THE LITTLE PRINCESS.
Many dark-eyed children played among the rushes
By the waters of the inland, plain-like marshes,
Made them water babies of the tall brown cattails,
Cradled in the baskets of the plaited willows.
Of them all was none more gleeful, none more artless
Than the little Matoax,[FN#1] dearest of the daughters
Of the mighty Werowance,[FN#2] Powhatan the warrior
Ruler of the tribes, from whom was named the river
And the wigwam village and the dark-skinned natives.
None in all the land, from mountain unto sea,
None more brave, more stern, and none more feared than he.
Dear to him the chase, the war, the trembling captives,
And the rustling pines whose fragrance filled the air—
Ah! 'Twas in the Springtime, and the world was fair.
[FN#1] Matoax, tribal name of Pocahontas.
[FN#2] Werowance, ruler or chief.
Evening came; the tired earth had dropped asleep,
Born the Maytide night in silence calm and deep,
Bright in azure vault of heaven the twinkling stars
Vigils kept, as lover over his beloved.
Only one sound the twilight stillness broke upon,
Crooning of Indian mother to her babe.
Fainter grew the mother-song, and died away;
Then, as if inspired by oft-repeated strain,
Suddenly a mocking-bird took up refrain—
New World nightingale whose joyous warbling thrills
Hearts responsive to the clear, melodious trills.
Did the music fall upon unheeding ears
Of the Indian hunters as they slumbering lay?
Rather in their dreams those forest natives heard
Echoes of the warrior's triumphant song
In that hunting-ground where sings the deathless bird.
POCAHONTAS.
(Prelude.)
Softly flowed the current of an ancient river
Where it circled wide three beauteous emerald isles,
Ceaseless lapped the waves upon the pebbled shore,
Fringed with willows silvery, drooping evermore.
High upon the beach an Indian village stood,
Twelve low wigwams built upon the seasoned wood.
Dark-eyed squaws the noonday meal prepared
For the lordly hunters who on bounty fared.
Winter's chase was over, each hunter smoked in peace
(Joy in heart that Spring at length had brought release).
In the open doorway, whence his proud glance strayed
From the tentyard where the quiet papoose played
To the newly bladed corn, the sassafras,
Dearer than his life the love of Matoax.
Like the morning sunbeam was her smile, and frequent,
Like the rippling water was her happy laughter,
In her eyes the sparkle of the evening planet,
And her lips were red as brightest coral.
Day by day she grew in grace of form and beauty,
Till to where the river meets the rolling sea,
Spread her fame as loveliest of Indian maidens.
Born a princess of the forest, born to rule—
Rule the hearts of men with chains of love—was she.
Springtime into summer passed, with wild rose wreaths
Maidens decked the princess' raven locks;
But in Autumn played they with the yellow corn;
And in Winter oft on snowshoes circled round.
"Maidens, come, we'll to the chase away, away!
Sing aloud with glee our blithesome roundelay,
Blow our mimic bugles till the echoes ring,
Over hill and dale the startled warriors bring,
Gathering around the campfire we will make the night
Gay with song, dancing within the mystic light."
Thus cried Matoax-Pocahontas—princess proud.
On her dark locks placed a squaw the stag horns curved,
Bound them fast with chains of pearly tinted shells,
Threw a deerskin mantle o'er the rounded limbs,
Hung upon her back the quiver full of arrows.
Score of dusky maidens formed the royal guard,
With their painted bodies and their flowing hair
Untamed creatures of the forest crouched they there,
Will-o'-wisp-like, darting, hiding, re-appearing,
Silently they waited signal for the chase.
Word was given, the mimic bugle shrilly blew,
Echoing through the glades, whose startled denizens
Suddenly grew still, the squirrel on the bough,
Quivering deer, the otter in his secret cave.
Indian maids with look intent upon the goal,
Savage yells restrained, upon the chase set forth,
Swift, with noiseless feet the chieftain's teepee sought.