,
Man-te-o, the friendly Weroance,
Faithful proved to all his pledges.
Smoked with them the pipe of friendship,
Took their God to be his Father;
Took upon his swarthy forehead
Their strange emblem of salvation,[O]
Emblem of the One Great Spirit,
Father of all tribes and nations.
Man-te-o, the friend and brother,
Bade them fear the false Wan-ches-e,
And the Weroance Win-gin-a,
Whose hearts burned with bitter hatred
For the men they feared in combat,
For the strangers who defied them.

[Illustration: Man-te-o, a chiefe lorde of Roanoak]

When the Pale-Face, weak and hungry,
Feeble from continued labor,
Shivered in the blasts of winter
Which blew cold across the water,
Then Wan-ches-e planned their ruin,
With Win-gin-a sought to slay them.

To the isle of Ro-a-no-ak,
Where the Pale-Face slept unguarded,
Sped the swift canoes of Red Men,
Gliding through the silent shadows.
As the sky grew red with dawning,[P]
While they dreamed of home and kindred,
Suddenly with whoop of murder
Wily Indians swarmed around them.

Skill of Pale-Face, craft of Red Man,
Met in fierce, determined battle;
While within the Fort called Ralegh
Many arrows fell, like raindrops.
Arrows tipped with serpent's poison,
Arrows tipped with blazing rosin,
Winged with savage thirst for murder,
Aimed with cruel skill to torture.
Threatened by the blazing roof-tree
Then the Pale-Face crouched in terror;
Saw the folly of resistance,
Feared his doom, and fled for safety.

Man-te-o, alert for danger,
From afar saw signs of conflict;
Saw the waves of smoke ascending
Heavenward, like prayers for rescue.
Swift, with boats and trusty warriors,
Crossed he then to Ro-a-no-ak;
Strong to help his Pale-Face brothers,
Faithful to his friendly pledges.

As the daylight slowly faded,
Hopeless of the bloody struggle,
Stealthily the Pale-Face warriors
Fled with Man-te-o's brave people.
Left they then the Fort called Ralegh,
Left the dead within its stockade;
Sought another island refuge,
Hoping there to rest in safety.

Man-te-o sought for the mother,[Q]
She with babe there born and nurtured
'Neath the shadow of disaster,
In the Land-of-Wind-and-Water.
"Come," said he, "the darkness falleth,
All your people must flee henceward;
Wan-ches-e will show no mercy,
You must not become his captive.
Take the papoose from thy bosom,
Call the white chief whom thou lovest,
Haste with me upon the flood-tide
To my wigwam on Wo-ko-kon."

Noiseless, she