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.