hung over me.
Oh, had you seen her fly, like Pity's herald,
To stay the uplifted hatchet in its flight;
Or heard her, as with cherub voice she pled,
Like Heav'n's own angel-advocate, for mercy.

POCAHONTAS. My brother, speak not so. [_Bashfully._

ROLFE. What gentleness!
What sweet simplicity! what angel softness!

_ROLFE goes to her. She, timidly, but with evident pleasure, receives
his attentions. During this scene the PRINCESS discovers the first
advances of love in a heart of perfect simplicity. SMITH, &c.,
converse apart._

ROBIN. [_In the tree._] Egad! there's never a head hanging to their ears;
and their ears hang to their heads, for all the world as if they were
christians; I'll venture down among them.

[_Getting down._

NIMA. Ah! [_Bends her bow, and is about to shoot at him._

LARRY. Arrah! my little dark Diana, choose noble game, that's only little
Robin.

ROBIN. Aye, bless you, I'm only little Robin. [_Jumps down._

_NIMA examines him curiously, but fearfully._

ROBIN. Gad, she's taken with my figure; ah! there it is now; a personable
fellow shall have his wench any where. Yes, she's admiring my figure.
Well, my dusky dear, how could you like such a man as I am?

NIMA. Are you a man?

ROBIN. I'll convince you of it some day. Hark ye, my dear.
[_Attempts to whisper._

NIMA. Ah! don't bite.

ROBIN. Bite! what do you take me for?

NIMA. A racoon.

ROBIN. A racoon! Why so?

NIMA. You run up the tree. [_Motions as if climbing._

LARRY. Well said, my little pagan Pythagoras!--
Ha! ha!

ROBIN. Hum! [_Retires disconcerted._

_ROLFE and PERCY come forward._

ROLFE. Tell me, in sooth, didst ever mark such sweetness!
Such winning--such bewitching gentleness!

PERCY. What, caught, my flighty friend, love-lim'd at last?
O Cupid, Cupid! thou'rt a skilful birder.
Although thou spread thy net, i' the wilderness,
Or shoot thy bird-bolt from an Indian bow,
Or place thy light in savage ladies' eyes,
Or pipe thy call in savage ladies' voices,
Alas! each tow'ring tenant of the air
Must fall heart pierc'd--or stoop, at thy command,
To sigh his sad notes in thy cage, O Cupid!

ROLFE. A truce; a truce! O friend, her guiltless breast
Seems Love's pavilion, where, in gentle sleep,