  Scene I. Jamestown—built. Walter and Alice. Walter. One mouthful more. [Kiss.] Oh! after a long lent of absence, what a charming relish is a kiss, served from the lips of a pretty wife, to a hungry husband. Alice. And, believe me, I banquet at the high festival of return with equal pleasure. But what has made your absence so tedious, prithee? Walter. Marry, girl, thus it was: when we had given the enemies of our ally, Powhatan, defeature, and sent the rough Alice. And what were your exploits? Walter. Rare ones, egad! We took the devil, Okee, prisoner. Alice. And have you brought him hither? Walter. No: his vot'ries Redeem'd him with some score or two of deer-skins. Then we've made thirty kings our tributaries: Such sturdy rogues, that each could easily Fillip a buffalo to death with 's finger. Alice. But have you got their treasures? Walter. All, my girl. Imperial robes of raccoon, crowns of feather; Besides the riches of their sev'ral kingdoms— A full boat load of corn. Alice. Oh, wonderful! Walter. Aye, is it not? But, best of all, I've kiss'd The little finger of a mighty queen. Sweet soul! among the court'sies of her court, She gave us a Virginian mascarado. Alice. Dost recollect the fashion of it? Walter. Oh! Were I to live till Time were in his dotage, 'Twould never from mine eyes. Imagine first, The scene, a gloomy wood; the time, midnight; Her squawship's maids of honour were the masquers; Their masks were wolves' heads curiously set on, And, bating a small difference of hue, Their dress e'en such as madam Eve had on Or ere she eat the apple. Alice. Pshaw! Walter. These dresses, All o'er perfum'd with the self-same pomado Which our fine dames at home buy of old Bruin, Glisten'd most gorgeously unto the moon. Thus, each a firebrand brandishing aloft, In dance grotesque and diabolical, Madder than mad Bacchantes. Alice. O the powers! Walter. When they had finished the divertisement A beauteous Wolf-head came to me— Alice. To you? Walter. And lit me with her pine-knot torch to bedward, Where, as the custom of the court it was, The beauteous Wolf-head blew the flambeau out, And then— Alice. Well! Walter. Then, the light being out, you know, To all that follow'd I was in the dark. Now you look grave. In faith I went to sleep. Could a grim wolf rival my gentle lamb? No, truly, girl: though in this wilderness The trees hang full of divers colour'd fruit, From orange-tawny to sloe-black, egad, They'll hang until they rot or ere I pluck them, While I've my melting, rosy nonpareil. [Kiss. Alice. Oh! you're a Judas! Walter. Then am I a Jew! Enter Smith, Percy, Nantaquas, Larry, &c. [Exeunt Smith, Prince, Percy, &c. Manent Walter and Larry. Walter. So, my compeer in honour, we must hold The staff of sway between us. Larry. Arrah, man, If we hould it between us, any rogue Shall run clean off before it knocks him down, While at each end we tug for mastery. Walter. Tush, man! we'll strike in unison. Larry. Go to— Walter. And first, let's to the forest—the young sparks In silken doublets there are felling trees, Poor, gentle masters, with their soft palms blister'd; And, while they chop and chop, they swear and swear, Drowning with oaths the echo of their axe. Larry. Are they so hot in choler? Walter. Aye. Larry. We'll cool 'em; And pour cold patience down their silken sleeves. Walter. Cold patience! Larry. In the shape of water, honey. Walter. A notable discovery; come away! Larry. Ha! isn't that a sail? Walter. A sail! a fleet! [Looking toward the river. Enter Talman. Talman. We have discovered nine tall ships. Larry. Discovered! Away, you rogue, we have discovered them, With nature's telescopes. Run—scud—begone— Down to the river! Och, St. Pat, I thank you! Go toward river. Huzza within. Music expresses joyful bustle. Scene closes. Scene II. A grove. Enter Robin and Nima. Robin. Aye, bless you, I knew I should creep into your heart at last, my little dusky divinity. Nima. Divinity! what's that? Robin. Divinity—it's a—Oh, it's a pretty title that we lords of the creation bestow upon our playthings. But hist! here they come. Now is it a knotty point to be argued, whether this parting doth most affect the mistress and master, or the maid and man. Let Cupid be umpire, and steal the scales of Justice to weigh our heavy sighs. [Retire. Enter Rolfe and Pocahontas. Princess. Nay, let me on— Rolfe. No further, gentle love; The rugged way has wearied you already. Princess. Feels the wood pigeon weariness, who flies, Mated with her beloved? Ah! lover, no. Rolfe. Sweet! in this grove we will exchange adieus; My steps should point straight onward; were thou with me, Thy voice would bid me quit the forward path At every pace, or fix my side-long look, Spell-bound, upon thy beauties. Princess. Ah! you love not The wild-wood prattle of the Indian maid, As once you did. Rolfe. By heaven! my thirsty ear, Could ever drink its liquid melody. Ere yet the sentinel day had done his watch; Veil'd like a spy, should steal on printless feet, To listen to our parley! Dearest love! My captain has arrived, and I do know, When honour and when duty call upon me, Thou wouldst not have me chid for tardiness. But, ere the matin of to-morrow's lark, Do echo from the roof of nature's temple, Sweetest, expect me. Princess. Wilt thou surely come? Rolfe. To win thee from thy father will I come; And my commander's voice shall join with mine, To woo Powhatan to resign his treasure. Princess. Go then, but ah! forget not— Rolfe. I'll forget All else, to think on thee! Princess. Thou art my life! I lived not till I saw thee, love; and now, I live not in thine absence. Long, Oh! long I was the savage child of savage Nature; And when her flowers sprang up, while each green bough Sang with the passing west wind's rustling breath; When her warm visitor, flush'd Summer, came, Or Autumn strew'd her yellow leaves around, Or the shrill north wind pip'd his mournful music, I saw the changing brow of my wild mother With neither love nor dread. But now, Oh! now, I could entreat her for eternal smiles, So thou might'st range through groves of loveliest flowers, Where never Winter, with his icy lip, Should dare to press thy cheek. Rolfe. My sweet enthusiast! Princess. O! 'tis from thee that I have drawn my being: Thou'st ta'en me from the path of savage error, Blood-stain'd and rude, where rove my countrymen, And taught me heavenly truths, and fill'd my heart With sentiments sublime, and sweet, and social. Oft has my winged spirit, following thine, Cours'd the bright day-beam, and the star of night, And every rolling planet of the sky, Guided by thee, has not my daring soul, O'ertopt the far-off mountains of the east, Where, as our fathers' fable, shad'wy hunters Pursue the deer, or clasp the melting maid, 'Mid ever blooming spring? Thence, soaring high From the deep vale of legendary fiction, Hast thou not heaven-ward turn'd my dazzled sight, Where sing the spirits of the blessed good Around the bright throne of the Holy One? This thou hast done; and ah! what couldst thou more, Belov'd preceptor, but direct that ray, Which beams from Heaven to animate existence, And bid my swelling bosom beat with love! Rolfe. O, my dear scholar! Princess. Prithee, chide me, love: My idle prattle holds thee from thy purpose. Rolfe. O! speak more music! and I'll listen to it, Like stilly midnight to sweet Philomel. Princess. Nay, now begone; for thou must go: ah! fly, The sooner to return— Rolfe. Thus, then, adieu! [Embrace. But, ere the face of morn blush rosy red,To see the dew-besprent, cold virgin ground Stain'd by licentious step; Oh, long before The foot of th' earliest furred forrester, Do mark its imprint on morn's misty sheet, With sweet good morrow will I wake my love. Princess. To bliss thou'lt wake me, for I sleep till then Only with sorrow's poppy on my lids. Music. Embrace; and exit Rolfe, followed by Robin; Princess looks around despondingly. But now, how gay and beauteous was this grove! Sure ev'ning's shadows have enshrouded it, And 'tis the screaming bird of night I hear, Not the melodious mock-bird. Ah! fond girl! 'Tis o'er thy soul the gloomy curtain hangs; 'Tis in thy heart the rough-toned raven sings. O lover! haste to my benighted breast; Come like the glorious sun, and bring me day! Song. When the midnight of absence the day-scene pervading Distils its chill dew o'er the bosom of love, Oh, how fast then the gay tints of nature are fading! How harsh seems the music of joy in the grove! While the tender flow'r droops till return of the light, Steep'd in tear drops that fall from the eye of the night. But Oh! when the lov'd-one appears, Like the sun a bright day to impart, To kiss off those envious tears, To give a new warmth to the heart; Soon the flow'ret seeming dead Raises up its blushing head, Glows again the breast of love, Laughs again the joyful grove; While once more the mock-bird's throat Trolls the sweetly various note. But ah! when dark absence the day-scene pervading Distils its chill dew o'er the bosom of love, Oh! fast then the gay tints of nature are fading! Oh! harsh seems the music of joy in the grove! And the tender flow'r droops till return of the light, Steep'd in tear drops that fall from the eye of the night. Princess. Look, Nima, surely I behold our captive, The prince Miami, and our cruel priest. Nima. Lady, 'tis they; and now they move this way. Princess. How earnest are their gestures; ah! my Nima, When souls like theirs mingle in secret council, Stern murder's voice alone is listen'd to. Miami too at large—O trembling heart, Most sad are thy forebodings; they are here— Haste, Nima; let us veil us from their view. [They retire. Enter Miami and Grimosco. Grimosco. Be satisfied; I cannot fail—hither the king will soon come. This deep shade have I chosen for our place of meeting. Hush! he comes. Retire, and judge if Grimosco have vainly boasted—away! [Miami retires. Enter Powhatan. Powhatan. Now, priest, I attend the summons of thy voice. Grimosco. So you consult your safety, for 'tis the voice of warning. Powhatan. Of what would you warn me? Grimosco. Danger. Powhatan. From whom? Grimosco. Your enemies. Powhatan. Old man, these have I conquered. Grimosco. The English still exist. Powhatan. The English! Grimosco. The nobler beast of the forest issues boldly from his den, and the spear of the powerful pierces his heart. The deadly adder lurks in his covert till the unwary footstep approach him. Powhatan. I see no adder near me. Grimosco. No, for thine eyes rest only on the flowers under which he glides. Powhatan. Away, thy sight is dimmed by the shadows of age. Grimosco. King, for forty winters hast thou heard the voice of counsel from my lips, and never did its sound deceive thee; never did my tongue raise the war cry, and the foe appeared not. Be warned then to beware the white man. He has fixed his serpent eye upon you, and, like the charmed bird, you flutter each moment nearer to the jaw of death. Powhatan. How, Grimosco? Grimosco. Do you want proof of the white man's hatred to the red? Follow him along the bay; count the kings he has conquered, and the nations that his sword has made extinct. Powhatan. Like a warrior he subdued them, for the chain of friendship bound them not to each other. The white man is brave as Aresqui; and can the brave be treacherous? Grimosco. Like the red feathers of the flamingo is craft, the brightest plume that graces the warrior's brow. Are not your people brave? Yet does the friendly tree shield them while the hatchet is thrown. Who doubts the courage of Powhatan? Yet has the eye of darkness seen Powhatan steal to the surprise of the foe. Powhatan. Ha! priest, thy words are true. I will be satisfied. Even now I received a swift messenger from my son: Grimosco. Yes; but demand it of him as thou drawest thy reeking hatchet from his cleft head. [King starts.] The despoilers of our land must die! Powhatan. What red man can give his eye-ball the glare of defiance when the white chief is nigh? He who stood alone amidst seven hundred foes, and, while he spurned their king to the ground, dared them to shoot their arrows; who will say to him, "White man, I am thine enemy?" No one. My chiefs would be children before him. Grimosco. The valour of thy chiefs may slumber, but the craft of thy priest shall watch. When the English sit at that banquet from which they shall never rise; when their eyes read nothing but friendship in thy looks, there shall hang a hatchet over each victim head, which, at the silent signal of Grimosco— Powhatan. Forbear, counsellor of death! Powhatan cannot betray those who have vanquished his enemies; who are his friends, his brothers. Grimosco. Impious! Can the enemies of your God be your friends? Can the children of another parent be your brethren? You are deaf to the counsellor: 'tis your priest now speaks. I have heard the angry voice of the Spirit you have offended; offended by your mercy to his enemies. Dreadful was his voice; fearful were his words. Avert his wrath, or thou art condemned; and the white men are the ministers of his vengeance. Powhatan. Priest! Grimosco. From the face of the waters will he send them, in mighty tribes, and our shores will scarce give space for their footsteps. Powhatan will fly before them; his beloved child, his wives, all that is dear to him, he will leave behind. Powhatan will fly; but whither? which of his tributary kings will shelter him? Not one. Already they cry, "Powhatan is ruled by the white; we will no longer be the slaves of a slave!" Powhatan. Ha! Grimosco. Despoiled of his crown, Powhatan will be hunted from the land of his ancestors. To strange woods will the fugitive be pursued by the Spirit whom he has angered— Powhatan. Oh, dreadful! Grimosco. And at last, when the angel of death obeys his call of anguish, whither will go his condemned soul? Not to the fair forests, where his brave fathers are. Oh! never will Powhatan clasp the dear ones who have gone before him. His exiled, solitary spirit will forever houl on the barren heath where the wings of darkness rest. No ray of hope shall visit him; eternal will be his night of despair. Powhatan. Forbear, forbear! O priest, teach me to avert the dreadful doom. Grimosco. Let the white men be slaughtered. Powhatan. The angry Spirit shall be appeased. Come. [Exit. Grimosco. Thy priest will follow thee. Enter Miami. Miami. Excellent Grimosco! Thy breath, priest, is a deadly pestilence, and hosts fall before it. Yet—still is Miami a captive. Grimosco. Fear not. Before Powhatan reach Werocomoco thou shalt be free. Come. Miami. Oh, my soul hungers for the banquet; for then shall Miami feast on the heart of his rival! [Exeunt with savage triumph. Music. The Princess rushes forward, terror depicted in her face. After running alternately to each side, and stopping undetermined and bewildered, speaks. Princess. O whither shall I fly? what course pursue? At Werocomoco, my frenzied looks Would sure betray me. What if hence I haste? I may o'ertake my lover, or encounter My brother and his friends. Away, my Nima! [Exit Nima. O holy Spirit! thou whom my dear lover Has taught me to adore and think most merciful, Wing with thy lightning's speed my flying feet! [Music. Exit Princess. Scene III. Near Jamestown. Enter Larry, and Kate as a page. Larry. Nine ships, five hundred men, and a lord governor! Och! St. Patrick's blessing be upon them; they'll make this land flow with buttermilk like green Erin. What say you, master page, isn't this a nice neat patch to plant potatoes—I mean, to plant a nation in? Kate. There's but one better. Larry. And which might that be? Kate. E'en little green Erin that you spoke of. Larry. And were you ever—och, give me your fist—were you ever in Ireland? Kate. It's there I was born— Larry. I saw its bloom on your cheek. Kate. And bred. Larry. I saw it in your manners. Kate. Oh, your servant, sir. [Bows.] And there, too, I fell in love. Larry. And, by the powers, so did I; and if a man don't fall into one of the beautiful bogs that Cupid has digged there, faith he may stand without tumbling, though he runs over all the world beside. Och, the creatures, I can see them now— Kate. Such sparkling eyes— Larry. Rosy cheeks— Kate. Pouting lips— Larry. Tinder hearts! Och, sweet Ireland! Kate. Aye, it was there that I fixed my affections after all my wanderings. Song.—Kate. Young Edward, through many a distant place, Had wandering pass'd, a thoughtless ranger; And, cheer'd by a smile from beauty's face, Had laugh'd at the frowning face of danger. Fearless Ned, Careless Ned, Never with foreign dames was a stranger; And huff, Bluff, He laugh'd at the frowning face of danger. But journeying on to his native place, Through BallinamonÉ pass'd the stranger; Where, fix'd by the charms of Katy's face, He swore he'd no longer be a ranger, Pretty Kate, Witty Kate, Vow'd that no time could ever change her; And kiss, Bliss— O, she hugg'd to her heart the welcome stranger. Larry. How's that? BallinamonÉ, Kate, did you say, Kate? Kate. Aye, Katy Maclure; as neat a little wanton tit— Larry. My wife a wanton tit!—Hark ye, master Whippersnapper, do you pretend— Kate. Pretend! no, faith, sir, I scorn to pretend, sir; I am above boasting of ladies' favours, unless I receive 'em. Pretend, quotha! Larry. Fire and faggots! Favours!— Kate. You seem to know the girl, mister—a— Larry. Know her! she's my wife. Kate. Your wife! Ridiculous! I thought, by your pother, that she had been your friend's wife, or your mistress. Hark ye, mister—a—cuckoo— Larry. Cuckoo! Kate. Your ear. Your wife loved me as she did herself. Larry. She did? Kate. Couldn't live without me; all day we were together. Larry. You were! Kate. As I'm a cavalier; and all night—we lay—— Larry. How? Kate. How! why, close as two twin potatoes; in the same bed, egad! Larry. Tunder and turf! I'll split you from the coxcomb to the—— Kate. Ay, do split the twin potato asunder, do. [Discovers herself. Larry. It is—no—what! Och, is it nobody but yourself? O my darling!—[Catches her in his arms.] And so—But how did you?—And where—and what—O boderation! [Kisses.] And how d' ye do? and how's [Kiss. Kate. So; now may I speak? Larry. Aye, do be telling me—but stop every now and then, that I may point your story with a grammatical kiss. Kate. Oh, hang it! you'll be for putting nothing but periods to my discourse. Larry. Faith, and I should be for counting—[Kisses.]—four.—Arrah! there, then; I've done with that sentence. Kate. You remember what caused me to stay behind, when you embarked for America? Larry. Aye, 'twas because of your old sick mother. And how does the good lady? [Kate weeps.] Ah! well, Heaven rest her soul.—Cheerly, cheerly. To be sure, I can't give you a mother; but I tell you what I'll do, I'll give your children one; and that's the same thing, you know. So, kiss me, Kate. Cheerly. Kate. One day, as I sat desolate in my cottage, a carriage broke down near it, from which a young lady was thrown with great violence. My humble cabin received her, and I attended her till she was able to resume her journey. Larry. My kind Kate! Kate. The sweet young lady promised me her protection, and pressed me to go with her. So, having no mother—nor Larry to take care of—— Larry. You let the pigs and praties take care of themselves. Kate. I placed an honest, poor neighbour in my cottage, and followed the fortunes of my mistress—and—O Larry, such an angel! Larry. But where is she? Kate. Here, in Virginia. Larry. Here? Kate. Aye, but that's a secret. Larry. Oh! is it so? that's the reason then you won't tell it me. Geraldine, as a page, and Walter appear behind. Kate. That's she. Larry. Where? Kate. There. Larry. Bother! I see no one but a silken cloaked spark, and our Wat; devil a petticoat! Kate. That spark is my mistress. Larry. Be asy. Are you sure you ar'n't his mistress? Kate. Tut, now you've got the twin potatoes in your head. Larry. Twins they must be, if any, for faith I hav'n't had a single potato in my head this many a long day. But come, my Kate, tell me how you and your mistress happened to jump into— Kate. Step aside then. Larry. Have with you, my dapper page. [They retire. Geraldine and Walter advance. Geraldine. You know this Percy, then? Walter. Know him! Oh, yes! He makes this wild wood, here, a past'ral grove. He is a love-lorn shepherd; an Orlando, Carving love-rhymes and ciphers on the trees, And warbling dying ditties of a lady He calls false Geraldine. Geraldine. O my dear Percy! How has one sad mistake marr'd both our joys! [Aside. Walter. Yet though a shepherd, he can wield a sword As easy as a crook. Geraldine. Oh! he is brave. Walter. As Julius CÆsar, sir, or Hercules; Or any other hero that you will, Except our captain. Geraldine. Is your captain, then, Without his peer? Walter. Aye, marry is he, sir, Sans equal in this world. I've follow'd him Half o'er the globe, and seen him do such deeds! His shield is blazon'd with three Turkish heads. Geraldine. Well, sir. Walter. And I, boy, saw him win the arms; Oh, 'twas the bravest act! Geraldine. Prithee, recount it. Walter. It was at Regal, close beleaguer'd then By the duke Sigismund of Transylvania, Our captain's general. One day, from the gate There issued a gigantic mussulman, And threw his gauntlet down upon the ground, It was our captain, sir, pick'd up the glove, And scarce the trump had sounded to the onset, When the Turk Turbisha had lost his head. His brother, fierce Grualdo, enter'd next, But left the lists sans life or turban too. Last came black Bonamolgro, and he paid The same dear forfeit for the same attempt. And now my master, like a gallant knight, His sabre studied o'er with ruby gems, Prick'd on his prancing courser round the field, In vain inviting fresh assailants; while The beauteous dames of Regal, who, in throngs Lean'd o'er the rampart to behold the tourney, Threw show'rs of scarfs and favours from the wall, And wav'd their hands, and bid swift Mercuries Post from their eyes with messages of love; While manly modesty and graceful duty Wav'd on his snowy plume, and, as he rode, Bow'd down his casque unto the saddle bow. Geraldine. It was a deed of valour, and you've dress'd it In well-beseeming terms. And yet, methinks, I wonder at the ladies' strange delight; And think the spectacle might better suit An audience of warriors than of women. I'm sure I should have shudder'd—that is, sir, If I were woman. Walter. Cry your mercy, page; Were you a woman, you would love the brave. You're yet but boy; you'll know the truth of this, When father Time writes man upon your chin. Geraldine. No doubt I shall, sir, when I get a beard. Walter. My master, boy, has made it crystal clear: Be but a Mars, and you shall have your Venus. Song.—Walter. Captain Smith is a man of might, In Venus' soft wars or in Mars' bloody fight: For of widow, or wife, or of damsel bright, A bold blade, you know, is all the dandy. One day his sword he drew, And a score of Turks he slew; When done his toil, He snatch'd the spoil, And, as a part, The gentle heart Of the lovely lady Tragabizandy. Captain Smith trod the Tartar land; While before him, in terror, fled the turban'd band, With his good broad-sword, that he whirl'd in his hand, To a three-tail'd bashaw he gave a pat-a. The bashaw, in alarm, Turn'd tails, and fled his arm. But face to face, With lovely grace, In all her charms, Rush'd to his arms The beautiful lady Calamata. Captain Smith, from the foaming seas, From pirates, and shipwreck, and miseries, In a French lady's arms found a haven of ease; Her name—pshaw! from memory quite gone 't has. And on this savage shore, Where his faulchion stream'd with gore, His noble heart The savage dart Had quiver'd through; But swifter flew To his heart the pretty princess Pocahontas. [Exit Walter. Enter Kate. Geraldine. Now, brother page— Kate. Dear mistress, I have found My faithful Larry. Geraldine. Happy girl! and I Hope soon to meet my heart's dear lord, my Percy. Hist! the lord governor Kate. He little thinks Who is the page he loves so— Geraldine. Silence. Kate. Mum. Enter Delawar, Walter, Larry, &c. Music. The Princess enters, with wild anxiety in her looks; searches eagerly around for Smith and Rolfe. Delawar. Whom do you look for, lady? Princess. They are gone! Gone to be slaughter'd! Walter. If you seek our captain, He has departed for your father's banquet. Princess. Then they have met, and they will both be lost, My lover and my friend. O! faithless path, That led me from my lover! Strangers, fly! If you're the white man's friends— Delawar. Lady, we are. Princess. Then fly to save them from destruction! Delawar. How? Princess. Inquire not; speak not; treachery and death Await them at the banquet. Delawar. Haste, my friends, Give order for immediate departure. Princess. E'en now, perhaps, they bleed! O lover! brother! Fly, strangers, fly! Music. Drum beats; a bustle; scene closes. Scene IV. At Werocomoco; banquet. Smith, Rolfe, Percy, Nantaquas, Powhatan, &c., seated. Grimosco, Miami and a number of Indians attending. Powhatan. White warriors, this is the feast of peace, and yet you wear your arms. Will not my friends lay by their warlike weapons? They fright our fearful people. Smith. Our swords are part of our apparel, king; Nor need your people fear them. They shall rest Peaceful within their scabbards, if Powhatan Call them not forth, with voice of enmity. Powhatan. Oh, that can never be! feast then in peace, Children and friends— Leaves his place and comes forward to Grimosco. O priest! my soul is afraid it will be stained with dishonour. Grimosco. Away! the Great Spirit commands you. Resume your seat; hold the white men in discourse; I will but thrice wave my hand, and your foes are dead. [King resumes his seat.] [To Miami.] Now, prince, has the hour of vengeance arrived. Powhatan. [With a faltering voice.] Think not, white men, that Powhatan wants the knowledge to prize your friendship. Powhatan has seen three generations pass away; and his locks of age do not float upon the temples of folly. Grimosco waves his hand: the Indians steal behind the English, Miami behind Rolfe. King proceeds. If a leaf but fall in the forest, my people cry out with terror, "hark! the white warrior comes!" Chief, thou art terrible as an enemy, and Powhatan knows the value of thy friendship. Grimosco waves his hand again; the Indians seize their tomahawks, and prepare to strike. King goes on. Think not, therefore, Powhatan can attempt to deceive thee— The King's voice trembles; he stops, unable to proceed. The Indians' eyes are fixed on Grimosco, waiting for the last signal. At this moment the Princess rushes in. Princess. Treachery to the white men! At the same instant, drum and trumpet without. Music. The English seize the uplifted arms of the Indians, and form a tableau, as enter Delawar and his party. After the music, the Soldiers take charge of the Indians. Pocahontas flies to the arms of Rolfe. Nantaquas. O father! [Powhatan is transfixed with confusion. Smith. Wretched king! what fiend could urge you? Powhatan. Shame ties the tongue of Powhatan. Ask of that fiend-like priest, how, to please the angry Spirit, I was to massacre my friends. Smith. Holy Religion! still beneath the veil Of sacred piety what crimes lie hid! Bear hence that monster. Thou ferocious prince— Miami. Miami's tortures shall not feast your eyes! [Stabbing himself. Smith. Rash youth, thou mightst have liv'd— Miami. Liv'd! man, look there! [Pointing to Rolfe and Princess. He is borne off. Powhatan. Oh, if the false Powhatan might— Smith. No more. Wiser than thou have been the dupes of priesthood. Your hand. The father of this gen'rous pair I cannot choose but love. My noble lord, I pray you pardon my scant courtesy And sluggish duty, which so tardy-paced Do greet your new arrival— Delawar. Valiant captain! Virtue-ennobled sir, a hero's heart Will make mine proud by its most near acquaintance. [Embrace. Smith. Your coming was most opportune, my lord. One moment more— Delawar. Nay, not to us the praise. Behold the brilliant star that led us on. Smith. Oh! blest is still its kindly influence! Could a rough soldier play the courtier, lady, His practis'd tongue might grace thy various goodness, With proper phrase of thanks; but oh! reward thee! Heaven only can Princess. And has, my brother. See! I have its richest gift. [Turning to Rolfe. Rolfe. My dearest love! Smith. Her brother, sir, and worthy of that name. Introduces Nantaquas to Delawar; Percy and Geraldine, who had been conversing, advance. Percy. You tell me wonders. Geraldine. But not miracles. Being near the uncle, sir, I knew the lady. Percy. And was I then deceived? Geraldine. What, gentle Percy! Young man, 'twas not well done, in idle pique, To wound the heart that lov'd you. Percy. O sir! speak! My Geraldine, your niece, is she not married? Delawar. Nor like to be, poor wench, but to her grave, If mourning for false lovers break maids' hearts. Percy. Was she then true? O madman! idiot! To let the feeble breath of empty rumour Drive me from heavenly happiness! Delawar. Poor girl! She fain would have embark'd with me. Percy. Ah, sir! Why did she not? Delawar. Marry, sir, I forbade her: The rough voyage would have shook her slender health To dissolution. Geraldine. Pardon, sir; not so— Delawar. How now, pert page? Geraldine. For here she is, my lord. And the rough voyage has giv'n her a new life. Percy. My Geraldine! Delawar. My niece! O brazenface! Approach me not; fly from your uncle's anger; Fly to your husband's arms for shelter, hussy! [Geraldine flies to Percy's embrace. Percy. Oh! speechless transport! mute let me infold thee! Delawar. [To Kate.] And you, my little spark, perhaps, your cloak Speak, lady: for I see that title writ In crimson characters upon your cheek. Art of my blood? Larry. No, sir, she's of my flesh; Flesh of my flesh, my lord. Now, arrah, Kate, Don't blush. This goodly company all knows My flesh may wear the breeches, without scandal. Walter. Listen not, Alice, to his sophistry. Sir, if our good wives learn this argument, They'll logically pluck away our— Alice. Tut: Fear ye not that; for when a woman would, She'll draw them on without a rule of reason. Delawar. Methinks 'tis pairing time among the turtles. Who have we here? Robin and Nima come forward. Robin. A pair of pigeons, sir; or rather a robin and a dove. A wild thing, sir, that I caught in the wood here. But when I have clipt her wings, and tamed her, I hope (without offence to this good company) that we shall bill without biting more than our neighbours. Smith. Joy to ye, gentle lovers; joy to all; A goodly circle, and a fair. Methinks Wild Nature smooths apace her savage frown, Moulding her features to a social smile. Now flies my hope-wing'd fancy o'er the gulf That lies between us and the aftertime, When this fine portion of the globe shall teem With civiliz'd society; when arts, And industry, and elegance shall reign, As the shrill war-cry of the savage man Yields to the jocund shepherd's roundelay. Oh, enviable country! thus disjoin'd From old licentious Europe! may'st thou rise, Free from those bonds which fraud and superstition In barbarous ages have enchain'd her with;— Bidding the antique world with wonder view A great, yet virtuous empire in the west! Finale. Freedom, on the western shore Float thy banner o'er the brave; Plenty, here thy blessings pour; Peace, thy olive sceptre wave! Percy, Walter, &c. Fire-eyed Valour, guard the land; Here uprear thy fearless crest; Princess, Kate, Alice, &c. Love, diffuse thy influence bland O'er the regions of the west. Chorus, Freedom, &c. Larry. Hither, lassie, frank and pretty, Come and live without formality. Thou, in English christen'd Pity, But call'd, in Irish, Hospitality. Chorus, Freedom, &c. The End. Transcribers' Notes Page 576: invigourate as in original. Pages 580, 627: inconsistent hyphenation of after(-)time as in original. |
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