 | Powhatan |  |
CANTO FIRST.
I.
The monarch rested from his toils,Weary of war, and full of spoils.
His hatchet slept; his bow, unstrung
And shaftless, in his cabin hung;
His tomahawk was in the ground,
The wild war-whoop had ceased to sound,
And thirty chieftains, tall and proud,
To his imperial sceptre bow'd.
Far in their mountain lurking-place
The Manakins had heard his fame,
The Manakins and Manahocs, or Manahoacs, dwelt in the hilly country above the falls of the great rivers which empty into Chesapeake Bay; while the dominion of Powhatan extended over the whole of the flat country below the falls. The Manakins dwelt on the head waters of the James River, and the Manahocs on the head waters of the Potomac and Rappahannock. They were subdivided into several nations or tribes, and formed a sort of league or confederacy of the upland and mountain Indians against the power and tyranny of Powhatan. The Manakins consisted of four or five tribes, and the Manahocs of eight, and the whole, being combined in firm league against the empire of Powhatan, must have constituted rather a formidable foe.
And Manahocks dared not come down
His valleys to pursue their game;
And Susquehannah's giant race,
This powerful tribe, dwelling along the valley of the Susquehannah, bearing the name of that noble stream, and commanding its waters even to the head of Chesapeake Bay, is represented by the early adventurers in Virginia to have been a race of gigantic stature. The romantic spirit of Captain Smith, delighting as he did in the marvellous, probably may have given some coloring to his descriptions in matters of mere opinion, but where he describes facts that came within his knowledge, his truth and candor may always be relied upon. He says, “Such great and well-proportioned men are seldom seen; for they seemed like giants to the English, yea, and to the neighbors, yet seemed of an honest and simple disposition, with much ado restrained from adoring us as gods.”
The following curious account of this tribe is from the grave and matter-of-fact historian Stith; borrowed however principally from Smith.
“Their language and attire were very suitable to their stature and appearance. For their language sounded deep and solemn, and hollow, like a voice in a vault. Their attire was the skins of bears and wolves, so cut that the man's head went through the neck, and the ears of the bear were fastened on his shoulders, while the nose and teeth hung dangling down upon his breast. Behind, was another bear's face split, with a paw hanging at the nose. And their sleeves coming down to their elbows, were the necks of bears, with their arms going through the mouth, and paws hanging to the nose. One had the head of a wolf, hanging to a chain, for a jewel; and his tobacco pipe was three-quarters of a yard long, carved with a bird, a deer, and other devices at the great end, which was sufficient to beat out a man's brains. They measured the calf of the largest man's leg, and found it three-quarters of a yard about, and all the rest of his limbs were in proportion; so that he seemed the stateliest and most goodly personage they had ever beheld. His arrows were three-quarters long, headed with splinters of a white crystal-like stone, in the form of a heart, an inch broad, and an inch and a half long. These he carried at his back, in a wolf's skin for a quiver, with his bow in one hand and his club in the other.”
Who feared to meet no other man,
Would tremble in their fastnesses
To hear the name of Powhatan.
To smooth Potomac's broader tide,
From Chesapeake's surf-beaten shore
To where the mountain torrents roar,
His powerful sway had been confess'd,
And thirty tribes one monarch bless'd.
“He had under him thirty werowances, or inferior kings, who had power of life and death, but were bound to govern according to the customs of the country.”—
Stith's Virginia.All accounts agree that Powhatan had under his dominion thirty tribes, and some of our chronicles locate them as follows. Ten tribes between the Potomac and Rappahannock, five between the Rappahannock and York, eight between the York and James, five between the James River and the borders of Carolina, and two on the eastern shore of Chesapeake Bay.
II.
The time-spared oak, that lifts its headIn loneliness, where those are dead,
Which once stood by it on the plain,
Soon sees their places fill'd again—
So stood the monarch, full of years,
Amid an undergrowth of men;
For since the sceptre first he sway'd,
Full two score years ago and ten,
Two generations had gone by,
And twice he'd seen his people die.
Yet from his eye there beam'd a fire,
Resistless as the warrior's lance;
And when 'twas lit with vengeful ire,
The boldest wither'd at its glance.
And still his step was quick and light,
And still 'twas death to all, who dare
Awake the vengeance slumbering there.
But now with joy the monarch view'd
His realm in peace, his foes subdued,
And calmly turn'd abroad his eyes
O'er the wide work of warfare done,
And hoped no coming cloud would rise
To shroud in gloom his setting sun.
III.
Deep in a sea of waving woodPowhatan's principal place of residence at the time of the arrival of the English, was on the James River, a little below the spot where Richmond now stands. He resided, however, a part of the time at Werowocomoco, on York River, about ten or a dozen miles from Jamestown; and a part of the time at Orapakes, up the river Chickahominy.
The monarch's rustic lodge was seen,
Where brightly roll'd the river down,
And gently sloped the banks of green.
No princely dome that lodge appear'd,
No tall and shapely columns rear'd
Their finished architraves on high,
With cornice mounting to the sky;
No foreign artist's skilful hand
Had shed Corinthian graces there:
That simple dwelling had been plann'd
By workmen under nature's care.
The sun by day, or moon by night,
Had never sent a ray of light
Upon a lovelier spot than this,
Or seen a home of purer bliss.
The eye might reach a fairy glade,
Where sprightly deer were often seen,
In frolic sport, on plats of green,
From morning's dawn till noontide heat
Invited to some cool retreat;
Then away to the sheltering grove they fled
With a high-curved neck and a lofty tread.
Beside the open glade there grew
Green clustering oaks, and maples tall,
Forming a native bower, whose view
Was more enchanting far than all
The stiff embellishments of art,
That human culture could impart
To garden, grot, or waterfall.
Within that bower a fountain, gushing,
Babbled sweetly all the day,
And round it many a wild-flower, blushing,
Drank the morning dew of May.
IV.
But one sweet floweret flourish'd there,Beneath the aged monarch's care,
Whose bloom that happy bower had bless'd
With brighter charms than all the rest.
'Twas his loved daughter—she had been
The comfort of his widowhood
She roam'd with him the pathless wood,
And wheresoe'er that old man hied,
Fair Metoka was ever at his side.
She was the gem of her father's home,
The pride and joy of his forest cell;
And if alone she chanced to roam
To pluck the rose and gay hairbell,
The rudest savage stopp'd and smiled,
Whene'er he met the monarch's child.
V.
Mild was the air, and the setting raysOf the ruddy sun now seem'd to blaze
On many a tree-top's lofty spire,
When May-day's tranquil evening hour
Beheld the daughter and the sire
Together in their summer bower.
VI.
‘Come hither, child,’ the monarch said,‘And set thee down by me,
‘And I'll tell thee of thy mother dead,
‘Fair sprout of that parent tree.
‘And she never awoke again;
‘And thou wast then too young to weep,
‘Or to share thy father's pain.
‘But wouldst thou know thy mother's look,
‘When her form was young and fair,
‘Look down upon the tranquil brook,
‘And thou'lt see her picture there.
‘For her own bright locks of flowing jet
‘Are over thy shoulders hung;
‘In thy face her loving eyes are set,
‘And her music is on thy tongue.
‘But Okee call'd her home to rest,
‘And away her spirit flew,
‘Dancing on sunbeams far to the west,
‘Where the mountain tops are blue.
‘And often at sunset hour she strolls
‘Alone on the mountains wild,
‘And beckons me home to the land of souls,
‘And calls for her darling child.
‘And I am an aged sapless tree,
‘That soon must fall to the plain;
‘And then shall my spirit, light and free,
‘Rejoin thy mother again.
‘And thou, my child’—But here a sigh
Had reach'd the aged chieftain's ear;
He turn'd, and lo, his daughter's eye
And she was looking in his face
With such a tender, earnest grace,
The monarch clasp'd her to his side,
And thus her childish lips replied.
VII.
‘Oh, do not say thou must be gone,‘And leave thy daughter here alone,
‘Like some poor solitary bird,
‘To live unseen and mourn unheard.
‘Who will be left for me to love?
‘And who will lead me through the grove?
‘And when sweet, fresh-blown flowers I find,
‘Around whose brow shall they be twined?
‘And who, when evening comes along,
‘Will sit and hear my evening song,
‘And smile, and praise the simple strain,
‘And kiss my cheek, and smile again?
‘The sun would never more be bright,
‘Joyless would pass the darksome night,
‘The merry groves and murmuring stream
‘Would all so sad and lonely seem,
‘That I could here no longer stay,
‘And thou in the spirit-land away.’
VIII.
Then Powhatan, to sooth to restHis daughter's agitated breast,
Bethought to make some kind reply,
When sudden toward the east his eye
Caught the glimpse of a warrior form:
Swift as an eagle wings the storm,
He sweeps along the far hill-side,
Dimly mid dusky woods descried.
Uprose the monarch nimbly then,
And sternly sent his eagle ken
Through opening grove and o'er the glen,
And watch'd the form that now drew near,
Bounding along, like a mountain deer.
He marvell'd if the warrior came
With foeman's brand to light the flame
Of ruthless war; for sure his speed
Might well portend a foeman's deed.
But as he gain'd an open height,
That mark'd him clearer to the sight—
‘I know him now,’ the monarch said,
‘By his robe of blue and belt of red;
‘He bears a quiver and a bow,
‘His plume is a raven wing—
“Some on their heads wear the wing of a bird, or some large feather with a rattel. Those rattels are somewhat like the shape of a rapier, but lesse, which they take from the taile of a snake. Many have the whole skinne of a hawke or some strange foule, stuffed, with the wings abroad.”—
Smith's History of Virginia.‘Our brother, Opechancanough,
As summer breezes, quick and strong,
Hurry a fleecy cloud along,
We see the shadow softly creep,
Fast as the following eye can sweep,
Darkening blade, and bough, and leaf,
O'er grassy mead and woody dell;
So flew that raven-crested chief,
And reach'd the monarch's cell.
And now the day is closing in,
And one by one the stars begin,
Around an unbeclouded sky,
To hang their glittering lamps on high;
Chilly and damp the night dews fall,
And brightly in the monarch's hall
The evening torches glow;
Thither the royal group repair,
The monarch sage, the daughter fair,
And princely Opechancanough.
Mutely the monarch eyed his guest,
For on his brow there seem'd impress'd
Than e'er before had mantled there.
At length with questions, few and brief,
He gravely thus address'd the chief.
IX.
‘What tidings, brave Pamunky's king,‘Dost thou to our high presence bring?
‘What tribe has dared to hurl the brand
‘Of rebel war across our land?
‘Have traitorous warriors dipp'd in gore
‘The tomahawk, and rashly swore
‘The peace-tree's leaves are struck with blight,
‘And they will drink our blood to-night?
‘Or have the Manakins conspired
‘With the fierce nations of the west,
‘By the vain hope of conquest fired,
‘Our sceptre from our hands to wrest,
‘And from their mountain homes come down
‘To meet the vengeance of our frown?
‘For by the swiftness of thy flight,
‘And by the lateness of the night,
‘And by thy darken'd brow, 'tis clear
‘Thou'rt on no common errand here;
‘And be it wo, or be it weal,
‘Thy message, warrior, now reveal.’
X.
‘Whether weal or wo betide,’He of the raven plume replied,
‘Or whether war or death be near,
‘Monarch, I neither know nor fear.
‘My soul ne'er trembled at the sight
‘Of foeman yet in bloodiest fight,
‘Though many a chief, in battle slain,
‘This arm has stretch'd upon the plain.
‘And in thy conflict's darkest hour,
‘Who rush'd amid the arrowy shower,
‘And met the foremost of the foe,
‘So oft as Opechancanough?
‘And though my nerves may tremble now,
‘And looks of terror clothe my brow,
‘Yet I protest, and may great Okee hear,
‘These signs, that in my looks are blent,
‘Are marks of wild astonishment,
‘But not the work of fear.
‘And wouldst thou know what makes me pale,
‘Monarch, listen to my tale.
XI.
‘Soon as the morning sun was seen‘On bright Pamunky's banks of green,
‘The silent groves, where sleep the deer,
‘Waked with our hunters' merry cheer.
‘With echoing whoop and loud halloo
‘We startled soon a nimble doe;
‘And forth she sprang from her darksome lair,
‘And tossing high her head in air,
‘With springing bound, and forward flight,
‘Was soon again beyond our sight.
‘But still, as fleetly on she flew,
‘From hill to hill we caught a view,
‘Nor lost her course, till on the shore
‘Where Chesapeake's white surges roar,
‘We stood—and saw a sight display'd,
‘That fill'd us with amaze;
‘The deer unhunted sought the shade,
‘And we were left to gaze.
‘Spirits that dart athwart the sky,
‘When forked lightnings gleam and fly;
‘And gods that thunder in the air,
‘And cleave the oak and kill the bear;
‘And beings that control the deep,
‘Where crocodiles and serpents sleep;
‘And powers that on the mountains stand,
‘With storm and tempest in their hand;
‘And sail among the midnight stars;—
‘The whole dread group that move in might,
‘Unless some spell deceived our sight,
‘We surely saw in league to-day
‘On the bright bosom of the bay.
‘Whether for sport, in social mood,
‘They met to sail upon the flood;
‘Or bent on deeds of high design,
‘They sought their forces to combine;
‘Whether they came to blast or bless,
‘We did not learn, nor could we guess.
‘Their shallop was a stately thing,
‘And gaily moved in lofty pride,
‘Like a mountain eagle on the wing,
‘Or swan upon the river tide.
‘And three tall spires the shallop bore,
‘That tower'd above our forest trees,
‘And each a blood-red streamer wore,
‘That floated idly on the breeze.
‘And thrice in awful majesty
‘They sail'd across that deep, broad bay;
‘And as they turn'd from either shore,
‘We heard the heavy thunders roar,
‘And saw the lightnings flashing wide
‘From out their mammoth shallop's side;
‘And then a cloud of smoky hue
‘And rolling on the wind away,
‘It floated slowly down the bay.
‘And while in ambush near the beach
‘We watch'd the course the shallop took,
‘She came within an arrow's reach;
‘And then it seem'd as though she shook
‘Her white wings, like a hovering bird
‘That stoops to light upon a spray;
‘And sounds of voices now were heard,
‘But motionless the shallop lay.
‘And then a little skiff was seen,
‘And some were paddling toward the shore;
‘Their form was human, but their mein
‘Semblance of higher lineage bore;
‘And one might read upon their face
‘Pale proofs of an unearthly race.
‘And when they brought their skiff to land,
‘They knelt them down upon the sand
‘Of that smooth beach; and on the sky
‘They fix'd a thoughtful, gazing eye,
‘And long they look'd, and long they knelt,
‘And loud they talk'd, as though there dwelt
‘Some viewless spirits above their head,
‘Who listen'd to the words they said.
‘And when they rose from bended knee,
‘They stood beneath a birchen tree,
‘And utter'd strange and uncouth names;
‘But all we learn'd, of the words they spoke,
‘Was “England and King James.”
‘Then back as they came we saw them glide
‘O'er the rippling wave in their painted skiff,
‘And they clomb up the mammoth shallop's side,
‘That darken'd the wave like a mountain cliff.
‘And soon she was moving away on the flood,
‘Like a cloud which the mountain breezes fan,
‘And with wings of white and streamers of blood,
‘She bent her course to Kecoughtan.
‘Then up the wave that bears thy name
‘Along by the winding shore she swept;
‘And crouching low, as if for game,
‘Through thickets watchfully we crept;
‘Till by that jutting point of land,
‘Where the weary waters lingering go,
‘And Paspahey's tall forests stand,
‘And their shadows on the eddy throw,
‘We saw that shallop moor'd and still,
‘And a throng so awful lined the shore,
‘No longer we staid, nor witness'd more,
‘But fled, great werowance, to thee,
‘To make this strange adventure known;
‘For warriors brave, and subjects free,
‘And courage, and power, are all thine own.
‘The thoughts that in thy bosom flow,
‘Monarch, now bring before the light;
‘Thy will and counsel I would know,
‘But I may not tarry here to-night,
‘For back to Pamunky my hunters have gone,
‘And I must be there by the morning's dawn.’
XII.
Thus spoke Pamunky's wily king;The torch-light high was flickering;
On Powhatan's stern face it gleams,
But from his eye shot fiercer beams,
That told the fire, which vigor lit
In his day of strength, was burning yet.
The monarch rose in musing mood,
And silent for a moment stood,
Wrapp'd in himself, as though he sought
To grasp some hidden, vanish'd thought,
Which, rayless, vague, and undefined,
A form unseen—But now a glow
Of animation rose, as though
That vanish'd thought in brightness broke
At once upon his view; and then,
Turning toward his guest again,
Thus to the chief he spoke.
XIII.
‘Brother, a mist is round my head,‘And darkness in my path is spread;
‘Thy tale is like the clouds of night;
‘My thoughts are stars that shed no light;
‘And much I marvel what may mean
‘This wondrous vision thou hast seen.
‘That pale-face throng, with forms like ours,
‘Are not the band of secret powers,
‘Which thou hast fancied them to be;
‘This would not solve the mystery,
‘For spirits of fire and spirits of flood
‘Are foes that seek each other's blood.
‘My thoughts are bent another way;
‘I hear a voice, that seems to say,
‘They are but men, perchance, who seek,
‘Along the shores of Chesapeake,
‘To plant a tree whose roots shall spread,
‘Broad and deep as that ocean bed,
‘Till they o'ershadow all the land.
‘I hear a voice that says, beware,
‘Or thou wilt tread upon a snare;
‘There is a way thou must not pass,
‘A serpent lieth in the grass;
‘There is a fountain thou must shun,
‘For streams of poison from it run;
‘There is a shade thou must not seek,
‘For round it plays the lightning streak.
‘I hear a voice in whispers low,
‘That speaks of carnage, death, and wo,
‘Of injured rights and ruthless power,
‘And tempest-clouds, which soon shall lower:—
‘Some pestilence infects the air;
‘I hear a voice that says, beware.
‘Hast thou not heard our fathers tell
‘What once, in ages past, befell
‘Our race, what time Missouri's tide
‘Beheld them sporting by its side?
‘While they in fearless quiet slept,
‘A secret foe among them crept,
‘And, ere they dream'd of coming scath,
‘Had wellnigh struck the blow of death.
‘Harmless at first he seem'd to be,
‘And weak as helpless infancy;
‘His face was bright with friendship's smile,
‘And soon to giant strength he grew,
‘And thunderbolts around him threw,
‘And many a death and many a wound
‘Among our sires he dealt around,
‘And drove them from their peaceful home,
‘Through forests deep and wild to roam.
‘But o'er his head a murky cloud
‘Came down upon him as a shroud,
‘And vengeance seized upon her prey
‘And hid him from the light of day.
‘The stubborn oak that stood in pride,
‘And all the thunderer's wrath defied,
‘By one red lightning stroke was riven,
‘Like mist before the tempest driven.
‘The tribes collected in their might,
‘To glut themselves with wreakful fight,
‘And swift their darts of bloody vengeance hurl'd,
‘And Madoc and his host were wither'd from the world.
“The chronicles of Wales report, that Madoc, sonne to Owen Quineth, Prince of Wales, seeing his two brethren at debate, who should inherit, prepared certaine ships, with men and munition, and left his country to seeke adventures by sea. Leaving Ireland north, he sayled west till he came to a land unknowne. Returning home and relating what pleasant and fruitful countries he had seene without inhabitants, and for what barren land his brethren and kindred did murther one another, he provided a number of ships, and got with him such men and women as were desirous to live in quietnesse, that arrived with him in this new land in the year 1170; left many of his people there and returned for more. But where this place was no history can show.”—
Captain John Smith.“On the death of Owen Gwyneth, king of North Wales, A. D. 1169, his children disputed the succession. Yorwerth, the elder, was set aside without a struggle, as being incapacitated by a blemish in his face. Hoel obtained possession of the throne for awhile, till he was defeated and slain by David, the eldest son of the late king by a second wife. The conqueror, who then succeeded without opposition, slew Yorwerth, imprisoned Rodri, and hunted others of his brethren into exile. But Madoc meantime abandoned his barbarous country, and sailed away to the west in search of some better resting-place. The land which he discovered pleased him. He left there part of his people, and went back to Wales for a fresh supply of adventurers, with whom he again set sail, and was heard of no more.”—
Preface to Southey's Madoc.“Welsh Indians.—Father Reichard, of Detroit, from whom I received the facts just stated, informed me at the same time, that in 1793 he was told at Fort Chartres, that twelve years before, Capt. Lord commanded this post, who heard some of the old people observe, that Mandan Indians visited this post, and could converse intelligibly with some Welsh soldiers in the British army. This is here given, that any person, who may have the opportunity, may ascertain whether there is any affinity between the Mandan and Welsh languages.”—
Dr. Morse's Indian Report.‘Some race of men like these, I ween,
‘Those beings are, which thou hast seen;
‘And something whispers in my ear,
‘Those beings must not linger here.
‘And, chieftain, list now what I say;
‘Hear my direction, and obey.
‘When first to-morrow's golden light
‘What time the wild-birds wake the glen,
‘Collect thy wisest, bravest men,
‘And with them straight to Paspahey repair,
‘And learn both who and whence these strange intruders are.
‘Unto their pale-face leader show
‘The pipe of peace and warlike bow;
‘Nor fail withal to let them plainly know,
‘We've calumets for friends, and arrows for a foe’
XIV.
Here paused the sage, and waved his hand,The fiat of his high command—
‘Monarch, thy will shall be obey'd,’
Was all the plumed chieftain said,
As round his brawny limbs he drew
“For their apparell they are sometimes covered with the skins of wild beasts, which in winter are dressed with the hayre, but in summer without. The better sort use large mantels of deer skins, not much differing in fashion from the Irish mantels. Some imbrodered with white beads, some with copper, other painted after their manner.
“We have seen some use mantels made of turkey feathers, so prettily wrought and woven with threads that nothing could be discerned but the feathers. That was exceeding warm and very handsome.”—
Smith's History of Virginia.His feathery mantle, broad and blue,
And left the hall with lofty mein,
Plunged in the grove, nor more was seen.
Powhatan. This name, in the northern and middle states, has usually been accented on the second syllable. But in Virginia the accent is thrown on the first and last syllables, which is undoubtedly according to the Indian mode of pronunciation, and therefore the true one.
Metoka, or Metoaka, which was the original name of Pocahontas, is adopted in preference to the latter throughout this poem, on account of its greater euphony.
This name is sometimes pronounced by throwing a strong accent on the fourth syllable. The pronunciation adopted in this work throws a slight accent on the first, third, and fifth syllables, which is believed to be more agreeable to the usage of the Indian tribes. In pronouncing long words they seldom give much accent to any one syllable, but utter each syllable with nearly the same intonation.
Okee was the name of one of their principal gods, a rude image of which was kept in most of the tribes.
Kecoughtan was on the west side of Chesapeake Bay, where Hampton now stands. James River was called, by the natives, Powhatan.
| Powhatan | |