POCAHONTAS.

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!