Seba Smith,
Powhatan; A Metrical Romance, in Seven Cantos
“ But fierce the conflict yet must rage, For he was Powhatan. The monarch’s back to mortal foe Had never yet been given, And, come what will, he meets it now In the face of earth and heaven. Swinging his knotted war-club high, To the thickest ranks he press’d, Where fifty swords and bayonets Were pointed to his breast, And up and down, this way and that, His ponderous weapon threw, And broken muskets strew’d the ground, And swords like feathers flew. In vain the rallying forces came To aid the falling band; Numbers, nor arms, nor courage could The monarch’s rage withstand. ”
