Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/Death of Opechancanough
DEATH OF OPECHANCANOUGH.
[Indian Biography.]
A monarch in captivity was dying—And sad attendants round his death-bed stood; He—the sole ruler o'er a numerous tribe, A savage empire, won 'mid wilds and wood—Like a spent lion in the strong snare lying; Worn with long age and many a bloody strife,Hopeless, o'erpower'd—the noble captive hailed The dying close of a famed warrior's life. Gone was the power to move each shrunken limb; His heavy eyelids drooped—all powerless now; Yet the fierce fire of those stern eyes still lay Unquenched by age—beneath his lofty brow. Wild murmurs broke from his attendants; him—Their Chieftain loved,—was he not almost free; In the dim passage to that dreamy land—Wandering? Why call him back so frantically The monarch bade them raise each heavy lid; And, gazing sternly on a pale-faced crowd, "Call the white chieftain of this hostile band,"He said. Then came his victor; when aloud The fierce old warrior—with stern sorrow chid The heartless man, and said: "Had'st thou been led Captive unto the red man's wigwam—he Had saved from curious eyes thy dying bed."