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!