Verse > Anthologies > William McCarty, ed. > The American National Song Book
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William McCarty, comp.  The American National Song Book.  1842.
 
Pocahontas
By Moses Y. Scott
 
RUDE was the storm, and her fallen hair
Stream’d in the gale from her bosom bare,
As, alone, through the forest’s blacken’d shade,
On errand of fear came the Indian maid.
 
Wild was her look; but her eye was bright        5
With the melting beam of Mercy’s light—
Her speech was hurried; but kindness hung
On the accents bland of her warning tongue.
 
“White men, beware of Havoc’s sweep!
He is waked in the forest from sullen sleep—        10
He would drink your blood in a guardless hour,
And your wives and slumbering babes devour.
 
“Beware!—for the tempest, chain’d so long,
Shall burst to-night, in its fury strong:
The trees must root them against its sway,        15
And the branches cling, or be scatter’d away!
 
“The fire shall rage, for the breeze is blowing;
The smoke rolls hither—the flames are glowing;
They climb the hills; to the vales they spread—
The night is black; but the forest is red.        20
 
White men, beware!—And when, at last,
Your fears are dead, and your dangers past,
Shall the voice of the warner be e’er betray’d?
Shall white men forget the Indian maid?”
 
 
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