Pocahontas

A poem by James Barron Hope

Her story, sure, was fashioned out above,
Ere 't was enacted on the scene below!
For 't was a very miracle of love
When from the savage hawk's nest came the dove
With wings of peace to stay the ordered blow -
The hawk's plumes bloody, but the dove's as snow!

And here my heart oppressed by pleasant tears
Yields to a young girl's half angelic spell -
Yes, for that maiden like a Saint appears;
She needs no fresco, stone, nor shrine to tell
Her story to the people of this Land -
Saint of the Wilderness, enthroned amid
The wooded Minster where the Pagan hid!

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