shall that brave man die!

_Music. The KING motions with his hand, and SMITH is led to the block._

MIAMI. [_To executioners._] Warriors, when the third signal strikes, sink
your tomahawks in his head.

POCAHONTAS. Oh, do not, warriors, do not! Father, incline your heart to
mercy; he will win your battles, he will vanquish your enemies! [_First
signal._] Brother, speak! save your brother! Warriors, are you brave?
preserve the brave man! [_Second signal._] Miami, priest, sing the song
of peace; ah! strike not, hold! mercy!

_Music. The third signal is struck, the hatchets are lifted up: when
the PRINCESS, shrieking, runs distractedly to the block, and presses
SMITH'S head to her bosom._

White man, thou shalt not die; or I will die with thee!

_Music. She leads SMITH to the throne, and kneels._

My father, dost thou love thy daughter? listen to her voice; look upon her
tears: they ask for mercy to the captive. Is thy child dear to thee, my
father? Thy child will die with the white man.

_Plaintive music. She bows her head to his feet. POWHATAN, after some
deliberation, looking on his daughter with tenderness, presents her
with a string of white wampum. POCAHONTAS, with the wildest
expression of joy, rushes forward with SMITH, presenting the beads of
peace._

Captive! thou art free!--

_Music. General joy is diffused--MIAMI and GRIMOSCO only appear
discontented. The prince NANTAQUAS congratulates SMITH. The PRINCESS
shows the most extravagant emotions of rapture._

SMITH. O woman! angel sex! where'er thou art,
Still art thou heavenly. The rudest clime
Robs not thy glowing bosom of its nature.
Thrice blessed lady, take a captive's thanks!

[_He bows upon her hand._

POCAHONTAS. My brother!--

[_Music. SMITH expresses his gratitude._

NANTAQUAS. Father, hear the design that fills my breast. I will go among
the white men; I will learn their arts; and my people shall be made wise
and happy.

POCAHONTAS. I too will accompany my brother.

MIAMI. Princess!--

POCAHONTAS. Away, cruel Miami; you would have murdered my brother!--

POWHATAN. Go, my son; take thy warriors, and go with the white men.
Daughter, I cannot lose thee from mine eyes; accompany thy brother but a
little on his way. Stranger, depart in peace; I entrust my son to thy
friendship.

SMITH. Gracious sir,
He shall return with honours and with wonder