Page:Poems Davidson.djvu/68

And o'er the parting day its glories spread,
Which was to close when their sad souls had fled,—
"White man," he cried, in low mysterious tone,
Caught but by Rathmond's listening ear alone,
"Ere the bright eye of yon red orb shall sleep,
This haughty chief his fallen tribe shall weep!"
He said no more; for lo! the death-yells cease.
'Tis hushed! no sound is echoed through the place.
The opening ring disclosed a female there,
In a rich mantle shrouded, save her hair,
Which, long and dark, luxuriant round her hung,
With many a clear white pearl and dew-drop strung.

She threw back the mantle which shaded her face,
 She spoke not, but looked the pale spirit of woe!
The angel of mercy, the herald of grace,
 Knelt the sorrowful daughter of Hillis-ad-joe!
"My father! my father!" the maiden exclaims,
"O doom not the white man to die 'midst the flames!
'Tis thy daughter who kneels, 'tis Chicomico sues,
Can my father, the friend of my childhood, refuse?
This heart is the white man's, with him will I die,
With him to the Great Spirit's mansion I'll fly;
The flames which to heaven will waft his pure soul,
Round the form of thy daughter encircling shall roll;
My life is his life—his fate shall be mine;
For his image around thy child's heart will entwine!

Man's breast may be cruel, and savage, and stern,
From the sufferings of others it heedless may turn;
To the pleadings of want, to the wan face of woe,