WHATCHEER. (continued 2)

As thus he spake, the sullen murmurs died, And, hushed and listening, all the warriors stood; Again he moved—and at his onward stride The deep mass parted like a severing flood; And, yielding either way, the living tide Left clear the space through which our Founder trod: Their breath alone he heard—like the hoarse breeze Foreboding tempests to the shuddering trees.

At last he came where the old Sachems sate, Who formed the Narraganset senate grave; Renownéd were they once, in fierce debate Of battle dire, as bravest of the brave; But now, as guardians of their little state, To younger hands they prudent counsel gave. Their youth was gone, but their experience sage Had thrice its value in a wise old age.

On settles, raised around the mounting blaze, Sit gray Wauontom, Keenomp, Sagamore; But he who most attracts our Founder’s gaze Is sage Canonicus, whose tresses hoar Float on the passing breeze; whose brow displays The care-worn soul in many a furrowed score; But whose bright eyes, that underneath it glow, Still show the chief of sixty years ago.

Beside him lay the calumet of peace— It was his sceptre mid the din of arms; No martial dyes did on his visage trace The lines of wrath—for him they had no charms; The neyhom’s[17] mantle did his shoulders grace, With ample folds that stayed the winter’s harms; At every movement, changing in the sun, From plume to plume its glistering glories run.

Mute were the chiefs and seemed to meditate; Nor turned their heads, nor cast a glance aside, When on the offered mat our Founder sate, And close behind him came his watchful guide. Then spread the warriors round in circle great, And did the earth beneath their numbers hide; They sit, kneel, stand, or climb the forest boughs, Till all around the live enclosure grows.

When ceased the crowd to stir, and died their hum, Long on our Sire the old chief kept his gaze; At length he said: “And has Awanux come? He’s welcome to the red man’s council blaze. What news brings he from the pale stranger’s home? Or from the dog that near his wigwam strays? Our young men see the pipe—what does it seek? Our ears are open—let Awanux speak.”

Sire Williams rose;—a thousand staring eyes Were on him fixed; a thousand ears were spread To catch his words, whilst all around him lies That mass of life hushed in a calmness dread, Like that of dark Ontario, when the skies Are mustering their tempests overhead; And the round moon looks through the gathering storm And, glassed mid tempest shapes, beholds her form.

He paused a while; at last he thus began: “Sachem of many moons, and wise as gray! Well knowest thou how short the life of man; These aged oaks have witnessed the decay Of many a generation of thy clan, Which flourished like their leaves, and past away; Why war ye, then, upon a life so brief!— Why fill its little span with wretchedness and grief?

“But they who seek the pure unmingled goods That last for aye,—to strenuous duty true,— Count freedom of the soul, in her high moods, The first of gifts from the Great Manittoo:— For this I wander to these distant woods; For this from persecution’s brands I flew, And left my friends, my kindred, and my home, Through stormy skies and snowy wilds to roam.

“Some thoughts of mine, that the Great Spirit might Rule better His own kingdom than frail men, Awoke the anger of my brothers white, And sent me forth to seek some far-off glen, Where I, unharmed, my council fire might light, And share its freedom with my kindred, when Under the tree of peace, the red men should Smoke the white pipe in friendly neighborhood.

“On Seekonk’s eastern marge I chose a glade, Fertile and fair, with hope to plant thereon; The Wampanoag would the grant have made, But, momently, the startling rumor run That all Coweset was in arms arrayed Against that chief, and, had the dance begun; Then paused your brother—for he would not bring His friends to sit beneath the hatchet’s swing.

“Then did he take Haup’s calumet to crave That peace between the hostile nations be; Not that the Wampanoag warriors brave Sought from the Narraganset storm to flee; But that no guilty stain, on Seekonk’s wave, Rebuke the Pokanoket Chief or thee,— The work, perchance, of darts from heedless bows, Confounding pale-faced friends with warring foes.

“My motives these; now let the wise chief tell What wrongs he suffers; what redress he seeks. Do not his buried kindred slumber well? What murdered victim’s ghost for vengeance shrieks— Sends through the echoing woods the warrior’s yell, And from its iron sleep the hatchet wakes? Or does some impious tongue his anger brave, By speaking names made sacred by the grave?”

Then passed a murmur through that concourse wide, And man on man cast the inquiring eye; At length the old chief laid his pipe aside, And, musing, sate, as pondering his reply; Then slowly rose, and drew the pluméd hide From his right shoulder, and, with stature high, Stretched forth his long bare arm and shriveled hand, And pointing round the sky-encircled land;—

“As far,” he said, and solemn was his tone, “As from Coweset’s hill the hunter’s sight Goes tow’rd the Nipnet—tow’rd the rising sun— And o’er the mighty billows, foaming bright, Where bleak Manisses’ shores they thunder on, Moved Narraganset warriors,—till the White Came from the east, and o’er the waters blue, Brought his loud thunders in the big canoe:

“Yes, ere he came, Pocasset’s martial band Did at our bidding come to fight the foe, And the tall warriors of the Nipnet land Rushed with swift foot to bend our battle bow; And e’en the dog of Haup did cringing stand Beside our wigwam, and his tribute show. Then we were strong—we fought the Maquas fell, And laughed to hear the bordering Pequot’s yell.

“But, Yengee, hear: The pale-faced strangers came; No runners told us that they trod our shores; Near the big waters rose their council flame, And to it ran our eastern Sagamores; Haup’s dog forgot the Narraganset name, And ate the offal cast from white men’s doors, Moved at their heels, and after him he drew The strong Pocassets, and the Nipnets too.

“Then the fierce Pequots on our borders broke,— We sent the belt to claim the accustomed aid; The rebel chiefs the angry hatchet shook— They were the Yengee’s men, not ours, they said; We stood alone; and, like a steadfast rock, Turned back the torrent to its fountain head, Which else had swept those sluggard tribes away, That by Awanux’ wigwam slumbering lay.

“These are our wrongs, and who can ever mend The belt thus broken by the rebel train? The falling waters with earth’s bosom blend, And who shall hold them in his palm again? Against the common foe our warriors spend Their blood like rivers—who can wake the slain? Heal up the wounds for other men endured— Give back the blood which has their rest secured?”

The Sachem ceased, and mingled murmurs ran Through all that crowd—“He speaks a manittoo! Base Wampanoag! we’ll devour that clan, And drive the Yengees back o’er ocean blue!” And through the concourse motions mixed began, With clash of arms, and twanging of the yew; But when they saw our Founder rise again, Mute stillness hushed the murmurs of the train.

“Brother,” said Williams, “thou art old and wise, And know’st the pipe is better than the dart. The barb can drink the blood of enemies; But the pipe’s conquest is the foeman’s heart; It gives to us his strength and energies, And makes the Pequot from our path depart. This, to the good, gives triumph long and just— That, to the bad, a victory over dust.

“If, then, my brother can subdue his foes By the white pipe, he will be very strong! The offending chiefs once more will bend his bows, And shout around his fire their battle song; No more will Pequot harass his repose, Or Maqua yells resound these hills among. See not my brothers whence all this distrust?— The belt between them and the Yengees rust.

“Hearken a space—Deem not the Yengee weak; Betwixt him and Haup’s chief the chain is bright; If thou on him a finger’s vengeance wreak, The conscious chain will vibrate to the White, And, roused from slumber, will the big guns speak, And flames will flash from every woodland height. Pause, brother, pause—and to the pale-faced train Extend thy friendship, and keep bright the chain.

“But hearken still—Thy brother knows no guile; His tongue speaks truly what his heart conceives; Against the Pequots do your bosoms boil, And for the Pequot deeds Awanux grieves; Their hands are laden with the white man’s spoil, And crimsoned with the stain that murder leaves; Soon will the big guns to their nation speak, And, in their aid, may’st thou just vengeance wreak.

“Thou would’st compel the Wampanoag’s aid To guard thy borders, and chastise thy foes; Will not my brothers let me them persuade To get them warriors armed with more than bows? Even Awanux, in his strength arrayed, Whose thunder roars and whose red lightning glows? Make him your friend and victory follows sure, And Narraganset rests in peace secure.”

The old chief downward gazed; the warriors round, Some in stern silence sate of doubtful mood, Some gave a scornful smile, some fiercely frowned, And others toiled to sharp their darts for blood; At length the Sachem, rising from the ground, With piercing eyes, full in the visage viewed Our anxious Founder.—“Thou dost speak,” he said, “The words of wisdom, but these ears are dead;

“Dead to a Yengee’s voice. When did the tongue Of the white stranger fail to speak most fair? When did his actions not his speeches wrong, And lay the falsehood of his bosom bare? Fain would I die in peace, and leave this throng To have their glory down the ages fare; But still I feel the stranger’s grasping hand, And still he soothes me with his accents bland.

“If true he speak—that should his actions show; May not his heart be darker than yon cloud, And yet his words white as its falling snow? Still, if his speech were true, and not a shroud To hide dark thought, these gray hairs yet might go Down to the grave in peace—and of my blood Might all, whilst rivers roll, or rain descends, Live with the Yengee, kind and loving friends.”

’Twas for our Founder now in turn to pause— He felt his weakness at rebuff so stern; The kid had leaped beneath the lion’s paws, Whose fangs began to move, and eyes to burn; At length he said, “What bold encroachment draws The Sachem’s mind into this deep concern? How have the Yengees given thee offence? What deeds of theirs have marred thy confidence?”

At this, the Sachem from his girdle took His snow-white pipe, and snapt the stem in twain: “They came intruders, and the pipe was broke,” Said the stern Sachem, and it snapt again; “Our subject chiefs their ruling chiefs forsook, And they were sheltered by the stranger’s train. This fragment shows the serpent’s skin they sent, Filled with round thunders to our royal tent.

“This shows, they raised their bulwarks high and proud, And poised their big guns at our distant home. This, when at Sowams[18] raged our battle loud, How their round thunders made that battle dumb. This, the fire-water how they have bestowed, And with its madness have our youth o’ercome. This, how amid the Pequot nation they Build the square lodge, and whet him to the fray.

“This, with the Maqua how a league they made, And filled with arms his all-destroying hand. This, how they claim right over quick and dead— Our fathers’ buried bones, their children’s land. This, how the earth grows pale, as fast they spread From glade to glade, like snow from Wamponand, When borne o’er ocean on the sounding gales, It crowns the hills and whitens through the vales.

“Take thou the fragments—count their numbers well— Ten times complains our violated right; They’ll help thy memory, and perchance will tell, Ten causes have we to distrust the White; Scarce can the grave our fathers’ spirits quell— They come complaining in the dreams of night; Ten times the pipe was by the strangers broke, Ten times the hatchet from its slumbers woke.”

Williams the fragments took, and, counting ten, He promptly answered with this calm reply: “Sachem, some charity is due to men Who tread upon thy pipe unwittingly. Long had the waters tossed those wanderers, when, Hungry and cold, they came thy borders nigh; And, Sachem, they were ignorant of thy race, They only sought a safe abiding place.

“And this they found in that deserted strand, Where slept the dead—where living men were not; They knew no wrong in this—a rightful hand Appeared, and welcomed to the vacant spot; Each Sachem seemed as sovereign of his band— They took his belt, for ’twas a token brought Of friendly greeting—who can this condemn? They aid the Whites, the Whites in turn aid them.

“Bound in the skin of the great sachem snake, My brother sent his barbs—but to his foe, Awanux took the challenge by mistake, And let his bullets for an answer go; They deemed the Sachem angry, and did take Some wise precaution ’gainst a secret blow; They raise their bulwarks, and their guns they poise; This was respect to sovereign brave and wise.

“No leagues have they with the fierce Maqua made, Nor with the Pequot hostile is the race; But if my brothers, for the fight arrayed, O’er Pokanoket’s borders speed their pace, I dare not say they would forego the aid Of any tribe that would thy battle face; Mohegans, Pequots, Tarrateens would fly To join their force, and swell their battle cry.

“To these six fragments of the pipe I’ve spoke; Take them again, if I have answered well; But those which tell me that the stem was broke By the fire-water, and of what befel Thee upon Haup—of claims thou canst not brook, Made by those strangers from the nations pale To these broad forests as their own domain— These will I ask Awanux to explain.

“This fragment tells me that his numbers grow, That they are spreading fast, from glade to glade; If the Great Spirit does increase bestow, Will the wise Sachem that great Power upbraid? The lands they take, well does my brother know, They fairly purchase of the nations red; E’en thus would I on Seekonk’s marge abide, If peaceful nations dwelt on either side.

“On Seekonk’s bank, betwixt my brothers white And the red nations I might friendly stand, And help them still to understand aright Whate’er was doubtful from each other’s hand; The chain of friendship hold, and keep it bright, And strengthen thus all Narraganset’s band; Till ’gainst our common foes we all unite, And conquer safety through resistless might.

“This question seeks the Sachem’s plain reply: Takes he the pipe—lays he the axe aside? Have I his peace, or does he peace deny, Nor in my honest counsels aught confide? Still chooses he the doubtful strife to try, And brave the Yengees with his foes allied? Say—can he listen to an exiled man, Whose words and deeds might still befriend his clan?”

“Brother,” the Sachem said in milder tone, “Six fragments of the pipe, as well explained, My willing hand receives—I ponder on The last in doubt—the three, thou hast retained, Send to Awanux—may he answer soon, And show our blindness has of them complained; Thy heart seems open, and its speech is brave; Queries of weight demand an answer grave.

“Large is our regal lodge, and furnished well With skins of beaver, bear, and buffalo; Nausamp and venison is its royal meal; And its warm fire is like the summer’s glow: There, with that Wampanoag shalt thou dwell, And all our comforts in full safety know; The whilst, our old chiefs shall, in council great, Upon thy questions gravely meditate.”

Here closed the long debate, and, from the ground, Rose the thronged warriors, and hoarse murmurs past Through all that concourse, like the hollow sound Of Narraganset’s waters, when the blast Begins to roll the tumbling billows round The rock-bound cape, which had so lately glassed Its imaged self—its pendant crags and wood— In the calm bosom of the silent flood.

Deep in the dale’s sequestered solitude, Screened from the winter’s storm and chilling blast By branching cedars and thick underwood, And ever with their shadows overcast, Old Narraganset’s regal wigwam stood, Where dwelt her chief, while yet the cold did last, And tempests, driving from the frozen north, Detained his warriors from the work of wrath.

And near it rose an ample council hall, Where oft the Narraganset senate sate, When came the wise men, at their Sachem’s call, On schemes of high emprise to hold debate; And in the shade were shelters meet, for all His grave advisers who should on him wait; And, with the red men just as with the white, Such free provision did delays invite.

Here Father Williams must a while remain. And, with apt converse born of feelings mild, Soothe the stern natures of the warlike train, His destined neighbors in that barbarous wild; Allay distrust and confidence obtain, Until suspicion and fierce wrath, despoiled Of all their terrors, leave the vanquished mind To generous friendship and full faith inclined.

Day after day he passed from man to man, Whome’er of note the mightier Sachems swayed, And, to the chieftains of each martial clan, In paints all grim—in horrid arms arrayed— He talked of peace; then o’er the dangers ran, Were war against the Wampanoag made; And then besought them that with friendly eyes, They would behold his smoke from Seekonk rise.

Betwixt the tribes, on either side the stream, Still he the belt would hold—the pipe would bear; But never in his hand should lightning gleam For either Sachem when he rushed to war; And with the Yengees still might it beseem Him to promote an understanding fair, Till wide the tree of peace its branches spread, And white and red men smoked beneath its shade.

But chiefly did he this free converse hold With M’antonomi, Sachem young and brave, And great Canonicus, sagacious, old And in his speech deliberate and grave. One eve they sate—the storm without was cold, ’Twas ere the council their decision gave, And thus the talk went on among the three, The questions simple and the answers free.

Why will my brother dwell amid our foes, Yet seek from us a peaceful neighborhood? May we not think he’ll bend their battle bows, And thirst like them for Narraganset’s blood? Why has he Seekonk’s eastern border chose, And not surveyed Mooshausick’s winding flood? Its banks are green,—its forests waving fair,— Its fountains cool, the deer abundant there.

Ne’er will I dwell among my brother’s foes,— To make them friends is now thy brother’s toil; Too weak I am to bend their battle bows, Had I the heart for such unseemly broil. The forest fair that by Mooshausick grows, Would long withstand the hardy woodman’s toil. The Seekonk’s marge will easy tillage yield, And soon the spiry maize will clothe its field.

How could my brother’s thoughts his friends offend? Why flies he to the red from faces pale? How can he still the nations red befriend? What can his speeches with his foes avail? No arms he bears, no Yengees him attend, How dares his foot to print this distant vale? The path was shut between the nations red,— How dared my brother on that path to tread?

The white man labors to enthrall the mind, He will not let its thoughts of God be free; I come the soul’s hard bondage to unbind, And clear her access to the Deity; The pale-faced foes whom I have left behind, Would still accept a favor done by me. I trusted God would guard his servant’s head, Open all paths, and soothe my brothers red.

Thy generous confidence has on me won And oped my ears, to other Yengees deaf. Brother, the spirit of my son is gone— I burned my lodge to speak my mighty grief; If thou art true I am not left alone, Some comfort is there for the gray-haired chief; If to thy words the fitting deeds be done, I am thy father, thou shalt be my son.

The kindest reader would fatigued complain, Should I recount each question and reply, That passed between our Father and the train Of barbarous warriors and their Sachems high; But though he languished o’er my humble strain, Till patience left or dullness closed his eye, To Williams it was not an idle song— The dull reality did days prolong.

They had their Corbitants of surly mood, Who scarce would yield obedience to their lord; Alike they thirsted for the Yengees’ blood, And Wampanoag’s and alike abhorred. By gaudy gifts their anger he subdued, Or won their kindness by his soothing word; But one there was who spurned all proffers kind, Whose demon hate was to all goodness blind.

It was the grim Pawaw.—He came in ire From his proud dwelling by Mooshausick’s stream; His was the voice of gods and omens dire, And loud he chanted his prophetic dream; “The white man’s gods had set the woods on fire, And Chepian vanished in its fearful gleam; Their fathers’ ghosts came from their hunting ground— Their children sought, and only ashes found.”

Gravely attentive did the council hear That crafty priest his awful omens sing. The warriors, ruled by superstitious fear, Half credence gave, and overawed the king. In groups they thronged the forest, far and near, With gathered brows and surly muttering; And still the prophet through the kindling crowds, Moved like a comet through night’s lowering clouds.

And as he passed, the varying rumors flew Of secret plans hatched by the Yengees’ hate; And still their fears and doubts and wonder grew, Whilst on that dream the chiefs prolonged debate; For priest he was and politician too, And oft he meddled with affairs of state, Wrought on the fears of superstition’s crew, And the best counsels of the wise o’erthrew.

Thus, when the senate dared resist his sway, He still gained triumph with the multitude; Till now the chiefs, half yielding to dismay, Yet vexed and goaded by his rebel mood, Bade that the clans assemble on a day, And Williams meet the prophet of the wood, And in their presence front and overthrow His strange dominion, or all hope forego.

I will not say that devils did enlist To do the bidding of the grim Pawaw; He may have been a wild ventriloquist, Formed by rude nature; but the age which saw The marvels that he wrought, would aye insist His spells surpassed material nature’s law; And that the monarch of the infernal shade Mustered his legions to the wizard’s aid.

Great was his fame; for wide the rumor went That all the demons were at his command, And fiends in rocks, and dens, and caverns pent, Came to the beck of his black waving hand; The boldest Keenomps, on resistance bent, Could not the terror of his charms withstand; But still would shrink and shudder at the sound, When spoke his viewless fiends in anger round.

And it was rumored that he daily held Communion strange with monsters of the wood, Harked to their voices, and their meanings spelled, And muttered answers which they understood; That he had filled with wisdom unexcelled, A cherished serpent of the sesek’s brood,— Had taught his forky tongue to modulate The voice of man, and speak impending fate.

At length the morn of this stern trial rose, And mustering towns poured forth their eager trains, From where wild Pawcatuck’s dark water flows, To where Pawtucket cleaves the sounding plains; From where Aquidnay’s blooming bosom throws The ocean back, unto the far domains Of the rude Nipnet, Narraganset’s wood Rendered in eager throngs the multitude.

Swarm upon swarm, far dark’ning all the ground, They gathered, and on Potowomet’s plain, The dusky rabble filled the borders round, While near the centre stood the warrior train; Wild dance their plumes; fierce looks, fierce threats abound, With war of voices like the murmuring main, Wherein these words continually prevail:— “The priest of Chepian grim!—Awanux weak and pale!”

The council formed upon the open glade; The Sachems sate about the mounting blaze; Five thousand warriors round that senate made A dreadful ring, and stared with fixed amaze; Within the senate, (so the chieftains bade,) Apart sate Williams, obvious to their gaze; And off a little, but confronting him, Appeared the wizard in his hideous trim.

From crown to heel stained black as night he rose, All naked save his waist and heaving chest; The sable fox-hide did his loins enclose, The sable fox-tail formed the nodding crest Above his inky locks, which, dangling loose, Half veiled his cheeks, and reached unto his breast; Around that breast the same black fox’s hair Moved as he breathed, and seemed as growing there.

Tall was his form, and in his dexter hand He bore a barb with deadly venom fraught; Whilst in his left, supported by a band, He held a casket, where the rabble thought A manittoo, awaiting his command, Coiled in a serpent’s folds; and there was nought That in brave warriors could awaken fright, Save his dire glance and fascinating might.

For, strange to tell! e’en on the human kind, That serpent ventured his mysterious charm; And there were those who thought the subtle mind Of Chepian’s self inspired his winding form. All sought his omens.—He was aye enshrined, Through winter’s cold, in furs to keep him warm; And never issued to the open light, Till famine roused his rage, or prey provoked his might.

Thus, with strange terrors armed, the wizard stood, And on the casket riveted his eyes, And whispered for a while in ghastly mood, Until responses from it seemed to rise Faintly distinct, whereat the vulgar blood Stayed its career, and even Sachems wise Heard with a thrill,—for these dread accents rose: “Count ye the sands—ye count your pale-faced foes.”

The prophet looked around, the throngs to scan; And well he noted by the silence dread The moment of effect, and then began,— Beseeching first his fearful demon’s aid: “Chepian, thou power of evil! dread of man! God of destruction! pouring on the head Of thy opposers, ruins, plagues, and pest,— Let all thy might thy serpent form invest.”

He said; then turning to the throngs he spoke: “Brothers! dark tempests overcast our sky; The characters upon Cohannet’s rock Set bounds in vain; the stranger doth defy And break our spells; dread Chepian feels the shock; In wrath he sees the approaching deity Of the pale man—and, in his coming stride, Feels scathe and death to his dominion wide.

“Now hearken, brothers:—’twas a dismal night, And in his cave sate Tatoban alone; The fading embers shed a dreary light, And the big owl sent forth a hollow moan; The god of tempests sped his rapid flight, And with his footsteps made the forest groan; And whilst he sate, out from the deepest gloom Did the dread form of awful Chepian come.

“‘Sleeps Tatoban!’ the awful demon said, ‘Sleeps Tatoban! my Priest, my Prophet sleep! Does not a pale man my dominion tread? With hostile gods has he not crossed the deep? Prophet! the spirits of your kindred dead Already o’er their children’s ashes weep;— Arise! go forth, and by thy serpent quell The daring stranger, and his gods expel!

“‘Hast thou forgot, when, by Cohannet’s stream, To curse the strangers every charm was tried? How, at your mutterings, the moon’s pale beam Retired from Heaven, and backward rushed the tide? How I appeared, and, by the embers’ gleam, To the hard rock my lance’s point applied, And scored my mandate—saying to the foe, Thus far thy gods may come—no further go?[19]

“‘Rouse, Prophet, rouse! A stranger now doth dare Pass the charmed limits, and our peace invade!’ He said, and, resting on the casket there, Melted from sight into the sombre shade: He chose my serpent for his earthly lair; Swelled his huge volumes, and inspired his head, And taught his tongue to speak the future well, And charms most wise that can the bravest quell.

“And dar’st thou, stranger, brave his glance of fire? Dar’st thou confront the terror of his charms? Confront grim Chepian in the dread attire Of the great Sesek, whose unearthly arms Wake fear in Sachems? O, thou fool! retire— Bear off thy gods; for robed in all their harms Thou art unsafe.—No power we yield to thee, Or to thy gods; for Chepian rules by me.”

Williams replied, “Thou Priest of Beelzebub! Chepian, I mean, if that’s his better name— I come not hither to assume thy robe Pontifical, or emulate thy fame; Or yet to trouble, with the warrior’s club, Such saints as thou and thy dark demon claim; For be but peaceful, and I let thee still Worship thy manit dark, as suits thy will.

“But here I sit, to prove thee to thy face A foul impostor, and thy charms a cheat;— To ope the eyes of a deluded race, Strangely misled by thine infernal feat, That in thy foe they confidence may place, And him, in friendship, as a neighbor greet; So try thy spells, thine utmost powers essay, And if I blench, be thine the victor’s day.”

“Die, then!” he said, and down with fury cast The magic casket, and wide open flew Its fur-lined cavern. Forth his volumes vast, Fold following fold, the monstrous serpent drew; Flashed on his burnished scales, the sunbeams past Along his flexuous form in many a hue; Proud of his freedom, o’er the glade he rolled, And mocked the rainbow in his hues of gold.

High towered his head; in many an ample fold He coiled his volumes, spires o’er spires ascending And lessening as they rose and inward rolled; His rustling scales, their various colors blending, Surpassed the hues of diamond and of gold; Till, from the top pyramidal extending, Swam forth on crooked neck his eyes of flame, Rang his sharp buzz, and on he slowly came.

Shouted the crowds, as they beheld him rise, “The manittoo! The manittoo!” they cried. In sooth, their demon, from his burning eyes, Seemed looking forth, and his unlabored glide Scarce earthly seemed, the while his glistering dyes In mingling brilliance changed and multiplied, And scarce the curves that moved him did untwist; But o’er them floating, like a globe of mist,

His quivering rattles buzzed. With curious eyes, Williams beheld him gradually advance, Then grasped a wand, then paused with fixed surprise, To see the gorgeous radiance, moving, glance The hues of heaven;—to see, now sink, now rise, His bending spires,—his wavering colors dance; And at each change of that deep thrilling hum The motions change—the colors go and come.

An odor, strange though not offensive, spread About him, as he near and nearer drew; But, piercing, keen, it filled our Founder’s head, Involved his brain, and passed his senses through; Entranced he sate, while round him rose and played Celestial hues, and music strange and new;— The heavens, the earth, to various radiance turned, And in a maze of mingling colors burned.

The juggling sesek vanished from his sight; No alien object did his trance confuse; So rang the hum, so danced the colors bright, The hues seemed music, and the music hues; Still swelled the sounds, still livelier flashed the light; His limbs obedience to his will refuse; He strove to rise, he yielded to affright, Like one be-nightmared in the dreams of night.

“Whence this dread power that steals my strength away? This creeping torpor, this Lethean dew? This strange wild rapture mingling with dismay? Ye dangerous beauties! vanish from my view; Creatures of Evil, come ye to betray One victim more, and his sad soul subdue Unto the Tempter, whose infernal spell Brought death to Eden, and gave joy to hell?

“And shall my labors thus inglorious end? Shall my defeat give him a triumph new?” The thought was fire, and did new vigor lend; Back rushed his soul through every avenue. A seeming cloud did from his brain ascend, The magic colors vanished from his view; And at his feet, in many a supple sweep, The odious reptile coiled him for the leap.

Swift darts the tongue, the horrid jaws unfold;— Williams beheld—struck—cleft the head away: In many a loosening coil the body rolled, Collapsed, grew still, and there extended lay, A headless reptile;—all its hues of gold And diamond deadened in its life’s decay; Whilst the foiled wizard looked upon the slain, And choked and yelled, then choked with rage again.

The crowds looked on ’twixt terror and surprise; They gazed—they gaped with fixed astonishment; Their serpent manit braved—ay, slaughtered lies! Is it Awanux that is prevalent? But when they gave full credence to their eyes, Wild wondering clamors through the masses went, Which closed in shouts that through the forest rolled, “The wizard conquered by the Yengee bold!”

Ill could that juggler a white victor brook, And Hell’s dark passions boiled through all his blood; His eyes shot fire, and from his belt he took His deadly dart,—and in stern silence viewed Its poisoned barb, whose short and horrid crook The jaws of seseks armed,—jaws all imbued With the keen venom gathered from the fangs Of such as died by self-inflicted pangs.

Nothing he spake, but with a hideous yell, Raised his long dart, and, backward as he bent, From starting eye-balls shot the light of Hell; At Williams’ breast the vengeful glance was sent, But as his muscles did the barb impel, Red Waban’s grasp obstructed their descent;— On earth the weapon falls and pants for blood; The lifted arm still threatening vengeance stood.

Miantonomi, who the scene surveyed, Too long had now his rising wrath concealed; A mighty lance his better hand displayed, And well he knew its haft of length to wield; Backward its hilt the angry Sachem swayed, And ’neath its stroke the staggering wizard reeled; Till from a storm of blows he cringing fled, And madly howling through the forest sped.

“Go, Priest of Chepian, go!” the Sachem said, “Thy dreams are false—thy charms are all a cheat; Go to thy manit—tell him that his aid Has failed thee once, and thou art sorely beat. Us have thy prophecies too long betrayed, And vacant in the council is thy seat. When aid we need, we will to him apply Who conquers thee, and slays thy deity.”

A while the throngs sate as in deep amaze— A while ’twas doubtful what might be their mood; At length wild shoutings they began to raise;— One transport filled the total multitude; Their Sachem’s boldness cheerly did they praise, For long had they with dread the wizard viewed; Nor less admired our Founder’s courage true, Which did that juggler and his charms subdue.

Then rose Canonicus, that shrewd old chief; “Brother!” he said, “much glory hast thou won; Thy deeds this day will scantly gain belief With warriors red, from rise to set of sun: Great Chepian’s priest, within a moment brief, Thou, with thy fearlessness, hast overdone; And thou art greater than his manits are,— For they were vanquished in the combat fair.

“Brother! we take thy calumet of peace, And throw the hatchet into quiet shade; The Wampanoag’s terrors may surcease, And thou mayst plant on Seekonk’s eastern glade; But hearken, brother!—better far would please Thy council fire if by Mooshausick made; But pass we that; for well our brother knows To live our friend surrounded by our foes.

“Brother! thou wilt our belt of friendship take, And for us win the kindness of the White, That when we war against the Pequot make, His hands may aid us, and his counsels light;— His thunders speak and all the forests shake,— His lightnings flash and spread a wild affright Through town and fortress, whereso’er we go, Till not a Pequot lives to tell his nation’s woe.

“Brother! we grant thee quiet neighborhood,— The tree of peace o’ershadows thee and me; And thou mayst hunt in Narraganset’s wood, And catch the fish that in our waters be; But thou must still promote the red man’s good, Keep bright his belt, and make thy counsels free When danger darkens;—and if this be done, I am thy father, thou shalt be my son.”

Scarce need I say, Sire Williams cheerly gave The pipe he bore and took the friendly belt; That thanks he tendered to the Sachems brave; That what he uttered he as deeply felt; That he repeated each assurance grave Of friendly favors, whilst he near them dwelt; Nor pause I, now, the customs to describe, By which the truce was honored by the tribe.

He took the Sachem’s friendly calumet, Then scattered wampum mid the warriors all; On Miantonomi’s lofty brow he set, Round waving plumes, the jeweled coronal; The scarlet coat the elder potentate Most trimly graced, and gave delight withal; Then ribbons gave he, various their hue, To counsellors and Keenomps, bold and true.

His mission finished, Father Williams sped, With Waban guiding, through the forest lone; Nor cold nor hunger did he longer dread, Or bore them cheerly now, his object won; Quickly to Haup did he the thickets thread— To Haup, so well to Pilgrim Father known— And found that Sachem, mid his warriors stern, Alarmed, but hoping still his safe return.

Gladly he heard from Waban’s faithful tongue Sire Williams’ speeches and the answers given, And wildly shouted all that warrior throng, To learn the dire enchanter’s spell was riven; And wilder shouts the echoing vales prolong, To hear that priest was from the council driven; “The tree of peace” they cried, “will bloom again, The wizard’s banished, and his manit slain.”

Then to the elder chief our Father gave The Narraganset friendly calumet; And it was pleasant to behold the grave And stern old Sachem, whilst his eyes were wet With tears of gratitude;—he could outbrave The stake’s grim tortures, and could smiling sit Amid surrounding foes; yet kindness could Subdue to tears this “stoic of the wood.”

He clasped our Father by the hand and led Him up, in silence, to the mountain’s crown; And there, from snow-capt outlook at its head, They gazed o’er bay and isle and forest brown. It seemed a summer’s eve in winter bred; The sun in ruddy gold was going down, And calm and far the expanded waters lay, Clad in the glory of the dying day.

There stretched Aquidnay tow’rd the ocean blue, In virgin wildness still of isles the queen; Her forests glimmered with the western hue, Her vales and banks were decked with cedars green, And southward far her swelling bosom drew Its lessening contours, in the distance seen;— Till, wavering indistinctly, in the gray Encroaching sea-mists they were hid away.

Beneath his feet, Aquidnay’s north extreme Displayed a cove, begemmed with islets gay; Its silvery surface caught the setting beam, Where’er the op’ning hemlocks gave it way; Young nature there, tranced in her earliest dream, Did all her whims in vital forms array; Her feathered tribes round beak and headland glide, Her scaly broods leap from the glassy tide.

Out from Aquidnay tow’rd the setting sun, Spread the calm waters like a sea of gold Studded with isles, till Narraganset dun Fringed the far west, and cape and headland bold, With forest shagged, cast their huge shadows down, And glassed them in the wave; while silence old Resumed her reign, save that by times did rise, On Williams’ ears, the sea-birds’ jangling cries.

Or the lone fowler, in his light canoe, Round jutting point all warily did glide, And pause awhile to watch, with steadfast view, Where the long-diving loon might break the tide; Then, noiseless, near the myriad seafowl drew, And, baffled, saw them scur, with clangor wide, Up from the foamy flood, and, mounting high, Darken the day, and seek another sky.

Then looking north, from far could he behold, Bright bursting from his source through forests dun, Like liquid silver, broad Cohannet rolled Tow’rd parent ocean;—there his currents run Embrowned by fringing woods;—here molten gold, Gleaming and glittering in the setting sun, They glance by Haup—there, eastward as they pour, They cleave Aquidnay from Pocasset’s shore.

That rude Pocasset—which, when Williams saw From towering Haup, did one broad forest shew; Here, steep o’er steep, there, leaving Nature’s law, Hill, glade, and swamp,—presenting to the view So mad a maze, that there, if hunter draw His sounding bow, and but a space pursue The wounded deer, he finds his guidance fail, And lost, halloos through tangled brake and dale.

Yet the rude wigwams smoked from many a glade, Where near the shore the oaks were branching wide, Where future gardens might invite the spade, Or furrowing plough the fertile glebe divide, And where, still south, the hills retiring made More ample meadows by the glassy tide; Till far Seaconnet showed her rim of rock, Whereon the ocean’s rolling billows broke.

But on Aquidnay dwelt our Founder’s gaze, Enraptured still. “Would Seekonk’s mead compare With yon wild Eden?” While he thus delays, The old chief’s hand does on his bosom bear, As he explains: “Another sachem sways The isle of peace. All Haup’s dominions are Stretched tow’rd the God of frost—look there and choose; All thou hast won, and well a part mayst use.”

Turned by the words that gently woke his ears, Before his eyes a boundless forest lay; The mossy giants of a thousand years, O’er hill and plain their mighty arms display; Mound after mound, far lessening north, appears, Till in blue haze they seem to melt away; Here Seekonk wedded with Mooshausick beamed, And there Cohannet’s liquid silver gleamed.

Here Kikimuet left his woodland height, Bright in the clear, or dark beneath the shade; There Sowams gleamed,—if names the muse aright, Till in the forest far his glories fade; While here and there, rose curling on his sight The village smokes of many a sheltered glade; And, nearer, clustered at the mountain’s base, The foremost town of Pokanoket’s race.

Embosomed there in massy shades it stood; Its frequent voices, up the silent steep, Came on our Founder’s ear;—in cheerful mood, The tones of childhood shrill, and manhood deep, Told him what sports, what toils were there pursued; Or, wild and clear, the melody would sweep Of girlish voices, warbling plaintive strains, Half chant, half music, over woods and plains.

Ah! how more lovely than the silence hushed, That lists in horror for the foeman’s tread! A tender joy our Father’s bosom flushed,— The work was his that had these blessings spread; The storm, that else had o’er the nation rushed, Had by his sufferings and his toils been stayed; And as he mused, his hand the Sachem pressed, For like emotions swelled his rugged breast.

“And oh!” he cried, “what can the Sachem do? How can he give to Winiams recompense? Our foes were many, and our warriors few, But Winiams came, and he was our defence; Go, brother, plant—go, plant our forest through— All hast thou won by thy benevolence; All hast thou saved from ruthless enemies, Take what thou wilt, and take what best may please.”

Our Father answered—“give me bounds and deeds— No lands I take but such as parchment names; To future ages will I leave no seeds To yield a harvest of discordant claims; If name I must, I name fair Seekonk’s meads— What first I craved still satisfies my aims; These and the friendship of my neighbors are Reward too generous for my toil and care.”

“My brother gives with palm expanded wide,” The Sachem said, “but with a closing hand Our gifts are half received and half denied; Ha! was he born in the white stranger’s land? My brother’s corn shall wave by Seekonk’s tide— My brother’s town shall on its margin stand; And on the deer-skin, tested by my bow, My painted voice shall talk, and to far ages go.”

While thus they spake, the sun declining low, In Narraganset’s shades, half veiled his light; On rapid pinions did the dark winged crow And broad plumed eagle speed their homeward flight; Warned by the signs, the twain, descending slow, In converse grave, pass down the wooded height; And, in the Sachem’s sylvan palace, share Respite from hunger, toil, and present care.

The winds of March o’er Narraganset’s bay Move in their strength—the waves with foam are white; O’er Seekonk’s tide the tossing branches play, The woods roar o’er resounding plain and height; ’Twixt sailing clouds, the sun’s inconstant ray But glances on the scene—then fades from sight; The frequent showers dash from the passing clouds; The hills are peeping through their wintry shrouds.

Dissolving snows each downward channel fill, Each swollen brook a foaming torrent brawls, Old Seekonk murmurs, and from every hill Answer aloud the coming waterfalls; Deep-voiced Pawtucket thunders louder still,— To dark Mooshausick joyously he calls, Who breaks his bondage, and through forests brown Murmurs the hoarse response and rolls his tribute down.

But hark! that sound, above the cataracts And hollow winds in this wild solitude, Seems passing strange.—Who with the laboring axe, On Seekonk’s eastern marge, invades the wood? Stroke follows stroke;—some sturdy hind attacks Yon ancient groves, which from their birth have stood Unmarred by steel, and, startled at the sound, The wild deer snuffs the gales,—then, with a bound,

Vaults o’er the thickets, and down yonder glen His antlers vanish; on yon shaggy height Sits the lone wolf, half-peering from his den, And howls regardless of the morning light; Unwonted sounds and a strange denizen Vex his repose; soon, cowering with affright, He shrinks away, for with a crackling sound, Yon hemlock bows and thunders to the ground.

Who on the prostrate trunk has risen now, And does with cleaving steel the blows renew? Broad is the beaver on his manly brow, His mantle gray, his hosen azure blue; His feet are dripping with dissolving snow, His garments sated with the morning dew;— Our Founder is he, and, though changed by long And grievous suffering, steadfast still and strong.

Hard by yon little fountain clear and sheen, Whose swollen streamlet murmurs down the glade, Where groves of hemlock and of cedars green Oppose to northern storms a barricade, Stands the first mansion of his rude demesne, A slender wigwam by red Waban made; Their common shelter from the wintry blast; And place of rest when daily toils are past.

Yet from the storm he seldom shrinks away, With his own hands he labors now to rear A mansion, where his wife and children may, In happier days, partake the social cheer; And unrelenting bigot ne’er essay To make the free-born spirit quail with fear At threat of scourge, or banishment or death, For free belief, the soul’s sustaining breath.

Day after day does he his toil renew; From dawn till dark still doth his axe resound, And falling cedars still the valley strew, Or cumber with their trunks the littered ground; The solid beams and rafters does he hew, Or labors hard to roll or heave them round; Or squares their sides, or shapes the joints aright To match their fellows and the whole unite.

The beams now hewn, he frames the building square, Each joint adjusting to its counterpart— Tier over tier with labor does he bear, Timber on timber closes every part, Except where door or lattice to the air A passage yields,—and from the walls now start The rafters, matted over and between,— Against the storm and cold,—with rushes green.

Long did this task his patient cares engage, ’Twas labor strange to hands like his, I ween, That had far oftener turned the sacred page Than hewed the trunk or delved the grassy green; But toils like these gave honors to the sage; The axe and spade in no one’s hands are mean, And least of all in thine, that toiled to clear The mind’s free march—Illustrious Pioneer!

His cottage finished, he proceeds to rear A strong rude paling round that verdant glade His field and garden soon will flourish there, And wild marauders may their fruits invade; His maize may be a banquet for the bear, And herds of deer may on his herbage tread; But little thinks he that intruders worse Than these will enter and his labors curse.

Now milder spring ushers its April showers, And up fair Seekonk woos the southern breeze; The birds are singing in their woodland bowers, Green grows the ground and budding are the trees The purple violets and wild strawberry flowers Invite the visits of the murmuring bees; And down the glade the twittering swallow slips, And in the stream her nimble pinions dips.

And now, with vigor and redoubled haste, Our Founder delves to plant the foodful maize; He turns the glebe, does nature’s rankness waste, The boscage burn, and noxious brambles raze; Then o’er the seed, on earth’s brown bosom placed, The fertile mould with careful hand he lays; Nor yet content,—still labors, other whiles, The glade to gladden with a garden’s smiles.

Then in the woods he carved the deep alcove, And led the climbing vines from tree to tree; But near the cottage left the birchen grove, Its tassels waving in the breezes free; While o’er the stream their boughs the cedars wove, Where wound a walk adown the murmuring lea; And gadding vines embowered the fount’s bright flow ’Twixt banks of vernal flowers in bloom below.

Ne’er hatchet touched the overhanging bough, Whereon the robin built her wonted nest; About the borders did the wild rose grow, For there the thrush might soothe her brood to rest; Nor would he banish from her dwelling low The long-eared rabbit, but her young caressed; Fed from his hand they gambolled in the grove, Caressed our Sire in turn, and mimicked human love.

And these long toils had Waban’s faithful aid; His twanging bow announced the early dawn; Boldly he pushed into the deepest shade, Or scanned the tracks upon the dewy lawn; With lusty arms he grappled on the glade The growling bear, or caught the bounding fawn, Or, with sure arrow and resounding bow, Brought down the turkey from her lofty bough.

Sometimes he would the river’s bed explore, Where with sure grasp the slippery eels he caught; Sometimes he delved along the sandy shore, And to the lodge the shelly tribute brought; And ever shared he with his Sagamore, (For so to call our Founder he was taught,) The produce of his toils; and ’twas his care To parch the maize and spread the frugal fare.

So for a while they two in quietude, With hopes auspicious, urged their task along,— Lighter of heart; though Williams still would brood, And inly marvel, o’er the missing throng Of friendly Indians, issuing from the wood To greet him with “What-Cheer” in voices strong; And oft would wonder if perchance a vain Illusion had beguiled his troubled brain.

But omens dark and dire appeared at last: The grim Pawaw had seen the mansion rise,— Had from Mooshausick’s highlands often cast On the advancing work his watchful eyes; And often, wafted on the passing blast, Our Sire had heard that wizard’s warning cries:— Yet hoped that, baffled and chastised, his pride, And courage too, had with his serpent died.

Vain hope! The close had scarce been made secure, Ere Seekonk’s western marge was blazing bright, And decked with horns, and furs, and paints impure, The prophet with a comrade danced all night Around the flame, and howling, did adjure His manittoo that most abhorred the light To give him aid, and, by or force or fraud, His hated neighbor drive once more abroad.

War! war! he threatened:—and when morning came,— Though quenched the fire,—upon the margin he, All trim for strife, bent his gigantic frame O’er Seekonk’s severing flow, and toward the lea Shook his ensanguined barb and smote the stream, And muttered curses numbering three times three; Then bent his bow, and sent across the flood Darts armed with serpents’ fangs and red with blood.

And brandishing his blade, he jeering said, That vengeance gave it eyes and appetite, It soon would eat, but eat in silence dread; That if the red men all were turning white, He’d seek the white men that were turning red; The path was open, and his foot was light; The Shawmut[20] hunters would with greedy ear Hear in what covert couched their stricken deer.

Then, with a hideous yell that rent the skies, He sternly turned and tow’rd Mooshausick flew. Waban who watched the scene with blazing eyes, Swift answer gave in shouts of valor true. From threats like these our Sire might harm surmise, But that he deemed the wily wizard knew How heavy was Miantonomi’s spear, And, if ’twere needful, might be made to fear.

But, after this portentous morn, scarce sun Looked on that glade, but brought them fresh alarms; If Waban delved the shores or walked thereon, Missiles around him flew from hidden arms; His snares were plundered ere the morning shone, Clubs smeared with blood and threatening deadly harms Lay in his path, and voices strangely broke From viewless forms on shrub, or tree, or rock.

Oft from the vacant air came bitter jeer In gibberish strange, and oft from under ground A hellish mockery smote the hunter’s ear, And he would start; but if he glanced around And Williams saw, he banished every fear; For well he knew his Sachem could confound Such diabolic phantoms,—he who slew, In Potowomet’s glade, the serpent manittoo.

Then taking courage he would seek the brake, Cull the straight haft, and arm it with the bone Or tooth of beaver, and the plumage take From Neyhom wild to wing and guide it on Straight to its mark, or with nice handling make Of sinewy deer the bowstring tough, or hone His glittering scalping-knife, and grimly feel How sharp its point, how keen its edge of steel.

At length, no longer heedful of disguise, Upon the opposing bank the wizard stood, With meet compeer—both armed; their battle cries And challenge fired brave Waban’s martial blood; Scorning all counsel, to the marge he flies, And shoots his arrows o’er the severing flood; To taunts and jeers his bow alone replies, And soon their hostile missiles span the skies.

From tree to tree the champions fly and fight, Driving or driven from the sheltering screen, Each change, each movement, yielding to the sight Their swarthy members through the foliage green; Whereat their arrows follow, flight on flight, With hideous yells at every pause between; Now down the stream—now at the tumbling falls, The petty battle raves, and wrath to vengeance calls.

Hour after hour thus raged the doubtful fight, Until the combatants their shafts had spent; Then to the river’s marge in peaceful plight, Bearing the pipe with fumes all redolent, The fraudful wizard came, as to invite Across the stream to cheer quite innocent And friendly league a neighbor and a friend; “Come, let the pipe,” he said, “the battle end.

“Waban is brave, and Tatoban is brave; Hereafter let us live as neighbors kind, And let thy arrows sleep; no more shall rave This knife and hatchet; Tatoban was blind!” “Go!” Waban cried, “thou and thy dastard slave! Go trap the Neyhom, or the foolish hind; But thinkest thou into thy open snare, To lure the cunning fox, and slay him there?”

Thus closed the strife that day; another came, And all was peace; another sun and still Another rose and set, and still the same Unbroken peace—no threatening sign of ill: Quite undisturbed red Waban trapped his game Or delved the shore—no foe appeared; until Our Sire believed that he might safely bless His weary hours with earth’s best happiness.

Waban, his only counsellor and friend, Warrior and subject in this lone domain, Did now the summons of his chief attend, And, questioned by him, straightway answered plain. “Waban,” said Williams, “do our battles end? Is the war over—have we peace again? No more on yonder bank the prophet stands And wings his darts or whirls his blazing brands.”

Waban replied, “Did ever noon-day light On midnight break? Did ever tempest shed, Just as it gathered, radiance mild and bright? Heard not my Sachem what the prophet said,— That if the red men were all turning white, He’d seek such white men as were turning red? Perchance he goes, and Waban has a fear That to his cunning speech they’ll lend an ear.”

“Waban, fear not; my pale-faced brethren are All Christians, or at least would such be thought; And dost thou think that Beelzebub, how fair Soe’er his speech may be, could move them aught Against their brother? It is better far,— If it be true such vengeance he have sought,— Than that he lurk among the bushes here, To fill our days with care and nights with fear.

“But, Waban, I have now a task for thee;— Think not of him; but let thy mind be here. Whilst snows o’erspread the earth and ice the sea, I parted from my wife and children dear; ’Twas stormy night, the hunter sheltered me, And gave me in his lodge abundant cheer; Then tow’rd the rising sun for me he sped, And saw the home from which the wanderer fled.

“There too he saw his little children play, And the white hand which gave the blanket red; But now that gloomy time seems far away, For much has happened, many a moon has sped; The lodge is built, the garden smiling gay;— Will the swift foot once more the forest thread, And guide the children and the snow-white hand, With watchful tendance, to this distant land?”

Waban replied: “The nimble-foot will go;— But a gaunt wolf may haunt the hunter’s way, And he will whet his darts, and string his bow, And gird his loins as for the battle fray; The Priest of Chepian ne’er forgets a foe;— His vengeance lasts until a bloody day Doth feed the crows, or still a bloodier night Gives the gaunt wolf a feast ere dawning light.”

“God is our trust!” our pious Founder said, “Arm, and go forth confiding in his might; So far as e’er an exile’s foot dare tread The ground forbidden him, thy sachem white Will go to meet thee; and when morn has shed Five times from eastern skies her golden light, Will wait thee and his wife and children dear, Hidden in Salem woods till thou appear.”

Our Founder then the brief epistle traced, Entreating first that some kind Salem friend, To aid his little Israel through the waste, Would for a while two well-trained palfreys lend; Then to his wife, with kind expression graced, Did meet directions for her guidance send; Called her from Egypt, bade her cheerly dare The desert pass, and find her Canaan there.

The morrow dawned, and Waban stood prepared; His knife well sharpened and his bow well strung— He waited only till his chief declared His purpose full; then on his mantle flung, Girded his loins, his brawny arms he bared, And lightly through the rattling thickets sprung; And soon the thunderings of the partridge tell Where bounds his distant foot from dell to dell.

Much Williams dreaded that dark priest, I ween, Albeit he hid his fears from Waban’s eyes; His threat’ning arrows and his savage mien Would often now in midnight dreams arise; And, rising, bring of blood a woful scene— His Mary pale—his children’s wailing cries; And he would start, and marvel how a dream, Delirium’s thought, should so substantial seem.

If in the lonely wilds, by evening dim, That vengeful savage should the path waylay Of all the dearest earth contained for him, Those jewels of the heart, what power could stay His thirst for blood—his fury wild and grim As is the tiger’s bounding on his prey? Oft came obtrusive this appalling thought— He shook it off—still it returned unsought.

Not long he brooks this torturing delay, But soon tow’rd Salem through the forest goes, Nor will the Muse go with him on his way, And sing in horrid shades each night’s repose, Until she, shuddering, mingle with her lay, And seem herself to bear her hero’s woes; Let it suffice that on the third day’s dawn, He gazed from Salem woods on Salem town.

He saw the cottage he must tread no more, And sighed that man should be so stern to man; Two harnessed palfreys stood beside the door, And by the windows busy movement ran; Then did his eyes the village downs explore, Ere yet the labors of the day began; But all still slept, save where the watch-dog bayed, Or lowed the kine and cropt the dewy glade.

And many a field new traces of the plough, And many a roof its recent structure showed, And in the harbor many a sable prow, Rocked by the billows, at her anchor rode; And, ah! he saw (to him no temple now) The lowly house where erst in prayer he bowed, And strove to lead his little flock to Heaven; His flock no more,—with strifes now sorely riven.

He turned his eyes again to that dear spot Where, by the door, the waiting palfreys stood: There, laden now, they bore what Mary thought The tender exiles, in the lonely wood, Would need or miss the most, and likewise aught That would most cheer or comfort their abode; With useful household wares, securely piled, But cumbersome for journeying through the wild.

He saw red Waban take each palfrey’s rein, And slowly walk the laden beasts before; He saw his Mary, with her little train Of blooming children, issue from the door; He saw her loving neighbors them detain The Almighty’s blessing on them to implore, And heard the farewell hymn, a pensive strain Of mingled voices as they trod the plain.

Pleasant it was, and mournful was it too, To see the matron leading by the hand, From all their joys to toils and dangers new, That innocent and happy infant band; For, hand in hand, did they their way pursue, With childish wonder, toward the distant land;— As little witting of the ills that wait, As that their labors were to found a State.

Soon Waban passed him where concealed he stood, And slowly led his docile charge along; Then Mary stept into the dusky wood, Still guiding, as she came, the prattling throng; No longer viewless he his darlings viewed, But, wild with rapture, from the thicket sprung: “Oh, father! father!” burst the children’s cry, And Mary claspt him in her ecstacy.

But short the transport—soon must they resume The weary march, and from the dawning gray Hour after hour, to pensive evening’s gloom, Through the lone forest wend their devious way; O’er river, vale, and steep, through brake and broom, And rough ravine, with aching steps they stray; The father’s arms oft bore the lovely weight, Or on the palfrey’s back the weariest sate.

And thus they past o’er many a rapid flow, Climbed many a hill—through many a valley wound, While wary Waban moved before them slow, And for their feet the smoothest pathway found; River and fen and miry waste and low, The floods had swollen to their utmost bound; Unbridged by frost, no passage do they show, And far about the anxious wanderers go.

The sun from middle skies now downward bent His course, and for a while on lofty ground They rested, and abroad their glances sent Far o’er the sea of forest that embrowned The landscape. The overarching firmament, The woody waste enclaspt with azure round, And yon bright sun, yon eagle soaring high, And yon lone wigwam’s smoke, are all that cheer the eye.

At times the eagle’s scream trills from on high, At times the pecker taps the mouldering bough, Or the far raven wakes her boding cry,— All else is hushed the vast expanses through: And, ah! they feel in the immensity Of pathless wilds, around them and below, As in mid-ocean feels some shipwrecked crew, Borne wandering onward in the frail canoe.

And something was there in red Waban’s mien, Which all the morn had drawn our Founder’s eyes; For still he spake not, and was often seen To bend his ear, or start as with surprise; And now he stood, and, through the thicket’s screen, The shadowy prospect seemed to scrutinize, Then paused, unmoving, till a far-off howl Did, with long echoes, through the stillness roll.

It seemed a wolf’s, but Waban’s practised ear Could well the language of the forest tell; Again he paused, till from the distance drear, A faint response in dying cadence fell; Then spake in haste;—“Does not my sachem hear The voice of vengeance in the breezes swell? Come! Let us hasten to some friendly town, For murder tracks us through the forest brown!

“Comrade to comrade calls!—the demon’s priest Is on our trail!”—No more the red man spoke; And this in Narraganset’s tongue exprest, To Mary nothing told, save as the look And earnest gesture may have stirred her breast With vague alarm.—But these she soon mistook As native to him in his wonted mood, And seemed confirmed as she our Founder viewed.

He, in like speech, thus to his faithful guide:— “Waban, be calm! wake not in bosoms frail A groundless fear; the tokens may have lied; Some other wolf may be upon our trail.” “Waban was hunted,” quickly he replied, “Far tow’rd the white man’s town through yonder vale; When there, the priest oft in his pathway stept, And watched the wigwam where the white hand slept.”

Sire Williams shuddered thus to realize What he had hoped was but his fancy’s fear; But yet he quelled each symptom of surprise, And thus to Waban: “Brother, be your ear Quick as the beaver’s, and your searching eyes Like to the eagle’s, and, the foeman near, Be your heart bolder than the panther’s, when He slays the growling bear and drags him to his den.”

They left the steep, and, o’er the woodland plain, Passed with all speed the tender group could make; They ford the rivers, and their course maintain Through ancient groves, where, bare of broom and brake, The lurking foe might scant concealment gain; Waban still moved before, and nothing spake; His rapid glance scanned every thicket near, And when he paused he bent the listening ear.

Hour after hour the hunter thus did go, His eyes still roving and his ears still spread; His was a spectre’s glide;—but toiling slow, The lagging group pursued with faltering tread. At last he paused beneath a birchen bough, Where the dense alders formed a barricade, And there awaited them.—With anxious breast Williams approached, and thus his guide addrest:

“Sees not my brother that the shadows grow Fast tow’rd the east, and that the forest brown Soon hides the sun?—then whither does he go To rest in safety till the morrow’s dawn.” Waban replied, “O’er yonder distant brow, Smokes in the vale Neponset’s peopled town; Thy red friends there will thee in safety keep, There may the white hand and the children sleep.”

As thus he spake, across their pathway sped The startled partridge on her whirring wings; An arrow glanced—it grazed the hunter’s head, And the shrill forest with the bowstring rings; Red Waban’s eyes flash fire, and anger dread Flames in his blood, and every muscle strings; He stooped to mark where twanged that hostile bow, Then sprang from tree to tree, to reach the foe.

But ere he gained the purposed point, or viewed The fell assassin, the dry fagots’ crash, The waving coppice, and re-echoing wood, And sounding footfalls down the brakes that dash, Told him how vainly he his foe pursued, Or that pursuit were dangerously rash; And turning slowly he retraced his track, As his foiled leap the lion measures back.

The matron trembled, at the scene dismayed, For she had marked that hostile arrow’s flight, And Williams’ glance, and Waban’s mien betrayed That instant peril did their fears excite; And yet no frantic shrieks her acts degrade; A mother’s cares did every thought invite; And o’er the little scions of her blood She stretched her arms’ frail fence, and trembling stood.

Calmer in bearing but with equal dread, The anxious father viewed the threatening harm; And, under God, what was there now to aid, Save his own firmness and red Waban’s arm? Behind—before—a dreary forest spread; Far was Neponset; here the dire alarm Of lurking savage; whilst the gathering night Still added horror to a dubious flight.

He paused a moment, and his means forlorn, To guard the onward march, he thus arrayed: The palfreys shielded by the burdens borne, On either side the moving group, were led, This by himself, that by his eldest born, Whilst nimble Waban scoured the threatening shade, And, keeping wary watch where’er he ran, Now fenced their flanks, now pioneered their van.

Like as the eagle,—when, from airy rest She wards her callow young with watchful eye, And sees the thickets move, by footsteps prest Within the precinct of her nursery,— Wheels first on outstretched pinions round her nest, Searching below, then darts into the sky For far espial,—gathering every sound,— And soars aloft or sails along the ground;

So Waban watched and ran, while, moving slow, The anxious father aids the group along. In dreadful silence sleeps the forest now, Hushed is the prattling of each infant’s tongue; No sound is there, save that of footsteps low, Or of the breeze that sighs the leaves among, Or palfrey’s tramp—whose hoofs, with iron shod, Now clink on rocks, now deaden on the sod.

The sun at last sunk in the western shade, And the thick forest cast a darker frown, And now they paused amid an open glade, More than a bow-shot from the thickets brown; Then Father Williams to the hunter said, “Where! where! O Waban, is Neponset’s town?” And Waban answered, “Full one-half a sleep This march requires to bring us to its steep.”

“Then here we rest, to take whate’er may come,” Our Founder said, “and do you all prepare To tread the realms that lie beyond the tomb; There are no foes or persecutors there, To drive the guiltless forth, and bid them roam In savage wilds; yet do not quite despair; When comes the foe,—and come he doubtless will, Brother! we must be firm—if needful, we must kill!”

“Waban is firm,” the hunter said, and smote His naked breast, and raised his stature high; “Yet hear the red man still;—not far remote Is Waban’s rock, where he is wont to lie When the far-striding moose has tired his foot, And night comes down, and tempests rule the sky; There may we rest; the foe’s approach is hard But by one pass, and that will Waban guard.”

The place they sought;—’twas down a rocky dell, Where scarce the palfreys found a footing sure, Where deeper darkness from the forest fell, And thicker boscage did the pass immure; At last, before them, like a citadel, Rose a tall rock, whose frowning frontals lower Over a narrow lea, with brambles dense On either side like an impervious fence.

“Here,” said the red man, (as he raised a mass Of vines that clustered down the rock’s descent,) “Here’s Waban’s cavern, here is ample space For thee and thine; in this rude tenement Ten hunters oft have found their biding place, Nor in it felt themselves too closely pent; Waban will now below the opening raise, In yon dry fagots’ heap, the mounting blaze.”

“Stay! stay!” said Williams, “wouldst thou lure the foe? Wouldst start the flame to tell him where we sleep?” The hunter smiled: “My Sachem does not know How true the foe will to our footsteps keep; He hears, perchance, e’en now our accents low, Or marks us from some tree on yonder steep; Waban will wake the fire; ’twill serve to show His posture, numbers, and will aid our blow.”

Williams assented; and while Waban fired The arid fagots, he the burdens took From off the palfreys, that, o’erwrought and tired, Now stretched their toil-worn limbs and stoutly shook Their liberated frames, and fuller breath respired, And quiet grazed the lea. Then to the rock The father hastened with a blazing brand; His wife and children, linking hand in hand,

Followed his steps. It was a cavern rude, Its floor a level rock, its vaulted roof Of granite masses formed, whose arches stood More firmly for the weight they propped aloof;— And here and there upon the floor were strewed Extinguished brands, which, with like signs, gave proof That men had dwelt there;—then, through screening vines Sire Williams glances out and marks where shines,

Full on red Waban’s face, the mounting blaze. Though half a bow-shot from the cavern he Stands at the fire, yet its bright sheen displays His hue and shape, and then could Williams see How well the hunter judged thus far to raise The burning pyre; no passage could there be For hostile foot, save by that glittering flame, Which well would light the arrow’s certain aim.

Such furniture, as for their strongest need The wretched exiles had themselves supplied, Was to the cave now brought, with bread to feed The little children clustering by the side Of their fond parents.—Then did thanks succeed To God who deigned such comforts to provide, And earnest prayers that His protecting might Would shield them through the dangers of the night.

With trembling haste a slight repast they took, And to their several places then repaired; The mother sate deep in the rocky nook Beside her children, and their pallet shared; Red Waban sate upon a jutting rock, Hard by the cavern’s mouth, the pass to guard; While at the entrance, Williams listening stood, Screened by the vines, and every passage viewed.

Deep night came down o’er forest, vale and hill— The dismal hootings of the darkling owl, The melancholy notes of Whip-poor-will, And the lone wolf’s far distant long-drawn howl, Answered at times by panther screaming shrill, Such hideous echoes through the forest roll, That Mary shudders, and, from transient sleep, The infants starting up for terror weep.

But Williams listened with accustomed ear, The dread of man alone disturbed his breast; Hour after hour, unmarked by danger near, The pass he watches for the savage priest, And still, with eyes turned tow’rd the flame, doth hear Whatever steps the rustling leaves molest; And oft he thought that through the brake he saw The waving fox-tail of the grim Pawaw.

At last within the hollow forest rose Strange sounds that were unmeaning to his ear;— As if there human hands were breaking boughs Green with the verdure of the new-born year; Crash follows crash.—“Are these approaching foes? Do one or more their march thus pioneer?” No answer Waban made, but seemed to shrink Among the vines along the rock’s dark brink.

A moment more, and, bounding o’er the hedge, A monster trotted tow’rd the mounting flame; Then turned and bayed;—’twere doubtful to allege Dog, fox, or wolf, his aspect best became; Still did he howl, with still increasing rage; And Waban rose and gave his arrow aim, But ere its flight, a whistled signal rang; The hybrid turned, and to the forest sprang.

“The fell Pawaw! his dog!” red Waban cried, In tone suppressed, and hid himself again; And Williams feared he had too much relied Upon the courage of that dusky man; He took the hatchet from the hunter’s side, And dropt the feebler bludgeon from his span; “Thy sachem,” said he, “will himself essay To aid his warrior in the approaching fray.”

“’Tis good!” said Waban, “so red sachems do— But there! behold! behold! They come! They come!” And Williams looked, and there, the thickets through, Half in the light, half in the changeful gloom, The forest boughs seemed moving out to view, Branch heaped on branch, a weight most cumbersome For human feet, yet human feet, he knew, That burden bore, and with it dangers new.

Straight to the blaze they moved, and, dashing down The leafy branches on the mounting flame, Put out the light, and smoke and shadow brown, In total darkness, all the glade o’ercame; The mother shrieked; the father, with a groan, Heard the wild cry, and stayed her sinking frame; And both now felt that, with that smothered ray, The last faint trembling hope had died away.

A fearful growl, close to the cavern’s vent, First broke the thrall of horror and surprise; And, by the gleam the smouldering embers sent, That canine hybrid, shooting from his eyes A baleful glare, crouched seemingly intent On the scared infants as his famine’s prize; The father drove the hatchet to his brains, One yell he gave, and writhed in dying pains.

Seeking the cavern’s mouth along the rock, Some groping hand the vine’s thick foliage stirred; “Where art thou Waban!” and the war-whoop broke; Palsied with fear the trembling mother heard; “Where art thou, Waban!” and, with horrid look, A giant savage through the foliage stared; But, at that moment, from his rocky mound Twanged Waban’s bow with sudden sharpest sound.

Back reeled the savage with a dismal howl, And on the earth like stricken bullock fell. But still new terrors filled the father’s soul; He heard another and more fearful yell; Across the glade a new assailant stole; The blaze reviving showed his movements well; And Williams sprang his warrior to sustain, Just as he strained the yielding bow again.

But as he drew the arrow to the head, The cord snapt short; he dashed the weapon down, And leaping from the rock upon the glade, With glittering scalping-knife and haughty frown, Before the assailant stood, who paused, surveyed,— Measuring the hunter’s height from heel to crown,— Then, swift as thought, the vengeful hatchet sent; At Waban’s head the well-aimed weapon went.

But well the wary hunter knew his foe And read his murderous purpose in his eye; He marked the coming steel, and, bending low, Let it pass on and cleave the air on high; Behind him rings the cliff with shivering blow, And far around its scattered atoms fly; Then with wild yells they wave the scalping-knife, Together rush, and thrust and strike for life.

O! ’twas a fearful scene—a moment dire; For on the issue of that contest lay The lives of infants, mother, and of sire, And the fair fame that crowns a distant day. Soon closed the champions by the glimmering fire, Limbs locked in limbs in terrible affray; They writhe—they wrench—they stagger to and fro, Hands grasping hands that aim the fatal blow.

Now struggling by the flames they past from sight, For Williams lingered yet to guard the cave; And there, enveloped in a deeper night, With fiercer fury did the contest rave;— The blow, the wrench, the pantings of the fight, The crash of branches and of thickets gave A dreadful note of every effort made, Where life sought life within that shuddering shade.

The mother sank beside the father, pale And scared; the children her affright partook; At times they raised the sympathetic wail; At times with breathless terror mutely shook. Williams peered out along the kindling vale; No sign of other foe there met his look; Then with a word that quick return presaged, He rushed tow’rd where the doubtful contest raged.

He passed the flame and paused—for on his ear There came, with one loud crash, a heavy sound; He listens still; and silence, sudden, drear, Reigns o’er the glade, and through the gloom profound. Who is the victim? Evil-boding fear Tells him that Waban gasps upon the ground; One bubbling groan, as if the life-blood gushed; A shuddering struggle then—and all was hushed.

In dire suspense the anxious father stood, Yet did he still unmanly terrors quell; His hand, yet innocent of human blood, Now grasped the axe to meet the victor fell; When from beneath the arches of the wood, Rang the far-trembling, death-announcing yell, So like a demon’s issuing from his pit— Who but that savage could the sound emit?

Then moving slowly in the gloomy wood, Doubtful and darkling through the ghostly shade, A form approached, and as it onward trod, Appeared distinct upon the open glade; ’Twas Waban!—Waban bathed in hostile blood; And by the lock he held a trunkless head. He stooped beside the mounting blaze to shew, Still more distinct, his trophy to the view.

With lips still quivering, and with eyes unglazed, The reeking fragment seemed as living still; Fierce on the horrid thing the victor gazed, The battle’s wrath did still his bosom fill; His eyes looked fire, another yell he raised, That rang rebellowing from hill to hill; Then, by the long dark lock swung from the ground, He whirled on high the ghastly ball around.

Around—around—still gathering force it went; Still on his sinews strained the whirling head, Till cleaving from the skull the scalp was rent, And through the air the ponderous body sped; Deep in the hollow woods its force was spent, Thrice bounding from the ground, then falling dead;— He turned and spoke: “No more the babes shall weep! The grim Pawaw now sleeps! and Waban now can sleep!”

They passed the turf, as they the cavern sought, Where fell the body of the earliest slain;— Said Waban, as he paused beside the spot, “The black Priest’s comrade never wakes again;” Then seized the body roughly by the foot, And dragged it, bleeding yet, along the plain Straight to the rocky steep, and o’er it dashed; It dropped in night; re-echoing thickets crashed.

Then the rude victor washed the stains away, Cast him on earth, and soon deep slumber showed How lightly in his rugged bosom lay The horrid memory of that scene of blood;— But Williams watched until the dawning gray, And Mary’s fitful sleep the scenes renewed, While the young dreamers in her circling arms, Oft shrieked and sobbed in slumber’s vain alarms.

The morning dawns, and they their march resume; No perils now annoy their toilsome way; The night came down, and with its sober gloom Brought quiet sleep until the morning’s ray; Again they rose, and gained their joyous home On Seekonk’s marge, just at the close of day; And Him they blessed, who had in safety led Them through dire perils, to their humble shed.

Through Seekonk’s groves the morning sun once more Flames in his glory. Waving verdant gold, The boundless forest stands. Wild songsters pour, From every dewy glade and tufted wold, The melody of joy. From shore to shore The tranquil waters dream, and soul-like hold A mirrored world below of softest hue, With underhanging vault of cloudless blue.

And Williams issued from his humble cot, Not as of late in solitary mood, With cheerless heart and ill-foreboding thought, But with light step and breast of quietude; And by him came the partner of his lot, And their young children, with blithe interlude Of prattling speech, softening the graver talk Of the fond parents in their morning walk.

In sooth his buoyant spirits seemed to spread O’er all about him their enlivening flush; Ne’er was the grass so verdant on the glade, Ne’er did the fountain sparkle with such gush; Ne’er had the stream such lovely music made, Ne’er sang so blithe the robin on the bush; The woodland flowers far brighter hues displayed, More sunny was the lawn, more dark the shade.

They walked and talked; he told his trials o’er; And often Mary brushed aside the tear, And oft they joined to thank kind Heaven once more, That thus his sufferings were rewarded here; Then they would sit beneath the fountain’s bower, And woo the breeze, or smiling bend the ear To childly mirth, which, in its silver tone, Soothed the rude wilds with music erst unknown.

And all was happiness,—security In blest seclusion. The rude storm seemed past, The bow of promise spanned their life’s new sky; No threatening cloud their prospects overcast,— No shadow lowered; but Heaven with gracious eye Looked smiling down and blest their toils at last. Their Salem friends to join them soon will try,— That they’re not here is all that brings a sigh.

Thus for a time did they anticipate The bliss which Heaven for pilgrims has in store, When their freed souls review their former state, And bygone pains enhance their joys the more; But yet one lingering fear of frowning fate, Our Founder’s bosom lightly brooded o’er— No Indian throng, as promised by the seer, Had bid them welcome with Whatcheer! Whatcheer!

But let it pass;—perchance it was a dream; His thoughts seemed wandering or disturbed at best, When stood or seemed to stand, in doubtful gleam, That form scarce earthly, and his ears addrest;— Ay, let it pass—for ill would it beseem So staid a man to be at all deprest By visionary fears or superstitious dread, Whilst Heaven is showering mercies on his head.

“Waban,” he said, “a generous feast prepare, We can be cheerful, and yet not be mad; The good man’s smiles may be a praise or prayer; The wicked only should be very sad. God feeds the birds, my Mary, in the air,— Hear how they thank Him with their voices glad. The heart of man should nearer kindred own, Joy in his smiles and sorrow in his frown.”

Then forth fared Waban to the winding shore, And quickly laid its shelly treasure bare, Nor failed the woody dingles to explore, And trap the partridge or the nimble hare; And soon beneath a beech, beside the door, On marshalled stones the blazing fagots are; And when with heat the pristine oven glows, Waban his tribute gives, and covers close.

Meanwhile our Founder went from place to place, And did each plan of village grandeur name; This rising mound the future church should grace, Yon little dell the village school should claim; That sloping lawn the council hall should base, Where freemen’s voices should the law proclaim, And ne’er to bigot yield the civil rod, But save the Church by leaving her to God.

So pass the hours, till westward through the skies The sun begins to turn, and, savory grown, From Waban’s ready feast the vapors rise; The group beneath the beech then sit them down; “Thou kind and generous man,” our Founder cries, “Our brave defender! thy complexion brown Bars not thy presence;—sit thou at the board,— Of these bright lands God made thy kind the lord.

“My valliant warrior like a Keenomp fought, And Chepian’s priest before his valor fell! But his white Sachem in the battle wrought Too little for a chief he loves so well.” “The dog—the dog! that had the children caught,” Exclaimed the red man, “does his valor tell; A manit-dog he was, for well he knew Whate’er the priest of Chepian bade him do.

“The priest of Chepian and his comrade came To fight the white man and his warrior brave; The fox-eared demon sought for other game, And went to filch it from the rocky cave; My Sachem white a manittoo o’ercame, To demon dark a fatal wound he gave; Brave is my Sachem, for he nobly slew What Waban dreaded most,—that fearful manittoo!”

“Brother,” said Williams, “under Power Divine, That shields the just man in dark peril’s hour, Thine was the victory, and the glory thine To quell Apollyon’s priest—a demon’s power! Henceforth the demon must his lands resign, And thou must be Mooshausick’s Sagamore, The right of conquest will do very well, When Hell assails us, and we conquer Hell.

“But might the choice of either blameless go, Mary! these fruits of suffering and of toils, And racking cares through fourteen weeks of woe, I’d prize far higher than the reeking spoils Of all the nations laid by Cæsar low, When he, the victor in Rome’s civil broils, Sate, like the Jove he worshipped, o’er a world Whose crowns were offered, and whose incense curled.

“And there is cause, I trow.—Who cannot see That a dark cloud o’er our New England lowers? The tender conscience struggles to be free; The tyrant struggles, and retains his powers. O, whither shall the hapless victims flee, Where be their shelter when the tempest roars? May it be here—may it be Heaven’s decree, To make its builder of a worm like me.”

While thus he spake, the neighboring thickets shook, And from them issued one of mien austere; And Williams knew a Plymouth elder’s look, In doctrines stern—in practice most severe; His gait was slow, and loath he seemed to brook Such signs of comfort and of earthly cheer; And up he came, they scarce could reason why, Like a dark cloud along a cheerful sky.

The gloom that gathered o’er our Father’s breast, He strove with heavy effort to dispel; “Elder!” he said, “thou art an honored guest; To see our ancient friends should please us well; Thy journey long must give the banquet zest; Come and partake our sylvan meal, and tell The while what word or tidings thou mayst bear From Plymouth’s rulers and our brethren there.”

“Williams,” he said, “I need no food of thine— The wilds I thread not without store my own; But I would fain beneath that roof recline To-night, and rest my limbs till morn be shown;— And there this eve some reasoning, I opine, (For all may err,) a weighty theme upon, May not be deemed amiss.—Perchance a light Will on thee break and set thy feet aright.”

“Elder, whatever themes,” our Founder said, “My scant attainments fit me to essay, Shall not avoidance have from any dread That thy strict logic may my faults betray; That ‘all may err,’ means that our friends have strayed, And not that we have wandered from the way; It is a maxim to perversion grown, And points to others’ faults to hide our own.

“But as my Plymouth visitor requests, We’ll seek that cottage; I have called it mine, These hands have built it; but all friendly guests May call it theirs, and, Elder, it is thine While thou sojournest here. Whoever rests Beneath its roof may not expect a fine, A dungeon, scourge, or even banishment, For heresy avowed, or doubted sentiment.”

They sought the cottage.—Its apartments rude, But still a shelter from the cold and heat, A cheerful fire and fur-clad settles shewed, And other comforts, simple, plain, and neat. The Elder paused, and all the mansion viewed, Then, with a long-drawn sigh, he took his seat, And briefly added—“Thou hast labored, friend, Hard—very hard! I hope for worthy end.”

He paused again, then solemnly began A sad relation of the Church’s state; O’er many a schism and false doctrine ran, That had obtruded on its peace of late; But most alarming was our Founder’s plan, To leave things sacred to the free debate; To make faith bow to erring reason’s shrine, And mortal man a judge of creeds divine.

“This simple truth no Christian man denies,” He thus continued, “that the natural mind Is prone to evil as the sparks to rise, And to the good is obstinately blind; Who then sees not, that looks with wisdom’s eyes, That God’s elect should rule the human kind? The good should govern, and the bad submit, And saints alone are for dominion fit?”

Our Founder answered, “Art thou from the pit? Get thee behind me, if such thoughts be thine; Did Christ his gospel to the world commit, That his meek followers might in purple shine? He spurned the foul temptation, it is writ, And the Great Tempter felt his power divine; Art thou far wiser than thy Master grown, And spurn’st a heavenly for an earthly crown?”

“Nay—nay, friend Williams!” the grave elder cried, “It is that crown of glory to secure That the True Church should for her saints provide The shield of law ’gainst heresy impure; Quell every schism—crush the towering pride Of the dark Tempter, ere his reign is sure; For many finds he who are servants meet To sow for him the tares among the wheat.

“Men ever busy, searching for the new, Scanning our creed as if it doubtful were, These would we hold perforce our doctrines to, And the vain labor to convert them spare; God may in time their restless souls renew, And give them of his grace a saving share;— Meanwhile our Church their errors would restrain, And to her creed their wayward minds enchain.”

“A mortal thou!” our Founder here replied, “Yet judge of conscience,—searcher of the heart Thou, the elect?—but if it be denied, How wilt thou prove it, or its proofs impart? God gave to man that bright angelic guide, A reasoning soul, his being’s better part;— He gave her freedom; but thou wouldst confine And cramp her action to that creed of thine.

“Who binds the soul extends the reign of hell; She’s formed to err, but, erring, truth to find; Pity her wanderings, but, O never quell The bold aspirings of this angel blind! God is her strength within, and bids her spell, By outward promptings, the eternal Mind: Long may she wander still in quest of light, But day will dawn at last upon a polar night.”

“A dangerous tenet that!” the Elder said; “A fallen angel doubtless she may be; If truth she find by natural reason’s aid, It ever leads her to some heresy; Indeed, the truth too often is betrayed To minds ill-fitted for inquiry free; From bad to worse, from worse to worst we go, And end our being in eternal woe.