WEARIED arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight; Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight. Hark! a cry of triumph shrill Through the wilderness resounds, As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still. Now they heap the funeral pyre, And the torch of death they light; Ah! 't is hard to die by fire! Who will shield the captive knight? Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd, Cold the victim's mien and proud, And his breast is bared to die. Who will shield the fearless heart? Who avert the murderous blade? From the throng with sudden start See, there springs an Indian maid. Quick she stands before the knight: "Loose the chain, unbind the ring! I am daughter of the king, And I claim the Indian right!" Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife, Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosom guards his life! In the woods of Powhatan, Still 't is told by Indian fires How a daughter of their sires Saved a captive Englishman. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 18 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE COMPARISON OF LOVE TO A STREAM FALLING FROM THE ALPS by THOMAS WYATT |