race,
That from the day-god took their birth
Must to the stranger yield the place, Uproot the great ancestral tree,
And fling their mantles down on earth. Yet shall there be no vengeance? Cries, From earth demand the sacrifice;
Souls of the slaughter'd warriors stand, And wave us with each bloody hand ; Call for the ghost of him who slew�In bloody rites, a warrior true,
And shall they call in vain?
To smooth the path of shadows, Heaven A victim to the doom bath given,
Whose heart, with stroke asunder riven, Shall recompense the slain !"

While fury took the place of grief,
Impatient then the monarch chief,
A stalwart savage summon'd nigh ;
" The pale-faced warrior bring�the brave Shriek o'er the valley for their slave,�I hear them in the eagle's cry,
The wolf's sharp clamors�he must die! No coward he to shrink from death,
But, shouting in his latest breath,
Its pangs he will defy.
It joys my soul at such a fate,
Which, though the agony be great,
Can still exulting sing,
Of braves, the victims to his brand,
Whose crowding ghosts about him stand, To bear him to the spirit-land
On swift and subject wing !"

The block is prepared,
The weapon is bared,
And the warriors are nigh with their tomahawks rear'd ; The prisoner they bring
In the midst of the ring,
And the king bids the circle around him be clear'd.