Solemn silence of the curious, motley throng.

Quickly mirth of Pocahontas died away,
And her lightning glance at once did stray
Meeting gaze direct and true, yet fond withal,
Of those eyes whose strange, mysterious power cast
Spell upon her heart, that thrilled to swift response.
Dark eyes softened, flashed again with sudden fire,
Pocahontas stood entranced, as in a dream,
Watched the heavy stones laid on the hardened earth,
Saw the Brave led forth, the tomahawk upraised--
Awful moment's hush was pierced by anguished cry,
As around the captive's neck her arms were flung,
Precious life to save, the maiden's one desire.

Sign from chieftain stayed descent of bloody axe,
Guiding hand of princess led the captive forward--
"Sire, he's mine," she cried, "Adopt him for thy son,
If thou Matoax lovest best of all thine own."
Powhatan thus answered to the lovely maid,
"'Tis thy wish, Matoax; the Wizard's life be spared;
From henceforth we name him 'son'; his people ours;
Let the Brave be called for aye a Powhatan!"
Mighty shout ascended from the watching throng,
As the Saxon and the Indian princess stood
Hand in hand before the Wahunsunakok.
Presently a guide was sent to take the Wizard
Back to Jamestown, where long weeks they'd mourned him dead.