Page:Poems Davidson.djvu/72

 And thou in prison and in woe,
Think that this heart is still the same,
 And turn thee to Chicomico!
Then, go! yes, go! while yet you may,
Dread death awaits you if you stay!
May the Great Spirit guard and guide
Your footsteps through the forest wide!"
She said, and wrapped her mantle near
 Her fragile form, with hasty hand,
Just bowed her head, and shed one tear,
 Then sped him to his native land.

The wind is swift, and mountain hart,
From huntsman's bow the feathered dart;
But swifter far the prisoner's flight,
When freed from dungeon-chains and night!
So Rathmond felt, but wished to show
How much he owed Chicomico;
But she had fled; she did not hear!
She did not mark the grateful tear
Which quivered in the hero's eye;
Nor did she catch the half-breathed sigh;
And Heaven alone could hear the prayer,
Which Rathmond's full heart proffered there.

PART III.

While swift on his way young Rathmond sped,
Death's horrors awaited those he fled.
Already were the prisoners bound,—