George Pope Morris (1802–1864)

UPON the barren sand

A single captive stood;

Around him came, with bow and brand,

The red men of the wood.

Like him of old, his doom he hears,

Rock-bound on ocean’s brim—

The chieftain’s daughter knelt in tears,

And breathed a prayer for him.

Above his head in air

The savage war-club swung:

The frantic girl, in wild despair,

Her arms about him flung.

Then shook the warriors of the shade,

Like leaves on aspen limb,

Subdued by that heroic maid

Who breathed a prayer for him!

“Unbind him!” gasp’d the chief:

“It is your king’s decree!”

He kiss’d away the tears of grief,

And set the captive free!

’Tis ever thus, when in life’s storm

Hope’s star to man grows dim,

An angel kneels, in woman’s form,

And breathes a prayer for him.