THE PARTING.
In the meadow by the brooklet was the wigwam
Of the old squaw, Winganameo, who to Matoax
From her childhood oft had taught the folklore,
Tales of olden days beside the roaring ocean
Where the White Man's ships were wrecked beside the beach,
Where through pine woods roamed at will the stalwart Red Men—
Accomacks and Chesapeacks and Potomekes,
Tappahannocks, Wangoags, Payankatankas,
And the giants of the North, Sasquesahannocks,
And the Roanoaks from the magnolia Southlands.
How they fought and how they were united,
How the Powhatan his mighty rule extended—
All these things the old squaw told the maiden.
Under the mimosa sat Matoax often,
While she listened to the old squaw's wondrous tales,
learned from her to trace the beadwork patterns deftly
On the moccasins or on the women's mantles;
But of all the stories Winganameo told her,
None the maiden loved to hear so oft repeated
As the legend of the lost ones of Croatan,[FN#8]
And the island where the blue-eyed children lived.
Thus it was that Pocahontas heard of English
Long before she looked upon the strange Pale Faces,
Dreamed of them as little lower than the angels,
With the wisdom of the ages blessed.
[FN#8] Refers to the "Lost Colony of Roanoke, 1587,"
(see Hawk's History of North Carolina).
To the wigwam by the brooklet came the Princess
Oft at evening; told to Winganameo softly
How the English called her "Guardian Angel," loved her,
Gave her presents, daily asked her to their homes.
Winganameo nodded sagely as she listened,
But she spoke a word of warning to the Princess:
"Let not Pale Face bring unto you sorrow, Matoax;
As a mother I have watched you coming, going,
Princess born, 'tis many a warrior would wed you,
Better could you find a male among your own;
For the Pale Face is not of us, is a stranger;
Though he love you, he will leave you for his people,
And his home beyond the sea.
I have seen it,
Often have I seen it, watched him sail away
Nevermore returning.
Heed my words, O, Daughter!"
Pocahontas listened, but her lips replied not,
All her heart was mirrored in her dreaming eyes,
As she sat with folded hands beneath the shadow
Of mimosa branches with their pink-hued blossoms
Making fairy canopy above her head.
While they sat together in the twilight hour
Came to them a messenger direct from Jamestown,
Indian hunter, many a mile he'd walked to tell
To his people that the Wizard brave lay wounded
Unto death within his cabin, nursed by soldiers
Who would take him soon across the sea to England.
Pocahontas heard the tidings, listening quiet,
But with bated breath—spoke to Winganameo,
Saying, "We must go, mayhap the Captain needs us."
And the old squaw whispered back to her in following,
"Unto Jamestown we will go together, Daughter."
So they journeyed onward through the field and forest,
While the silver moonbeams fitful shadows made
On their pathway, till they reached the settlers' country,
Saw the palisades and houses of the English.
"Father," cried the Princess, kneeling by the bedside
Of the sometime President, who suffering lay—
"Art thou wounded sore, and is it true they say
That to England thou must go, or life's in danger?
Winganameo comes to nurse thee at my bidding,
She the old squaw of my people hath much knowledge,
Many wounded, sick to death has helped to cure—
Must thou go across the distant waters, Father?"
Scarcely had the wounded Captain strength to answer,
But he feebly placed his hand upon her head,
"Child, 'tis true indeed, that I am past your aid,
And must seek for London surgery, since the wound
From explosion of the powder festers sore;
Hence I leave our well-loved colony for England—
If I live I'll come again unto Virginia.
Pocahontas! first as little maid I saw thee,
Into noble womanhood I've watched thee growing,
Few and fleeting are the years we've known each other,
Thou hast ever been the White Man's loyal friend.
Keep the trust I give thee with my parting blessing.
Still defend these homes, make peace among thy people,
God reward thee, Princess, in the days to come."
Fainter grew his breath from pain, the watching soldiers
Motioned her away, she turned from them in silence,
Followed by the old squaw, glided from the cabin.
Tears came not that day, despair was in her heart,
Dark the future to the lonely Indian maid.