Wearied arm and broken sword <br />Wage in vain the desperate fight: <br />Round him press a countless horde, <br />He is but a single knight. <br />Hark! a cry of triumph shrill <br />Through the wilderness resounds, <br />As, with twenty bleeding wounds, <br />Sinks the warrior, fighting still. <br /> <br />Now they heap the fatal pyre, <br />And the torch of death they light: <br />Ah! 'tis hard to die of fire! <br />Who will shield the captive knight? <br />Round the stake with fiendish cry <br />Wheel and dance the savage crowd, <br />Cold the victim's mien, and proud. <br />And his breast is bared to die. <br /> <br />Who will shield the fearless heart? <br />Who avert the murderous blade? <br />From the throng, with sudden start, <br />See there springs an Indian maid. <br />Quick she stands before the knight, <br />'Loose the chain, unbind the ring, <br />I am daughter of the king, <br />And I claim the Indian right!' <br /> <br />Dauntlessly aside she flings <br />Lifted axe and thirsty knife; <br />Fondly to his heart she clings, <br />And her bosom guards his life! <br />In the woods of Powhattan, <br />Still 'tis told by Indian fires, <br />How a daughter of their sires <br />Saved the captive Englishman.<br /><br />William Makepeace Thackeray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pocahontas-3/
