WHATCHEER.

I sing of trials, toils and sufferings great, Which Father Williams in his exile bore, That he the conscience-bound might liberate, And to the soul her sacred rights restore;— How, after flying persecution’s hate, And roving long by Narraganset’s shore, In lone Mooshausick’s vale at last he sate, And gave soul-liberty her Guardian State.

He was a man of spirit true and bold; Fearless to speak his thoughts whate’er they were; His frame, though light, was of an iron mould, And fitted well fatigue and change to bear; For God ordained that he should breast the cold And wet of northern wilds in winter drear, And of red savages protection pray From Christians, but—more savage still than they.

Midwinter reigned; and Salem’s infant town, Where late were cleft the forests’ skirts away, Showed its low roofs, and, from their thatching brown Sheeted with ice, sent back the sun’s last ray; The school-boys left the slippery hillock’s crown, So keen the blast came o’er the eastern bay; And pale in vapors thick the sun went down, And the glassed forest cast a sombre frown.

The busy house-wife guarded well the door, That night, against the gathering winter storm— Did well the walls of all the cot explore Where’er the snow-gust might a passage form; And to the couch of age and childhood bore With anxious care the mantle thick and warm; And then of fuel gathered ample store, And bade the blaze up the rude chimney roar.

That night sate Williams, with his children, by The blazing hearth—his consort at his side; And often did she heave the heavy sigh As still her task of needle-work she plied; And, from the lashes of her azure eye, Did often brush the starting tear aside; For they at Spring the savage wilds must try,— ’Twas so decreed by ruthless bigotry.

Beside the good-man lay his Bible’s fair Broad open page upon the accustomed stand, And many a passage had he noted there, Of Israel wandering o’er the desert’s sand, And each assurance he had marked with care, Made by Jehovah, of the promised land; And from the sacred page had learned to dare The exile’s peril, and his ills to bear.

And, while the holy book he pondered o’er, And often told, to cheer his consort’s breast, How, for their faith, the blest apostles bore The exile’s wanderings and the dungeon’s pest, A heavy foot approached his humble door, And some one, opening, instant entrance prest: A well-known elder was he, strict and sour,— Strong in a church ensphered in civil power.

“I come,” he said in accents hard and stern, “The Governor’s and Council’s word to bear: They are convened, and hear, with deep concern, That thou abusest their indulgence fair; Ay, with resentment and abhorrence learn That still thou dost thy specious tenets share With visitors, who, smit therewith, discern Strange godliness in thee, and from us turn.

“Till spring we gave; and thou wast not to teach Thy interdicted doctrines here the while, But curb thy tongue, or with submissive speech The church regain, and quit thy errors vile; Of which condition thou committest breach, And dost her saints from Salem’s church beguile; And plan, ’tis said, to found in easy reach A State where Antichrist himself may preach.

“From such a State our blessed elders see The church may, even here, the infection share; And therefore have the Council made decree, That to the wilderness thou shalt not fare; But have their mandate hither sent by me, That thou to Boston presently repair;— Where waits a ship now ready for the sea, To carry back thy heresy and thee.”

Williams replied, “Thy message is unkind,— In sooth, I think it even somewhat rude; The snow falls fast, and searching is the wind And wildly howls through the benighted wood. The path to Boston is a little blind, Nor are my nerves in their robuster mood;— My soul has seldom at her lot repined,— But to submission now she’s disinclined.

“A voyage to England, and to start to-night And brave the ocean at this season drear? ’Twould scantly give the hardy tar delight, Much less my consort and these pledges dear. Go, and the Council tell, that we’re not quite In health to bear a trial so severe,— That if we yield ’twill be to lawless might, And not to their kind feelings or their right.”

“Much do I grieve,” the elder then replied, “To bear this answer to the Governor; ’Twill show that thou hast Church and State defied, And will I ween make not a little stir; And should a pinnace, on the morn espied O’er yonder waters speeding, bring with her A squad of soldiers, Underhill their guide, Be not surprised, but—Williams, quell thy pride!”

This said, he turned and hastily withdrew, And all but Williams now were left in tears; His wife, still comely, lost her blooming hue, Her nature yielding to her rising fears; A giddy whirling passed her senses through, She almost heard the blazing musketeers, And trembling to her couch retired to sigh, And seek relief in prayer to God on high.

“O! for a friend,” still as he paced the floor, Sire Williams cried, “a friend in my sore need, To help me now some hidden way explore, By which my glorious purpose may succeed; But closed to-night is every cottage door; Yet there is one who is a friend indeed, Forever present to the meek and poor— I will thy counsels, mighty Lord, implore.”

Here dropt the friend of conscience on his knees, And prayed, with hand and heart to Heaven upreared; “O, thou, the God who parted Egypt’s seas, And cloud or fire in Israel’s van appeared, Send down thine angel now, if so it please, That forth from Church within the State ensphered He guide my steps, to where there yet may be A Church not ruled by men, but ruled by Thee.”

Our Father ceased.—The tempest roared around With double fury at this moment drear, The cottage trembled, and the very ground Did seem to feel the element’s career; With ice and snow the window-panes were bound, Nor through their dimness could the earth appear, And still in gusts the wind a passage found Down the rude chimney with a roaring sound.

A voice divine it did to Williams seem;— He sat awhile within himself retired, Then seemed to rouse, as from a transient dream, Just as the lamp’s last flickering ray expired; Around the room soft falls a quivering beam, Cast from the brands that on the hearth are fired; The tempest lulls apace, until he seems To hear from neighboring woods the panther’s screams.

“But what is that?—a knocking?—and once more? Some way-lost wanderer seeks a shelter here; Ah, wretched man, amid the boisterous roar Of snow and wind, thy sufferings are severe!” He raised the bar that kept the outer door, And with the snow-gust from the darkness drear, A stranger entered, whose large garments bore Proof of the storm in clinging snowflakes hoar.

Aged he seemed, and staff of length had he, Which well would holy pilgrim have become, But yet he sought, with quiet dignity And easy step, the centre of the room; Then by the glimmering light our Sire could see His flowing beard, white as the lily’s bloom; Age had his temples scored; but,—glancing free, As from the imprint of a century,

His eyes beamed youth; and such a solemn mien, Joined with such majesty and graceful air, Our Founder thought he ne’er before had seen In mortal form; and at the offered chair The stranger gently shook his brow serene, And by the act revealed his long white hair, As fell the fleecy covering from it clean, Where down his shoulder hung its tresses sheen.

And when he spake his voice was low and clear, But yet so deeply thrilling in its tone, The listening soul seemed rapt into a sphere Where angels speak in music of their own. “Williams,” it said, “I come on message here, Of mighty moment to this age unknown, Thou must not dally, or the tempest fear, But fly at morn into the forest drear.

“Thou art to voyage an unexploréd flood; No chart is there thy lonely bark to steer; Beneath her, rocks—around her, tempests rude, And persecution’s billows in her rear, Shall shake thy soul till it is near subdued: But when the welcome of ‘What cheer! What cheer!’ Shall greet thine ears from Indian multitude, Cast thou thine Anchor there, and trust in God.”

The stranger ceased, and gently past away, Though Williams to retain him still was fain; “The night was dark, and wild the tempest’s sway, And lone the desert,” but ’twas all in vain; He only in soft accents seemed to say, “Perchance I may behold thee yet again, What time thy day shall more auspicious be, And hope shall turn to joy in victory.”

The stranger past, and Williams, by the fire, Long mused on this mysterious event: Was it some seraph, robed in man’s attire, Come down to urge and hallow his intent?— To counsel—kindle—and his breast inspire With words of high prophetic sentiment? Or had he dreamed and in his mind, as clear As if in corporal presence, seen the seer?

’Twas strange—mysterious! Yet, if dream it were, ’Twas such as chosen men of old had known, When Jacob saw the heaven-ascending stair, And Joseph hoarded for the dearth foreshown. Ah! did the Omniscient hear his earnest prayer, And did e’en Heaven the glorious project own! Then would he, by the morrow’s earliest ray, Unto the distant forest make his way.

He sought for rest, but feverous was his plight For peaceful and refreshing sleep, I trow; Still mused he on the morrow’s toilsome flight, Through unknown wilds and trackless wastes of snow; How to elude the persecutor’s sight, Or shun the eager quest of following foe, Tasked his invention with no labor light— And long, and slow, and lagging was the night.

And if by fits came intervening sleep, Through deserts wild and rugged roved his soul, Here rose the rock—there sunk the headlong steep, And fiercely round him seemed the storm to howl; The while from sheltered glen his foes would peep With taunts and jeers, and with revilings foul Scoff at his efforts; and their clamors deep Came mingled with that awful tempest’s sweep.

Morn came at last; and by the dawning day, Our Founder rose his secret flight to take; His wife and infant still in slumber lay;— And shall he now that blissful slumber break? Oh, yes, for he believes that trials may, Within the mind, its mightier powers awake, And that the storms, which gloom the pilgrim’s way, Prepare the soul for her eternal day.

“Mary!” (she woke) “prepare the meet attire, My pocket-compass and my mantle strong, My flint and steel to yield the needful fire, Food for a week, if that be not too long; My hatchet, too—its service I require To clip my fuel desert wilds among; With these I go to found, in forests drear, A State where none shall persecution fear.”

“What! goest thou, Roger, in this chilling storm? Wait! wait at least until its rage is o’er; Its wrath will bar e’en persecution’s arm From thee and me until it fails to roar. Oh, what protecting hand from lurking harm Will be thy shield by night?—What friendly door Will give thee refuge at the dire alarm Of hungry wolves, and beasts in human form?”

“Oh cease, my Mary, cease!—Thou dost complain That Heaven itself doth interpose to save,— Doth wing this tempest’s fury to restrain The quest of foes, and prompt my soul to brave The desert’s perils, that I may maintain The conscience free against who would enslave;— Wait till the storm shall cease to sweep the plain, And we are doomed to cross yon heaving main.”

No more he said, for she in silence went From place to place until her task was o’er; Williams, the while, the fleeting moments spent To scrawl a message to delay the more— Aye, to mislead the beagles on the scent, Till he could safely reach far wood or shore; And, haply, hope its vain illusion lent That friends might plead, and bigotry relent.

Then he to Heaven his weeping spouse commends, And craves its blessing on his purpose bold;— Still Salem lies in sleep, and forth he wends To breast the driving storm and chilling cold; While the lone mother from the window sends A look where all her aching heart is told; Dimly she marks him as his course he bends Across the fields, and toward the forest tends.

To show him parting, to the light she rears His child, yet ignorant of human woe; And soon its guileless silver voice she hears, “O! where is father going in the snow?” The tender accents start the mother’s tears, “He does, my child, to barbarous red men go, To seek protection from hard brethren here For thee and me, and all to him that’s dear.”

So forth he ventured;—even like the dove That earliest from the window of the ark, Went forth on venturous wings, to soar above The world of waters heaving wild and dark O’er sunken realms of death, the while she strove Some high emergent mountain peak to mark, Where she might rest, beyond the billow’s sweep, And build herself a home amid the deep.

The boundless forests now our Founder trod, And due southwestwardly his course he took; The lofty pines and cedars round him nod,— Loud roars the tempest through the leafless oak; The snow lies deep upon the frozen sod, And still the storm’s descending torrents choke The heavens above; and only fancy could,— So dim the view,—conceive the solitude

Of the wide forests that before him lay: His ever steady onward pace alone Told that from home he lengthened yet his way, While the same forms—the same drear hollow moan, Seemed ever round him lingering to stay, And every step of progress to disown; As with all sail the bark may breast the tide, Nor yet advance, but rather backward glide.

Above his head the branches writhe and bend, Or in the mingled wreck their ruin flies; The storm redoubles, and the whirlwinds blend The rising snow-drift with descending skies: And oft the crags a friendly shelter lend His breathless bosom, and his sightless eyes; But, when the transient gust its fury spends, Amid the storm again his way he wends.

Still truly does his course the magnet keep— No toils fatigue him, and no fears appal; Oft turns he at the glimpse of swampy deep, Or thicket dense, or crag abrupt and tall, Or backward treads to shun the headlong steep, Or pass above the tumbling waterfall; Yet still rejoices when the torrent’s leap, Or crag abrupt, or thicket dense, or swamp’s far sweep

Assures him progress.—From gray morn till noon— Hour after hour—from that drear noon until The evening’s gathering darkness had begun To clothe with deeper glooms the vale and hill, Sire Williams journeyed in the forest lone; And then night’s thickening shades began to fill His soul with doubt—for shelter he had none— And all the outstretched waste was clad with one

Vast mantle hoar. And he began to hear, At times, the fox’s bark, and the fierce howl Of wolf, sometimes afar—sometimes so near, That in the very glen they seemed to prowl Where now he, wearied, paused—and then his ear Started to note some shaggy monster’s growl, That from his snow-clad rocky den did peer, Shrunk with gaunt famine in that tempest drear,

And scenting human blood:—yea, and so nigh, Thrice did our northern tiger seem to come, He thought he heard the fagots crackling by, And saw, through driven snow and twilight gloom, Peer from the thickets his fierce burning eye, Scanning his destined prey, and through the broom, Thrice stealing on his ears, the whining cry Swelled by degrees above the tempest high.

Wayworn he stood—and fast that stormy night Was gathering round him over hill and dale; He looked around and by the lingering light, Found he had paused within a narrow vale; On either hand a snow-clad rocky height Ascended high, a shelter from the gale, Whilst deep between them, in thick glooms bedight, A swampy dingle lay before his sight.

Through the white billows thither did he wade, And deep within its solemn bosom trod; Then on the snow with oft repeated tread Hardened a flooring for his night’s abode;— All there was calm, for the thick branches made A screen above, and round him closely stood The trunks of cedars and of pines arrayed,— To the rude tempest a firm barricade.

And now his hatchet, with resounding stroke, Hewed down the boscage that around him rose, And of dry pine the brittle branches broke, To yield him fuel for the night’s repose: The gathered heap an ample store bespoke; He smites the steel—the tinder brightly glows; Fired by the match forth burst the kindling flame, And light upon night’s seated darkness came.

High branched the pines, and far the colonnade Of tapering trunks stood glimmering through the glen; And then rejoiced he in that lonely glade So far away from persecuting men, That he might break of honesty the bread, And blessing crave in his own way again;— Of up-piled brush a seat and board he made, Spread his plain fare, and piously he prayed.

“Father of mercies! thou the wanderer’s guide In this dire storm along the howling waste, Thanks for the shelter thou dost here provide, Thanks for the mercies of the day that’s past; Thanks for the frugal fare thou hast supplied; And O! may still thy tender mercies last; And may thy light on every falsehood shine, Till man’s freed spirit owns no law but thine!”

Our father ceased, and with keen relish he Refreshed his wearied frame in that lone dell; Ah! little can his far posterity Conceive the pleasures of that frugal meal; For naught he knew of lavish luxury, And toil and fast had done their office well; No costliest viands culled from land and sea Could half so sweet to pampered palates be.

His hunger sated with his simple fare, He would, in weariness, have sought repose; But at the kindling blaze, heard wide and far, The howlings drear of forest monsters rose; And, lured around him by the vivid glare, Came darkling with light foot along the snows Whole packs of wolves, from their far mountain lair, And the fierce cat, which scarce the blaze might scare.

Growling they come, and in dark groups they stand, Show the white fang, and roll the brightening eye; Till urged by famine’s rage, the shaggy band Seemed even the flame’s bright terrors to defy; Then mid the group he hurled the blazing brand; Swift they disperse, and raise the scattered cry; But, rallying soon, back to the siege they came, And in their rage scarce faltered at the flame.

Yet Williams deemed that persecution took A form in them less odious than in men; He on their proper solitude had broke,— Ay, and had trespassed on their native glen; His human shape they scantly too might brook, For it their enemy had ever been; But bigot man to probe the conscience sought, And scathed his brother for his secret thought.

Oft he recruited now the sinking blaze— His stock of fuel seemed too scant to last; Yet, in the terror of the glittering rays, Was now the anchor of his safety cast; With utmost reach the boscage did he raze, Or clipt the branches overhead that past; And still the burning pyre at times would raise, Or hurl the firebrand at the monster’s gaze.

At length the groups a panic seemed to seize, And soon he knew the terrifying cause; For swelling slow beneath the arching trees, Trilled the long whine the dreadful panther draws; A sound that might the boldest bosom freeze; ’Twas followed by a drear and awful pause; Naught marred the silence save the murmuring breeze, And the far storm, like roar of distant seas.

Of all the dangerous monsters of the wood, None did the hunter dread like panther dire, For man and beast he fearlessly pursued;— Whilst others shunned, he was allured by fire; And Williams knew how perilous his mood, And braced his nerves to battle with his ire; Beside the rising blaze he firmly stood, And every avenue of danger viewed.

In God he trusted for deliverance,— He thought of Daniel in the lion’s den; He waited silent for the fierce advance,— He heard the fagots break along the glen; Another long-drawn yell, and the fierce glance Of two bright burning eye-balls, looking then Out of the darkness, did yet more enhance The terrors of the menacing mischance.

But at this moment from the darkness broke A human voice, in Narraganset’s tongue; “Neemat!” (my brother) in kind tone it spoke, “How comes Awanux these drear wilds among?” And at the accents the dark thickets shook, And from them lightly the red hunter sprung, And from his belt familiarly he took And fired his calumet, and curled its smoke.

Then to our Founder passed the simple cheer, In sign of friendship to a wandering man, “Let not,” he said, “my brother quake with fear, ’Twas Waban’s cry at which the monsters ran.” Williams received the pledge of faith sincere; Yet warily his guest began to scan. Tall did his straight and active form appear, And armed but with the hunter’s simple gear.

The bear’s dark fur loose o’er his shoulders cast, His hand did only at the breast confine, The wampum wreath, which round his forehead past, Did with the flame’s reflected brightness shine; The beaver’s girdle closely swathed his waist; It’s skirts hung low, all trimm’d with ’broidery fine; The well-formed ankles the close gaiters bound, With furs befringed, and starred with tinsel round.

Nature’s kind feelings did his visage grace; His gently arching brow was shorn all bare, And the slight smile now fading from his face, The aspect left of serious goodness there; Though bright his eyes beneath his forehead’s base, They rather seemed to smile than fiercely glare; And the free dignity of Waban’s race Seemed moving in his limbs and breathing from his face.

Williams the pledge of friendship now returned, And thanks o’erflowing to the hunter gave: “From the Great Spirit sure my brother learned His brother’s danger, when he came to save.” “Waban,” he answered, “from his lodge discerned A stranger’s fire, and heard the monsters rave. Waban has long within these wilds sojourned; But ne’er before has pale Awanux burned

“His fire within this unfrequented glade. Wanders my brother from his homeward way? The storm is thick, he surely may have strayed; Or has he hunted through the weary day The rapid moose; or in this lonely shade Seeks he to trap the deer, or make essay To catch the wily beavers, who have made Their cunning wigwams in the river’s bed?”

“’Twere hard to tell my brother of the woods What cause has forced his pale-faced brother here, The red and white men have their different moods, And Narraganset’s tongue lacks terms, I fear, To tell the strifes among white multitudes— Strifes yet unknown within these forests drear, Where undisturbed ye worship various gods, And persecution leave to white abodes.

“Let it suffice, (for weary is the night,) That late across the mighty lake I came, Seeking protection here of brethren white, From those pale chiefs who had, with scourge and flame, Driven them as me o’er sea in dangerous flight;— Our wrongs, as our offenses, were the same: God we had worshipped as to us seemed right, And roused the vengeance of our men of might.

“My brethren then had persecution fled, And much I hoped with them a home to find; But to our common God whene’er we prayed, My honest worship did not suit their mind; It differed greatly from their own, they said; Their anger kindled, and, with speech unkind, They drove me from my family and home, An exile in this dreadful storm to roam.

“And now, my brother, through the wilds I go, To seek some far—some lone sequestered glen— Where burning fagot nevermore shall glow, Fired by the wrath of persecuting men; Where all may worship, as their gods they know, Or conscience lights and leads their varying ken;— Where ages after ages still may bow, And from free hearts free orisons may flow.”

Waban a while mused on our Founder’s tale, And silent sate in meditative mood; For much he wondered why his brothers pale For differing worship sought their kindred’s blood. At last he thought that they must surely fail To know the Great Spirit as a father good, Or Chepian[1] was their god, and had inclined Them to indulge a fell and cruel mind.

Then pity blended with his wonder grew; Here was a victim of that Evil One, Who from him and his angry servants flew To seek a shelter in the forest lone. “Brother,” he said, “thy brother much doth rue (Hearing thy tales,) that thou art forced to shun Thy well-framed wigwam—thy familiar fire, And sleep so far amid this tempest dire.

“Now, brother, hear, what Waban has to say: The night is cold, and fast the snows descend; Still round thy sleep will howl the beasts of prey;— Will not my brother to my wigwam wend? It smokes well-sheltered and not far away; There may my brother this drear season spend, And shun the wrath of Chepian’s angry men, Until Sowaniu’s breezes scatter flowers again.

“Right welcome to the red man’s lodge shall be His pale-faced brother, safe from Sachems pale; Waban’s nausamp and venison shall be free When hunger craves, and, when his store shall fail, His dart is true, and swift and far will he Pursue the bounding deer o’er hill and dale;— When melts the snow we may together raise, On Seekonk’s banks, our common field of maize.”

Williams replied, “My brother sure is kind, But his red friends are doubtless with him here; And they may teach my kindred, left behind, To track my footsteps through the forest drear;— To journey homeward I have little mind; My course is with the sun to wilds less near, Where I would form, if granted the domain, A tribe which never should the soul enchain.”

“Alone is Waban,” was the sad reply; “His wife and child have to that country gone Where go our spirits when our bodies die, And left thy brother in his lodge alone: He goes by day to catch the beavers shy, And sits by night in his still house to moan, And much ’twould please him should the wanderer come, And tell him where the loved ones’ spirits roam.”

“Brother, I thank thee—thou art kind indeed,” Our Founder said—“and with thee I will go; Would that my brethren of the Christian creed Did half thy charity and goodness know! Waban, thou wilt thy brother’s purpose speed, And all the boundaries of those countries show Which lie adjoining Narraganset’s bay, And name the chiefs, and count the tribes they sway.”

“Waban can do it”—was the quick reply, And Williams followed him, as fast he led Through bush and brake with blazing brand held high; The wolves around them gathered as they sped; But Waban often raised the mimic cry Of the fierce panther, and as oft they fled; Until the path descending swiftly steep, Led to his wigwam in the valley deep.

Then Williams noted, through the deepest night, The sparkles rising from the roof unseen, And, by the glancing of the firebrand’s light, Above him marked the thickening branches’ screen; For denser here, and of a loftier height, The pines and cedars arched their sombre green, With boughs deprest beneath the burden hoar; And further off did seem the tempest’s roar.

An undressed deerskin closed the entrance rude Of the frail mansion of our Founder’s friend; “Brother,” he said, “this is my poor abode, But thou art welcome—it will well defend Thee from the bitter tempest,” and he showed The open pass. Beneath its arch they bend: From mid the room the blazing fagots sent The smoke and sparkles through the vault’s low vent,

And, shining round, did for the ceiling show The braided mat of many colors made,— Veiled here and there, where, hanging in a row, The beavers’ hides their silvery coats displayed; And here and there were antlers, from the brow Of bounding buck, around the room arrayed; And also, hung among the hunter’s gear, The dusky haunches of the moose and deer.

Hard-by the blazing hearth, raised from the ground Three braided pallets stood, with furs bespread, Where once red Waban, wife and child had found The humble settle, and still humbler bed; But now, alas! beneath the grassy mound, Two of the three sate with the silent dead;[2] The wampum girdle, that his spouse once wore, Gleamed on her garb of furs the settle o’er.

The room was warm, and plenteous the cheer Which Waban then did to our Founder bring; In trays the nocake,[3] and the joints of deer, And in the gourd-shell water from the spring; And, all the while, kept pouring in his ear How he had pierced the wild duck on the wing; And westward lately had the moose pursued Afar, and struck him in Mooshausick’s wood.

Slightly our Founder tasted of the fare, For toil and chill much more than hunger prest; This Waban noted, and with tender care, The vacant pallet showed, and urged him rest; Waban he said, would still the fire repair, And still in comfort keep his pale-faced guest, “And may the Manittoo of dreams,” he said, “The happiest visions on thy slumbers shed.

“Upon this pallet she was wont to lay Herself to sleep whose spirit now is gone; And may that spirit to thy visions say Where now she dwells, and where my little son; Whether on that blest island far away, O’er the blue hills beyond the setting sun, They with their kindred joy, or nearer home, Still lingering, wait until the father come.”

Williams replied, that he would speak at morn Of that far journey which the spirit takes; And name the Guide, who never soul forlorn, Whilst passing through death’s gloomy night, forsakes. His brother, then, on fitting day in turn, Would name the bounds, by rivers, bays, and lakes, Of neighboring chiefs, and say what Sachems might His mission threaten, or its hopes invite.

Our Founder slept; and on that night, I ween, Deep was the slumber of that pallet low, Calm were its dreams as was his breast serene— Such sleep can persecutors never know; He slept, until the dawning light was seen Down through the dome to shine upon his brow; Then Waban woke him to his simple cheer Of the pure fount, nausamp,[4] and savory deer.

It was the morning of a Sabbath day, When Williams rose to Waban’s simple cheer, But knew not where, save that vast forests lay Betwixt his home and the lone wigwam here; Yet ’twas a place of peace; no thing of clay, ’Twixt God and conscience in communion near, Came, with profane and impious control, To check the heavenward wanderings of his soul.

God loves the wilderness; in deserts lone, Where all is silent, where no living thing Mars the hushed solitudes, where Heaven looks down, And Earth looks up, each as if marvelling That aught should be; and, through the vast unknown, Thought-breathing silence seems as uttering The present God,—there does He rear his throne, And, tranced in boundless thoughts, the soul doth own

And feel his strength within.—This day once more, In place thus sacred, did our Founder keep; None, save the Deity he bent before, Marked the devotions of his feelings deep. None, do I say? yet there was Waban poor; Alas! his mind in utter night did sleep; He saw our Founder at his earnest prayer, But knew not what his supplications were.

Yet earnestly the pious man besought, That Heaven would deign to shed the Gospel light On the kind pagan’s soul, as yet untaught Save in the dreams of her primordial night; And much he prayed, that to the truth when brought,— Cleansed of his sins in garments pure and white,— He might subdue the fierceness of his clan, And gain man refuge from intolerant man.

Williams the task of goodness now essayed, To win the wanderer to a worship new; The utter darkness that his soul arrayed, Concealed her workings from our Founder’s view, Save when some question, rare and strange, betrayed His dream-bewildered glimpses of the true.— Long was the task; and Williams back began, At earth’s creation and the fall of man.

He told how God from nothing formed the earth, And gave each creature shape surpassing fair; How He in Eden, at their happy birth, Placed with His blessing the first human pair; How, disobeying, they were driven forth, And they, and theirs, consigned to sad despair, Until, incarnate, God in pity gave Himself for man, and made it just to save.

He then told how the blessed martyrs bore The chains of dungeons, and the fagot’s flame, Glad that their sufferings might attest the more Their perfect faith in their Redeemer’s name; How His disciples past from shore to shore, Salvation’s joyful tidings to proclaim; How hither now they brought the Gospel’s light To cheer the red men wrapt in pagan night.

Waban attentive listened to the strain, And at its close for long in silence sate; His visage did a graver cast attain And all his heart’s deep feelings indicate. At length he uttered thus the mental train:— “Weak is my soul, and dark is her estate! No book has she to tell of Manit high, Except this outstretched earth and starry sky.

“Great news Awanux brings the red men here— News that their legends old doth much excel; Yet give to Waban the attentive ear, And the traditions of his sires he’ll tell. From days afar, down many a rolling year— Down to thy brothers red—their fathers’ tale Comes to inform them, in their mortal state, What powers they should revere—what deprecate.”

Here Waban paused, and sitting mused a space, As pondering gravely on the mighty theme; Deep thought was graven on his earnest face, And still his groping memory did seem To gather up the legends of his race. At length he roused, as from a passing dream, And from his mat, majestically slow Rearing his form, began in accents low:

“Brother, that time is distant—far away, When Heaven or Earth or living thing was not, Save our great God, Cawtantowit, who lay Extended through immensity, where naught But shoreless waters were—and dead were they; No living thing did on their bosom float, And silentness the boundless space did fill; For the Great Spirit slept—and all was still.

“But though he slept, yet, as the human soul To this small frame, his being did pervade The universal space, and ruled the whole; E’en as the soul, when in deep slumber laid, Doth her wild dreams and fantasies control, And give them action, color, shape and shade Just as she wills. But the Great Spirit broke His sleep at last, and all the boundless shook.

“In a vast eagle’s form embodied, He Did o’er the deep on outstretched pinions spring; Fire in his eye lit all immensity, Whilst his majestically gliding wing Trembled hoarse thunders to the shuddering sea; And, through their utmost limit quivering, The conscious waters felt their Manittoo, And life, at once, their deepest regions knew.

“The mountain whale came spouting from below, The porpoise plunged along the foaming main, The smaller fry in sporting myriads go, With glancing backs above the liquid plain; Yet still refused her giant form to show— Ay, sullenly below did yet remain Earth-bearing Tortoise, the Unamis vast, And o’er her still the loftly billows past.

“Then great Cawtantowit in his anger spoke, And from his flaming eyes the lightnings past, And from his wings the tenfold thunders broke. The sullen Tortoise heard his words at last— And slowly she her rocky grasp forsook, And her huge back of woods and mountains vast From the far depths tow’rd upper light began Slowly to heave.—The affrighted waters ran

“Hither and thither, tumultous and far; But still Unamis, heaving from below The full formed earth, first, through the waves did rear The fast sky-climbing Alleghany’s brow, Dark, huge and craggy; from its summits bare The rolling billows fell, and rising now, All its broad forest to the breezy air Came out of Ocean, and, from verdure fair,

“Shed the salt showers. Far o’er the deep, Hills after hills still lift their clustered trees, Wild down the rising slopes the waters leap, Then from the up-surging plain the ocean flees, Till lifted from the flood, in vale and steep And rock, and forest waving to the breeze, Earth, on the Tortoise borne, frowned ocean o’er, And spurned the billows from her thundering shore.

“But great Cawtantowit, on his pinions still, O’er the lone earth majestically sprung, And whispered to the mountain, vale and hill, And with new life the teeming regions rung; The feathered songsters tune their carols shrill, Herds upon herds the plain and mountain throng; In the still pools the cunning beavers toil, And the armed seseks[5] their strong folds uncoil.

“Yet man was not.—Then great Cawtantowit spoke To the hard mountain crags and called for man: And sculptured, breathing, from the cleaving rock, Sprang the armed warrior, and a strife began With living things.—Hard as his native block, Was his stone heart, and through it ran Blood cold as ice—and the Great Spirit struck This cruel man, and him to atoms broke.

“Then He the oak, of fibre hard and fine, With the first red man’s soul and form endowed, And woman made he of the tapering pine, Which ’neath that oak in peaceful beauty bowed; She on the red man’s bosom did recline, Like the bright rainbow on the thunder-cloud. And the Great Spirit saw his work divine, And on the pair let fall His smile benign.

“He gave them all these forests far and near, The forms that fly, and those that creeping go, The healthful fountains, and the rivers clear, And all the broods that sport the waves below; Then gave he man the swiftness of the deer, And armed his hands with arrows and the bow, And bade him shelter still his consort dear, And tread his large domain without a peer.

“Then did he send Yotaanit on high, (For Gods he fashioned as he formed the land,) And bade him star with fires the azure sky, And kindle the round blaze of Keesuckquand; And then, to cheer by night the hunter’s eye, Bright Nanapaushat sprung from Wamponand; Thus with his will the manittoos comply, And every region knows its deity.[6]

“All things thus were formed from what was good, And the foul refuse every evil had; But it had felt the influence of the God, (How should it not?) and a black demon, sad And stern and cruel, loving strife and blood, Filled with all malice, and with fury mad, Sprang into life:—such was fell Chepian’s birth, The hate of gods, and terror of the earth.

“Then to the south-west the Great Spirit flew, Whence the soft breezes of the summer come, And from the depths Sowaniu’s[7] island drew, And bade its fields with lasting verdure bloom. O’er it he bent another welkin blue, Which never night nor clouds nor tempests gloom, And kindled suns the lofty arches through, And bade them shine with glory ever new.

“When thus Cawtantowit had finished all, No more did he on eagle’s pinions roam, There did he limits to his works install, And centre there his everlasting home; There did he cast the eagle and recall His pristine shape, and manit-man become; There still he dwells, the all-pervading soul Of men and manittoos—yea, of creation’s whole.

“All that is good does from Cawtantowit flow; All that is evil Chepian doth supply; Praying for good we to Cawtantowit bow, And shunning evil we to Chepian cry; To other manittoos we offerings owe, Dwell they in mountain, flood, or lofty sky; And oft they aid us when we hunting go, Or in fierce battle rush upon the foe.

“And manittoos, that never death shall fear, Do likewise in this mortal form abide; What else, my brother, is there beating here? What heaves this breast—what rolls its crimson tide? Whilst, like Cawtantowit, doth the soul appear To live through all and over all preside; And when her mortal mansion here decays, She to Sowaniu’s blessed island strays,

“There aye to joy; if, whilst she dwelt with men, She wisely counseled and did bravely fight, Or watchful caught the beavers in the glen, Or nimbly followed far the moose’s flight; But if a sluggard and a coward, then To rove all wretched in the glooms of night, Misled by Chepian, a poor wandering ghost,— In swamps and fens and bogs and brambles lost.

“And now, my brother, rightly worship we, When to Cawtantowit we make our prayer? Or when for help to Chepian we flee, And pray that us from every harm he spare? For every harm is all his own, we see, And good Cawtantowit has ne’er a share— Then why should not I Chepian sue to be Much sparing of his harm to mine and me?”

Williams made answer, “When red warriors brave The fight’s dark tempest and for glory die, Does Waban tremble whilst the battles rave, And at the hurtling arrows wink his eye? Or, basely cowering, does he mercy crave Of the red hatchet o’er him lifted high? Who prays to Chepian is a cringing slave, And, dying, fills at last a coward’s grave.”

Strongly these words to Waban’s pride appealed; Yet back upon him did the memory rush Of by-gone ages, and of many a field Where fought his fathers, who with victory flush, Not to Cawtantowit, but to Chepian kneeled, And thanked his aid.—They cowards! and the blush, That in their worship fear should seem revealed, Was scantly by his tawny hue concealed.

At last he said, “My brother doubtless knows— He has a book which his Great Spirit wrote: Brave were my fathers, yet did they repose With hope in Chepian, and his aid besought When forth they marched to shed the blood of foes; But maybe they, like Waban, never thought That they were cowards, when they fiercely prayed That Evil One to give their vengeance aid.

“Waban will think, and should it seem like fear— Waban ne’er shrunk when round him battle roared, And at the stake when bound, his torturers near, Among the clouds thy brother’s spirit soared And scorned her foes—but should it seem like fear To worship Chepian, whom his sires adored, He will no more be that dread demon’s slave; For ne’er will Waban fill a coward’s grave.”

Thus in grave converse did they pass the day, Till night returning brought them slumbers sweet; And, with the morrow, shone the sun’s broad ray Serenely down on Waban’s lone retreat. Then Williams might have journeyed on his way, But doubt and darkness still restrained his feet; And so with Waban made he further stay To learn about the tribes that round him lay.

Hence may he secretly to Salem write, And friends approving, still his plans arrange; For Waban soon will bear his peltry light To Salem’s mart, and there may interchange The mute epistles, meant for friendly sight,— Unseen of eyes inimical or strange, Lest rumor of them reach the bigot’s ear, And persecution find him even here.

Among the several tribes around to go, And sound the feelings of each different clan, Seemed not unmeet; but little did he know How they might treat a pale-faced outlawed man, Friendless and homeless, wandering to and fro, And flying from his own white brethren’s ban; They, for a price, might strike the fatal blow, Or bear him captive to his ruthless foe.

Better it were, so deemed our Father well, To seek and win the savage by degrees, Since to his lot the dangerous duty fell, (For such did seem high Heaven’s all-wise decrees), To found unarmed a State where rung the yell Of barbarous nations on the midnight breeze; Against the scalping-knife with no defence Or safeguard but his heart’s benevolence.

With only this, his buckler and his brand— This, yet unproved and doubted by the best,— In cheerless wilds, mid many a savage band, Spurned from his home, by Christian men opprest, Must he the warrior’s weapon turn, his hand Unnerve, and gently o’er his rugged breast Gain mastery. The panther by the hare Must be approached and softened in his lair.

That night, returning from the accustomed pool, Came Waban laden with the beavers’ spoils, And joy seemed dancing in his very soul As he displayed the produce of his toils; Much he rejoiced, and Williams heard the whole,— How long he watched, how many were his foils; Then how the cunning beasts were captured all, As through the fractured ice they sought to crawl.

“Bravely,” said Williams, “has my brother done, No more the cunning wights will mock his skill. Waban is rich; will he not hie him soon To the pale wigwams, and his girdle fill With the bright wampum?—Ere to-morrow’s sun Shall hide behind the crest of yonder hill, Waban may gain the pale-faced stranger’s town, And in his brother’s wigwam sit him down.”

“The hunter goes,” said Waban in reply; Then fired his calumet and curled its smoke, And silent sate in all the dignity Which conscious worth can give the human look. But when the fragrant clouds to mount on high Had ceased, he from the bowl the embers shook, And spread on earth the brown deer’s rustling hide, Expanding to the eye its naked side.

Then thus he spake: “My brother doth require Waban to show where neighboring Sachems reign;— Doubtless he seeks to light his council fire Within some good and valiant chief’s domain, That he may shun the persecutor’s ire, And pray his God without the fear of men. On Waban’s words my brother may repose, Whilst these far feet imprint the distant snows.”

Then from the hearth a quenchéd brand he took, And on the skin traced many a curving line; Here rolled the river, there the winding brook, Here rose the hills, and there the vales decline, Here spreads the bay, and there the ocean broke, Along red Waban’s map of rude design. The work now finished, he to Williams spoke, “Here, brother, on the red man’s country look.

“Here’s Waban’s lodge, thou seest it smokes between Dark rolling Seekonk and Cohannet’s wave;[8] Both floods on-flowing through their borders green, In Narraganset’s basin find their grave. O’er all the country ’twixt those waters sheen Reigns Massasoit, Sachem good and brave; Yet he has subject Keenomps far and near, Who bring him tribute of the slaughtered deer,

“And bend his battle bow.—Strong is he now, But has been stronger. Ere dark pestilence Devoured his warriors—laid his hundreds low,— That Sachem’s war-whoop roused to his defence Three thousand bow-men; and he still can show A mighty force, whene’er the kindling sense Of common wrong does in the bosom glow, And prompts to battle with the offending foe.

“His highest chief is Corbitant the stern; He bears a fox’s head and panther’s heart, He ’gainst Awanux does in secret turn, Sharps his keen knife, and points his thirsty dart; His council fires in Mattapoiset[9] burn, Of Pokanoket’s woods his licensed part. Cruel he is, and terrible his train— Light not your fires within that wolf’s domain.

“Here, tow’rd the winter, where the fountains feed These rolling rivers, do the Nipnets dwell; They Massasoit bring the skin and bead, And rush to war when rings his battle yell; Valiant are they, yet oft their children bleed, When the far West sends down her Maquas fell; Warriors who hungry on their victims steal, And make of human flesh a dreadful meal.

“Here lies Namasket tow’rd the rising sun; There Massasoit spends his seasons cold; The warriors there are led by Annawan, Of open hand and of a bosom bold; Here farther down, Cohannet’s banks upon, Spreads broad Pocasset, strong Apannow’s hold; The bowmen there tread Massasoit’s land, E’en to Seconnet’s billow-beaten strand.

“Still tow’rd the rising sun might Waban show And count each tribe, and each brave Keenomp name; But then his brother does not wish to go Nearer the pale-face and the fagot’s flame; But rather tow’rd the tomahawk and bow, And would the friendship of the red man claim: Therefore will Waban, on the western shores, Count Narraganset’s men and sagamores.

“Two mighty chiefs—one cautious, wise and old, One young and strong, and terrible in fight— All Narraganset and Coweset hold; One lodge they build, one council fire they light; One sways in peace, and one in battle bold; Five thousand warriors give their arrows flight; This is Miantonomi, strong and brave, And that Canonicus, his uncle grave.[10]

“Dark rolling Seekonk does their realm divide From Pokanoket, Massasoit’s reign; Thence sweeping down the bay, their forests wide Spread their dark foliage to the billowy main; Thence tow’rd the setting sun by ocean’s side, Stretches their realm to where the rebel train, Ruled by grim Uncas, with their hatchets dyed In brother’s blood, on Pequot stream abide.[11]

“Canonicus is as the beaver wise, Miantonomi as the panther bold; But tow’rd the faces pale their watchful eyes Are oft in awful thinking silence rolled; And often in their heaving bosoms rise Thoughts that to none but Keenomps they have told; They seem two buffaloes the herds that lead, Scenting the hunters gathering round their mead.

“When first his fire Awanux kindled here, Haup’s[12] chief was weak, and broken was his heart; Disease had swept his warriors far and near, And at his breast looked Narraganset’s dart; Awanux gave him strength, and with strange fear Did M’antonomi at the big guns start; He dropt his hatchet; but his hate remains, And only counsel wise his wrath restrains.

“He sees the strangers spreading far around, And earth turn pale as fast their numbers grow, And fiercely would he to the battle bound, And for his country strike the deadly blow, But that behind the Pequot’s yells resound, And on his left the Nipnet bends the bow; And even thus his hatchet scarcely sleeps,— It dreams of Haup, and in its slumber leaps.

“But, brother, still Miantonomi is A valiant Sachem—yea, and generous too, And gray Canonicus is just and wise, His hands are ever to his tongue most true; If from their lands my brother’s smoke should rise, Whate’er those Sachems promise, they will do; But Waban still doth not his friend advise To cross the Seekonk where their country lies.

“Brother, attend and hear the reasons why;— There at Mooshausick dwells a dark pawaw, Who hates Awanux, doth his God defy, And Chepian worships with the deepest awe; He’ll give my brother’s town a cloudy sky, And to his councils under-sachems draw; E’en now he whets the Narraganset knife, Points at our clan, and thirsts for human life.

“Safer on Seekonk’s hither border may My brother build, and wake his council blaze; Clear are the meads—the trees are swept away By mighty burnings in our fathers’ days. There early verdure spring and flow’rets gay, Long grows the grass, and thrifty is the maize; And good old Massasoit’s sheltering wing Will shield thy weakness from each harmful thing.”

“Brother, I thank thee,” said our Founder here, “Oft have I seen thy chief on Plymouth’s shore; I will to-morrow seek those meadows clear, And thy fair Seekonk’s hither banks explore. But will not Waban pass Namasket near, Where oft that wise and good old Sagamore, Brave Massasoit, spends the season drear?” “He will, my brother”—“Then let Waban hear:

“Tell thou that Sachem, generous and wise, That Williams lingers in thy cabin low, That he his children and his country flies, To shun the anger of a Christian foe; And that to him his pale friend lifts his eyes, And asks protection.—Tell him that his woe Springs from this thought, and from this thought alone, God can be worshipped but as God is known.”

A pause ensued, and Waban silent sate; Yet to himself his lips repeating were; At length he answering broke the pause sedate, “Waban remembers, and the talk will bear.” Then he in silence fired his calumet, And gave its vapors to the wigwam’s air, Whilst Williams wrote, with stationery rude, His first epistle from the lonely wood.

’Twas on the inner bark stript from the pine, Our Father penciled this epistle rare; Two blazing pine-knots did his torches shine, Two braided pallets formed his desk and chair; He wrote his wife the brief familiar line, How he had journeyed, and his roof now where; And that poor Waban was his host benign, And bade her cheer and gave him blankets fine.

Then bade her send the Indian presents, bought When first they suffered persecution’s thrall,— The strings of wampum, and the scarlet coat, The tinseled belt and jeweled coronal; The pocket Bible, which his haste forgot, For he had cheering hopes of Waban’s soul; Then gave her solace to the bad unknown, That God o’errules and still protects his own.

And to the hunter Williams now presents The secret charge, with all directions meet; For Waban means to take his journey hence Ere dawns the day upon his lone retreat; And then once more did sleep our Founder’s sense And knowledge steal away till morn complete; When he awoke and found his host was gone, The lodge all silent, and himself alone.

His fast he broke with the accustomed prayer, And trimmed him for his walk to Seekonk’s side; Calm was the morn, and pure the winter air, As from the wigwam forth our Founder hied; So tall the pines—so thick the branches were, That, through their screens, the heavens were scarce espied; But melting snows and dripping foliage prove The South blows warmer in the fields above.

Now from the swamp to upland woods he past, Where leafless boughs branched thinner overhead, And saw the welkin by no cloud o’ercast, And felt the settled snows give firmer tread. Now all was calm, no wild and thundering blast Mixed earth with heaven, as through the boughs it sped; And far as eye the boundless forest traced, Glimmered the snow and stretched the lonely waste.

Onward he went, the magnet still his guide, And through the wood his course due westward took; Across his path, with antlers branching wide, The red deer often from the thicket broke; The timid partridge, at his rapid stride, On whirring wings the sheltering bush forsook, And the wild turkey foot and pinion plied, Or from her lofty bough uncouthly cried.

At last a sound like murmurs from the shore Of far-off ocean, when the storm is bound, Grows on his ear, increasing more and more As he advances, till the woods resound And seem to tremble with the constant roar Of many waters—Ay, the very ground Beneath him quivers,—and, through arching trees Bright glimmering and gliding on, he sees

The river flowing to its dizzy steep ’Twixt fringing forests, from so far as sight Can track its course, and, rushing, oversweep The rocky precipice all frothy white, With noise like thunder in its headlong leap, And springing sun-bows o’er its showery flight, And bursting into foam, tumultuous go Down the deep chasm, to smoke and boil below.

Thence, hurrying onward through the narrow bound Of banks precipitous, its torrents go, Till by the jutting cliffs half wheeling round, They pass from sight among the hills below. There paused our Father, ravished with the sound Of the wild waters, and their rapid flow, And there, alone, rejoiced that he had found Thy Falls, Pawtucket, and where Seekonk wound.

And as he dallied on its margin still, His restless thought did on the future pause: Here might his children drive the busy mill, Here whirl the stones, here clash the riving saws; But little did he think the torrent’s will Would ever yield so far to human laws, As from the maid the spindle to receive And spin for her, and her fair raiment weave.

Reluctantly he left the scene, and fast Down Seekonk’s eastern bank pursued his way, Seeking for Waban’s meads; yet often cast His glances o’er the river, where the gray Primeval giants, meet for keel or mast, Stood, towering and distinct, in proud array; And wore to his presaging eyes the air Of lofty ships and stately mansions fair.

Still onward, by the eastern bank he sped; Here stretched the thicket deep, there swampy fen, Here sunk the vale, there rose the hillock’s head; Oaks crowned the mound, and cedars gloomed the glen, Where’er he moved;—at length his footsteps led Where a bright fountain, sparkling like a gem, Burst from the caverned cliff, and, glittering, wound Its copious streamlet, with a murmuring sound,

Far down the glade; and groves of cedars green, With woven branches on the winter side, Repelled the northern storm, whilst clear and sheen, Crisped by its pebbly bed, the glancing tide Gleamed in the sun, or darkened where the screen Of boughs o’erhung its music-murmuring glide;— It laughed along;—and its broad Southern glade Was bordered deep by woods of massy shade.

Charmed with the scene, our sire explored the place, And penetrated deep the thickets round; At length his vision opened on a space Level and broad, and stretching without bound Southward afar; nor rose o’er all its face A tree, or shrub, or rock, or swelling mound; Yet, in large herds dotting the snows, appear, With antic gambols, the far bounding deer;

And, further down, the Narraganset flood, Unfurrowed yet by keel—its fretted blue With isles begemmed, and skirted by the wood Of far Coweset,—opens on his view; So long he had beneath the forest trod, That, when the prospect on his vision grew, His soul as from a prison seemed to fly And range in thought through an immensity.

Raptured he paused.—Here then was Waban’s mead; In yonder little glen, the fountain by, He’d rear his shelter—here his flocks should feed, Cropping the grass beneath the summer sky; There by his cot he’d sow the foodful seed, And round his garden raise a paling high; And there at twilight, should his herds be seen, Following the tinkling bell from pastures green.

Ay, here, in fancy, did he almost see A lovely hamlet in the future blest, Where Christians all might mutually agree To leave their God to judge the human breast; A place of refuge whitherto might flee The hapless exile for his faith opprest, And find his lately trammelled conscience free, And for the scourge and gibbet—charity.

He thought he saw the various spires ascending Of many churches, all of different kind, And heard the Sabbath bells harmonious blending Their calls to worshippers of various mind; And saw the people as harmonious wending To several worships, as their faith inclined; And felt that Deity might bend the ear, Such harmony from various chords to hear.

But still across his mind a shadow came— A doubt that seemed a superstitious fear; For yet no Indian throng, with loud acclaim, Had bid the welcome of Whatcheer! Whatcheer! Till when he should be tossed;—as did proclaim That nameless stranger—that mysterious seer;— But from Haup’s Sachem he a grant will gain; Such were best welcome from that Sachem’s train.

Full of this thought, he turned at close of day, And gained the humble lodge as night came down; And he could scarcely brook the short delay, Till Waban, coming from the white man’s town, Should from Namasket, where the Sachem lay, The cheering welcome bring, or blasting frown; For thou, Soul-Liberty, couldst then no more Than build thy hopes on that rude sagamore.

No pain is keener to the ardent mind, Filled with sublime and glorious intents, Than when strict judgment checks the impulse blind, And bids to watch the pace of slow events To time the action;—for it seems to bind The ethereal soul upon a fire intense, Lit by herself within the kindling breast, Prompting to act, while she restrains to rest.

Two nights had passed, and, Waban lingering still, Williams began to doubt his steadfast faith; Quick was his foot o’er forest, vale and hill, His swerveless eyes aye keeping true his path. Why does he tarry? and the doubts instil Suspicions in our Sire of waking wrath Against his purpose in the barbarous clan, Whose fears e’en then on future dangers ran.

But on the morrow’s morn, while Williams mused,— Anxious and wondering at the long delay,— The wigwam’s entrance, by the deer-skin closed, Abruptly opened, and a warrior gay Glided within it. To the sight unused Of Keenomp trimmed as for the battle fray, Williams, recoiling, gazed with fixed surprise On the fierce savage and his fearful guise.

The eagle’s plumes waved round his hair of jet, Whose crest-like lock played lightly o’er his head; On breast and face the war-paints harshly met, Down from his shoulders hung his blanket red, With seeming blood his hatchet haft was wet,— Its edge of death was by his girdle stayed; Bright flashed his eyes, and, ready for the strife, Gleamed in his hand the dreadful scalping-knife.

He placed a packet, bound, in Williams’ hands, And fired his pipe, and sitting, curled its smoke, The while our Founder broke the hempen bands, And gave the contents an exploring look. There found he, answered, all his late commands To Waban, ere the wigwam he forsook; And from his wife a brief epistle too, Which told her sorrows since their last adieu:

How came the messengers with arméd men To search her mansion for “the heretic;” How his escape provoked their wrath—and then How they condemned him for his feigning sick; But with the thought consoled themselves again, That he had perished in the tempest thick; God’s righteous retribution, setting free Their Israel from his heinous heresy.

But, as he reads, the warrior starting cries, “War! war! my brother.”—Williams drops his hand, And at the voice perceives, in altered guise Till now unknown, the generous Waban stand Erect and tall, with fiercely flashing eyes, The while he pressed the hatchet in its band; “Brother, there’s war!” “With whom?” our Founder said; “Have I not friends among my brothers red?”

“Haup’s valiant Sachem is my brother’s friend,” Red Waban answered; “and I come before Him, and the train of Keenomps who attend Him, coming here—our mightiest Sagamore— To ask my brother that his aid he lend ’Gainst Narraganset’s hatchet stained with gore; Miantonomi lifts it o’er his head, Gives the loud whoop, and names our valiant dead.”

No time there was for Williams to reply Ere near the lodge there rose a trampling sound, And warriors entered, stained with every dye, Crested and plumed, with—to their girdles bound— The knife and hatchet; whilst the battle cry Burst from the crowds that flocked the lodge around, And lighted up, in every Keenomp’s eye That stared within, a dreadful sympathy.

Amid the train came Massasoit old, But not too old for direst battle fray; Strong was his arm as was his spirit bold; His judgment, bettered by experience gray, The wildest passions of his tribe controlled, And checked their fury in its headlong way; Still with the whites his peace he had maintained, The terror of whose aid his foes restrained.

There too came Corbitant, austere of mood, And Annawan, who saw, in after times, Brave Metacom, and all of kindred blood, Slain, or enslaved and sold to foreign climes; And strong Appanow, of Pocasset’s wood, And other chiefs of names unmeet for rhymes; And round our Father, in the fearful trim Of savage war, they gathered, wroth and grim.

Each fired his pipe, and seat in silence took; Around the room a dreadful ring they made;— Their eyes stared fiercely through the wreathing smoke, And luridly their gaudy plumage played, The while, obscured, they did scarce earthly look, But seemed like fiends in their infernal shade; And still the vapors rose and naught they spoke, Till Massasoit thus the silence broke:

“And is my brother here? What does he seek? Tow’rd Wamponand, upon the passing wing, A singing bird there went; its opening beak Was by Namasket’s wigwam heard to sing That thou art friendless, homeless, poor and weak, Seeking protection from an Indian King. Do the white Sagamores their vengeance wreak, E’en as the red ones, on their brethren?—Speak.”

Sire Williams answered: “’Twas no idle song Sung by that bird which passed Namasket near; I am an exile these drear wilds among, And hope for kindness from the red men here. Oft had thy friendship to the pale-faced throng, That first Patuxet[13] peopled, reached my ear; And a whisper told me thou wouldst still be kind To those who fly, and leave their all behind.”

Then rose the tawny monarch of the wood To speak his memory, as became a chief; And back he cast his crimson robes, and stood With naked arm outstretched a moment brief; Commanding silence by that attitude, And to his words attention and belief. Often he paused, his eyes on Williams fixt, Whilst rang applause his weighty words betwixt.

“Brother,” he said, “full many a rolling year Has cast its leaves and fruitage on the ground, And many a Keenomp, to his country dear, Has sate in death beneath his grassy mound, Since first the pale Awanux kindled here His council blaze, and so began to found His tribes and villages, and far and near, With thundering arms, to wake the red man’s fear.

“Brother, attend! When first Awanux came, He was a child, not higher than my knee; Hunger and cold consumed and pinched his frame; Houseless on yonder naked shore was he; Waves roared between him and his corn and game, Snows clad the wilds, and winter vexed the sea; His big canoe shrunk from the angry flood, And death was on the barren strand he trod.

“Brother, attend! I gave the infant food; My lodge was open and my fire was warm; He gathered strength, and felt a richer blood Renew the vigor of his wasted arm; He grew—waxed strong—the trees began to bud; He asked for lands a little town to form; I gave him lands, and taught him how to plant, To fish and hunt,—for he was ignorant.

“Brother, attend! Still did Awanux grow; Still did he ask for land;—I gave him more— And more—and more, till now his hatchet’s blow Is at Namasket heard, with crash and roar Of falling oaks, and, like the whit’ning snow, His growing numbers spread my borders o’er; Scarce do they leave a scant and narrow place Where we may spread the blanket of our race.”

Here paused the chief, as if to ask reply; Of thankless guests he spoke, and seemed to say That the white strangers grasped too eagerly, Nor heeded aught their benefactor’s sway. Ne’er to the Indian did our Sire deny His share of Heaven’s free gifts; and, to allay The ominous mistrust, he answered mild The dusky king of Pokanoket’s wild:

“Brother, I know that all these lands are thine, These rolling rivers, and these waving trees,— From the Great Spirit came the gift divine; And who would trespass upon boons like these? I would take nothing, if the power were mine, Of all thy lands, lest it should Him displease; But for just meed shouldst thou some part resign, Would the Great Spirit blame the deed benign?”

“’Tis not the peäg,” said the sagamore, “Nor knives, nor guns, nor garments red as blood, That buy the lands I hold dominion o’er— Lands that were fashioned by the red man’s God; But to my friend I give, and take no more Than to his generous bosom seemeth good; But still we pass the belt, and for the lands, He strengthens mine, and I make strong his hands.”

“Weak is my hand, brave chief,” our Sire replied; “Aid do I need, but none can I bestow; Yet on the vacant plain, by Seekonk’s tide, I fain would build, and peaceful neighbors know; But if my brother has that plain denied, Far tow’rds the setting sun will Williams go, And on the lands of other chiefs abide, Whose blankets are with ampler room supplied.”

As thus our Founder spake, this murmur low Circled that savage group of warriors round, “The stranger will to Narraganset go!” “A hungry wolf shall in his path be found!” Rejoined stern Corbitant, whose eyes did glow With kindling wrath;—then from his belt unbound His hatchet and beneath his blanket hid;— Warrior to warrior glanced, as this he did.

Again Haup’s Sachem broke the fearful pause: “Brother, be wise; I gave thy brethren lands; They smoked my pipe, and they espoused my cause; They made me strong; and all the neighboring bands Forsook the Narraganset Sachem’s laws[14] And mine obeyed.—We weakened hostile hands; All dropt their arms and looked, but looked in vain, For my white friends to measure back the main.

“This leaf, which budded of their hope, now dies; The Narraganset warriors crest their hair; Their hatchets keen from troubled slumber rise And through Coweset make their edges glare; Chiefs strike the war-post,—blood is in their cries, And fierce their yells cleave Pokanoket’s air; They count already with revengeful eyes The future scalps of vanquished enemies;—

“And all for Wampanoag’s life-blood crave. On Seekonk’s marge the storm of war will burst; Lands might I give thee there but that the wave Will there run red with human slaughter first. And yet my brother and his friends are brave; His bulwarks there with guardian thunders pierced, Might frown on harm;—for surely he would fight Both for his own and for the giver’s right.

“And when the Narragansets by our arms Are from the Seekonk driven far away, No more molested by the wild alarms Of scalping knife and tomahawk’s affray, We may together sit, secure from harms, And smoke the calumet from day to day; And our descendants, all the years to come, Have but one fire—one undivided home.”

“Brother,” said Williams, “these thou seëst are Hands that the blood of man ne’er crimsoned yet; Oft do I lift them to the God of prayer— Ah! how unseemly if with slaughter wet! But to the hostile Sachems I could bear The pipe of peace, thy snow-white calumet, And quench the flame of strife—how better far Than win thy lands by all-devouring war!

“With Waban for my guide, in friendly guise, Sachem, I would the arduous task essay To heal those ancient feuds by counsel wise, And quell the wrath begotten long away; Were this not better than the sacrifice Of armies slain in many a bloody fray? Then may I plant, and, in each neighboring clan, Meet with a friend where’er I meet a man.

“Ha! Yengee,” said the Sachem, “wouldst thou go To soothe the hungry panther scenting blood? Say, canst thou bid Pawtucket’s downward flow Turn and run backward to Woonsocket’s wood? The path to peace is shut;—the eager foe Sharpens his darts, and treads his dances rude, And through the trembling groves the war-whoop trills From bleak Manisses[15] to the Nipnet hills.

“Yengee! thou seest these Wampanoags brave— They are my Keenomps in the battle fray; Would it become Haup’s sagamore to crave Inglorious rest for warriors strong as they? They shrink from nothing but a dastard’s grave: Bound to the stake, upon their lips would play The smile of scorn. How can they crouch and cry For peace?”—he said; and Williams made reply:

“The Great Spirit, almighty o’er the Whole, Wields earth at will and moulds the hearts of men; At his command torrents may backward roll, The hare may gambol in the panther’s den; In Him I trust, and in His strength my soul Is more than armies.—Let your brother then Ask for himself, if not for thee or thine, That on these lands the sky of peace may shine.

“How could your brother plant, where all around War’s tempest raging pours its showers of blood? Where from each thicket bursts the war-whoop’s sound, And death in ambush lurks in every wood? When would the feet of his dear friends be found To pass along the blood-stained solitude, And bring their all—their dearer far than life— Beneath uplifted axe and scalping knife?”

Upon our Father’s words to meditate, That wise old chief kept silence for a space; Thus far he had prolonged the shrewd debate, And inly striven his bounties to retrace— Not, as it seemed at first, from growing hate, But so to magnify his purposed grace, That what he gave should be right worthy thought Of the much needed succor that he sought.

“Keenomps!” at length thus spake the Sagamore, “Shall our white brother, not for me or mine, But for himself, seek Narraganset’s shore, Disperse the clouds, and let the sunlight shine From the blue sky of peace?—Our wounds are sore But hatchets none too keen; and our design May profit by delay, if he will light His council fire and gathering friends invite.

“His bow’s now broken, and his knife now dull,— But when his warriors shall around him throng— Its sharpened edge will thirst to peel the skull Of Narraganset foe;—and he, more strong, Will wield a mightier weapon, and, more full Of valor, help us guard ourselves from wrong; Whilst many a soul he sends to join the ghosts That cry for vengeance round Sowaniu’s coasts.

“On Seekonk’s marge—our battle-stained frontier— His town will rise, and warlike will he feel; The foe must pass him if he strike us here; Our brother then will hang upon his heel, Hinder his progress, and salute his ear With the big thunders and the muskets’ peal; Lo! from the east the Tarrateen no more Dare pass the Yengee by the ocean shore.”

As ceased the chief, a fierce smile lit the eyes And curled the muscles of those men of blood; They feared the number of their enemies; This hope was cheering, and all answered—good! All save stern Corbitant, whose visage is Dark and portentous as a slumbering flood, Whose silent bosom holds the imaged storm, And seems the tempest that the skies deform.

Then rose each Keenomp, in his turn, and spake: Each said his knife was sharp, his hands were strong; But still such counsel as his chief might take He should deem wise, and so advise his throng. At length stern Corbitant did silence break;— But first unloosened from its leathern thong His scalping knife, and then a circle true With its bare point upon the earth he drew.

“So move the hunters,” the grim sachem said, Then near the centre made of scores a few; “Here do the moose and deer the thickets thread To certain death from them whose feet pursue; Do not the Yengees thus around us spread? Are we not hunted thus our forests through? Will Haup’s brave Sachem yield Awanux aid, While weep the spirits of his kindred dead?”

“Go! thou dark Corbitant!” the old chief cried, “Unarmed, the stranger seeks our vacant land,— Far from his friends would plant by Seekonk’s tide, His blood within the hollow of our hand. When to the stranger has a chief denied Food, fire, and space his blanket to expand? Hunted by him!—when come his friends he may, If timid deer we are, turn off the beasts of prey.

“He goes, and goes but for himself alone, To ask that peace between the nations be, And if the belt of Narraganset won He bring to Haup, ’twill be received by me. Now do I charge you, Keenomps, all as one, That on his path no lurking wolves ye be. Who dares with purpose fell his way to haunt, Dies by this hand—e’en were he Corbitant.

“Do thou, swift Waban, with the Yengee go, And point the way to Narraganset’s clan; If thou dar’st walk before the bended bow, Bring back the talks, that we the words may scan; In all things else to him obedience show— He is thy sachem—be thou Winiams’[16] man. But it were safe that thou the pipe should’st bear Without that painted face and pluméd hair.”

Then Williams brought his strings of wampum bright, And to the Keenomps each a present made, Which each received, and, mimicking the white, His thanks returned, and uncouth bow essayed; And Corbitant’s grim visage seemed to light With something like a smile that o’er it strayed, To see the wampum wreath our Founder flung, Where glittering on his breast the bauble hung.

To Haup’s old chief a belt, with tinselry Enchased, he gave, and trimmed with gilded wire; Which when he donned, the warriors gazed in glee Upon their Sachem in such brave attire; Then filing singly, each in his degree, They leave the lodge, and through the woods retire; The chief appointing Haup, whereat to be To hear the issue of the embassy.

Waban and Williams only tarried there, And for the journey soon began to trim; The red man doft his plumes, and loosed his hair, And cleansed his visage of its colors grim; Our Founder chose his Indian gifts to bear, And pipe of peace, as well becoming him; And forth they sallied, as from middle sky The sun looked down between the branches high.

Waban went foremost, upon nimble feet, Through ancient grove and over woodland glade;— His long black hair and blanket red, so fleet He went, streamed backward in the breeze he made; Often his form did out of sight retreat Behind the crag—behind the thicket’s shade— And then his voice, along the echoing wood, Told when he paused, or where his way pursued.

At length upon Pawtucket’s marge they stood; They heard the thunder of his falls below; Though narrow was the pass, yet deep the flood, And frail the ice to bridge its dangerous flow; But on the bank a giant of the wood, A towering hemlock, waved its lofty bough; Waban his keen-edged hatchet promptly plied; It bowed, it fell, and bridged the sounding tide.

Upstayed thereon from bank to bank they past, And now they travel under hostile sway: The night around them gathers thick and fast, Till, as more doubtful grows their devious way. Their blankets on the frozen earth they cast, And light the fire, and wait the coming day;— When safely they their journey may pursue, And greet the chiefs they seek in season due.

Williams that night lay on the snow-clad ground, With nothing o’er him but the starry blue; In parchéd maize and water pure he found A sweet repast, that woke devotion true; For while he saw the soul constrained and bound, With wings enthralled, but not her eagle view, One pious prayer made every suffering light,— That he might free and speed her heavenward flight.

The red man smoked his pipe, or trimmed the fire, And to our Father many a story told Of barbarous battles and of slaughter dire That on Pawtucket’s marge befell of old;— How always son inherited from sire The same fierce passions in like bosom bold; And wondered that his pale-faced chief could dare The pipe between such angry Sachems bear.

“Ten summers since, on yonder margin green,” He thus continued in a sadder tone, “A strong old hunter—Keenomp he had been Of many deeds—dwelt with his daughter lone: She, like the bright-eyed fawn, whose beauteous mien So charms the hunter that he stands like stone; He, like the brawny stag, with burning eye And antlers broad, and sinews that defy

“The well-aimed shaft. Then Waban was a boy; And, lonely, loved to go, by moonlight dim Or dewy morn, to see, all life and joy, The Bright-Eyed Fawn. But ah! it chanced to him One morn to seek her at her home’s employ— And, O! what havoc there!—what horrors grim! The old man lay in gore!—his daughter gone! His lodge in ashes! But the dewy lawn

“Showed prints of hostile feet. Waban is true— He followed on the trail—a devious route; Far up the winding stream the morning dew Betrayed their steps, and hers with theirs; here out They turned—leaping from rock to rock, they drew Still onward far, until a thrilling shout, From far Woonsocket, died on Waban’s ears: He pauses—listens—and again he hears—

“The Pequot’s yell! My Sachem sure has seen The well-drawn arrow leave the red man’s bow; So Waban went—the steps he made between Him and his foes no memory left—e’en now Waban is there; and, from behind a screen, Formed by the leaf of bush and bending bough, He saw the Bright-Eyed Fawn, bound to the stake— The fagots heaped around—the flames awake!

“Two warriors, standing, mock her cries, and four, In the fire-water drenched, lie here and there In slumber deep, from which they woke no more. One arrow Waban sent;—through shoulder bare Transfixed, one scoffer fell, and quenched in gore His kindling brand. Then, springing from his lair, As panther springs, with the bright glancing knife Did Waban dart, and, hand to hand in strife,

“Cleft down the second, who, with wild amaze, But faintly fought;—straight from the Bright-Eyed Fawn The bands were cut, and from the rising blaze She springs unscathed. The slumberers on the lawn Were not forgot: they slept—they sleep—yet gaze (If gaze that be which is all sightless); dawn, Noon, and night, are one. Broad Antler’s ghost Wandered not long upon Sowaniu’s coast;

“Fully avenged, he sought the spirit band Of his brave fathers, whilst the daughter, won By Waban from the cruel Pequot’s hand, Dwelt in his lodge, the mother of his son. All now are gone—gone to the spirit land, And Waban’s left all desolate and lone.” Such tales the evening hours beguiled, and filled With breathless zest, or with blank horror chilled.

They slept at last, though piercing cold the night, And round them howled the hungry beasts of prey; Nor broke their slumber, till the dawning light Gleamed in the east,—when they resumed their way. Encrusted hard and flashing far and bright, The snow sent back the rising solar ray; Mooshausick’s wave was bridged from shore to shore, And safe they passed the solid water o’er.

Westward till now his course did Waban draw; He shunned Weybosset, the accustomed ford, Where dwelt dark Chepian’s priest, that grim Pawaw, Who well he knew the Yengee’s faith abhorred, And who, perchance, if he our Founder saw Bearing the pipe of peace, might ill accord With such kind purpose, and, on evil wing To Narraganset’s host strange omens bring.

Now down the western bank their course they speed, Passing Pawtuxet in their onward way; And fast doth Indian town to town succeed, Some large, some small, in populous array; And here and there was many an ample mead, Where green the maize had grown in summer’s ray, And forth there poured, where’er they passed along, Of naked children many a gazing throng.

Their small sunk eyes, like sparks from burning coal, On the white stranger stared; but when they spied The Wampanoag, they began to roll With all the fury—mimicking the pride— Of their fierce fathers; and the savage soul, Nursed e’en in youth on thoughts in carnage dyed, Instinctively, with simultaneous swell, Sent from their lips the unfledged battle yell.

Their little bows they twanged with threatening mien, Their little war-clubs shook to tell their ires; Their mimic scalping-knives they brandished keen, And acted o’er the stories of their sires; And had their fathers at this moment seen (For they were gone to Potowomet’s fires), Our Founder’s guide, they might have caught the tone Of their young urchins, and the hatchet thrown.

Still village after village smoked; the woods All swarmed with life as forward still they fared; For numbers great, but not for multitudes So numberless, had Williams been prepared; Was it for him to tamper with the moods Of these fierce savages, whose arms were bared, Whose souls were ripe, and stalwart bodies trim, For the wild revelry of slaughter grim?

How could he hope a safe abiding place, Far in these forests, and his friends so few— Among a wild and blood-besotted race, That naught of laws divine or human knew; Their wars proceeding oft from mad caprice, Their hearts as hard ’s the tomahawks they threw:— Would his temerity by Heaven be blest? Would God nurse zephyrs on the whirlwind’s breast?

Whilst musing thus, and onward moving still, His soul o’ershadowed with suspicious fears, He gained the summit of a towering hill, And downward gazed.—Far stretched beneath appears A woodland plain; and murmurs harsh and shrill, As from accordant voices, on his ears Rise from the midmost groves, and o’er the trees, A hundred smokes curl on the morning breeze.

And now to sight, through leafless boughs revealed, Now hid where thicker branches wove their screen, Bounding and glancing, in swift circles wheeled Men painted, plumed, and armed with weapons sheen, And flashing clear or by the trees concealed,— Glimmering again and waved with threatening mien,— The lifted tomahawks and lances bright Seemed to forestall the frenzied joy of fight.

Mixed with the sound of voices and of feet, Alternate slow and fast, the hollow drum Its measured rote or rolling numbers beat, And ruled in various mood the general hum;— Now slow the sounds, now rapid their repeat, Till at a sudden pause, did thrilling come That tremulous far undulating swell, From out a thousand lips, the warrior’s yell;—

As ’twere from frantic demons. And the face Of Waban paled—then darkened as he said, “The Narragansets there their war-dance trace, They count our scalps, and name our kindred dead; This heart grows big—it cannot ask for peace; ’Twould rather rot upon a gory bed Than hear the spirits of its sires complain, And call for blood,—but ever call in vain.”

“Waban,” said Williams, “dost thou fear to go? Wilt thou thy Yengee sachem leave alone? How will thy Sagamore the speeches know, If homeward now his messenger should run? Not thou, but I will ask the haughty foe To quench his fires, and quell the dance begun; But for thy safety, thou the calumet Shalt bear beside me, till the chiefs are met.”

“Waban,” he answered, “never shook with fear, Nor left his Sachem when he needed friends; It is the thought of many a by-gone year That kindles wrath within my breast, and sends Through all this frame, my boiling blood on fire!— Still Waban on his pale-faced chief attends, But bears no pipe;—the Wampanoag’s pride Bids him to die, as his brave fathers died.”

“Waban, at least, will smoke the pipe awhile?” Said Williams gravely to his moody guide, “Its fragrant breath is as on billows oil; It calms the troubled waves of memory’s tide.” The grateful offer seemed to reconcile The peaceful emblem to the warrior’s pride: He fills the bowl—he wakes the kindling fire— And o’er his head the curling clouds aspire.

And whilst he sits, the sylvan muse will string Her rustic harp to wake no gentle strain Of barbarous camps, and savage chiefs who sing The song of vengeance to their raptured train; Of councils, and of wizard priests that bring Strange omens, dark dominion to maintain; Of incantations dire, and of that spell By Sesek wrought—which seemed the feat of Hell.

The twain have left the height, and sought the glade Where the red warriors wheel the martial dance; A while the thick young cedars round them made A cover that concealed their still advance; But passing quickly through the denser shade, Sire Williams sent abroad his searching glance O’er the rude camp, and saw, on every side, Around the blazing fires the dancers glide.

Hundreds on hundreds thronged the glade, I ween, With painted visages and pluméd hair; There bristled darts, there glittered lances sheen, And brandished knives upon the ambient air Carved fiery circles—whilst, with threatening mien, Their dark locks streaming and their muscles bare, The dancers circled o’er the thundering ground, And leaping, breathed the hard, harsh, aspirated sound.

But chiefly tow’rd the centre pressed the throngs Where plied the bravest chiefs their dances rude:— There listened to their Sachem’s battle songs, And when he ceased, in leaps his lance pursued; The while the tumult swelled until their lungs, Wrung to the highest effort, filled the wood With the wild war-whoop, tremulous and shrill, Then hushed itself and suddenly was still;

Till from the groups another Sachem sprung, To tell his deeds, and count his foemen slain; Lancing the war-post as his numbers rung, As if he slew his vanquished foe again; Whilst on his words the listening warriors hung, And drank with greedy ears the bloody strain, Cheering at times with plaudits loud and long, The butcheries numbered in the martial song.

Amid the tumult of this boisterous rout, Williams, unmarked, had gained the central glade, When all at once an unaccustomed shout Startled the groups around the fires arrayed, And staring eyes, and pointing hands about, Proclaimed the strangers to their view betrayed; Then died that hum, like the past whirlwind’s roar, When the dust rises on the distant shore.

And all were hushed, while round them, man to man They glanced, and wonder in their faces grew, Till through the camp the sullen rumor ran, “Pale-faced Awanux! Wampanoag too!” And warriors, kindling at the words, began To grasp their weapons all that gathering through; When, lo! they opened like a parting tide, And once again their murmurs lulled and died.

And Williams paused; for, from the severed crowd, A chief advancing trod the breathing plain; Bold was his port, his bearing high and proud, A lance of length did his right hand sustain; The glittering wampum did his brows enshroud, His nodding plumage wore a crimson stain; His armlets gleamed—his belt, with figures traced, Supported skirts with purple pëag laced.

His naked limbs were stained a sable hue, His naked chest and face a crimson red; Streamed backward from his brow two ribbons blue, And with his long black hair wild dalliance made; Suspended from his belt, half sheathed from view, His scalping knife and tomahawk were stayed; His eyes below his lowering forehead glowed Like two bright stars beneath a thunder cloud.

With strong majestic stride and lofty gait, He neared our Founder and his dusky guide, Who, in half tone, could but ejaculate, “Miantonomi!” when his Indian pride Choked further utterance, though still elate, Grasping his axe, with nostrils spreading wide, Self-poised he stood; appearing to await The approaching chief, who glanced disdainful hate.

Our Founder chid his guide, and high displayed The calumet in one white hand, the while He raised the other, and mild gesture made Bespeaking peace. Well did the act beguile And soothe the Sachem’s passion, and he said, Turning from Waban, with a scornful smile: “Has, then, Awanux come to hear the song? Our darts are thirsty, and our arms are strong!”

Then Williams: “Sachem, in the cause of Him, The great Good Spirit whom we all adore— Who smiles not on the contests fierce and grim Of his red children in the field of gore— I have come hither, in unwarlike trim, To crave thy friendship, and of thee implore That these black clouds portending bloody rain May go, and let the sky shine out again.”

So answering, the calumet of peace He tendered to that warlike Sagamore, Who clenched his hands, and backward stept a pace, “Nay! Nay, Awanux! Wampanoag gore Will M’antonomi’s feet in battle trace Ere dies another moon. He hears no more; ’Tis not for him, amid these Keenomps bold, To talk of peace—that suits his uncle old.”

Williams to this: “Then the gray chief is wise; His glance is forward, and around him turns; But o’er the young chief clouds of anger rise, He sees but backward, and his vengeance burns; Show me to him who looks with wisdom’s eyes Upon the nations, and most truly learns, From by-gone toils and dangers of his life, To prize the pipe above the scalping-knife.”

At this his bosom the young Sachem struck, And braced his frame, and flashed his kindling eye— “This breast is generous,” he proudly spoke, “Of like for like abundant its supply; Of good and bad it hath an ample stock; It cheers its friend, it blasts its enemy— Ten favors does it for each favor done, And ten darts sends for every hostile one.

“Follow the war-chief;—mid yon heavy cloud Of warriors grim in arms and martial dyes, Sits the gray Sachem in his numbers proud, But prouder still in counsels old and wise.” So spake he, striding tow’rd the lowering crowd. Williams to calmness did his guide advise; And both with cautious step and slow pursued The Sachem tow’rd that fearful multitude.

Not more horrific gleams the glistering snake, Where coiled on glowing rocks he basking lies, When, at the approaching step his rattles shake, Flickers his forky tongue, and burn his eyes, Than glared that crowd of warriors round the stake, Arrayed in murderous arms and martial guise; Their turbulent murmurs kindling through the whole The sympathetic wrath of one inspiring soul.

But when the Sachem, coming, near them trod, He raised his open hand, and, pausing, spoke: “Keenomps! Awanux, prompted by his God, Brings back the pipe the Wampanoag broke. Our fathers ever answered good with good, And for the bearer of the pipe ne’er woke The storm of vengeance;—list ye to his talk; He brings no message from the tomahawk.”