With yon

wild Eden?" Whilst he thus delays,

The old chief's hand does on his bosom bear As thus he speaks-" Another sachem sways

The isle of peace. All Haup's dominions are Stretched tow'rd the God of frost-look there and chuseAll hast thou won, and well a part may use."

LXXII.

Turned by the hand, and voice that wakes his ears,
Beneath his feet one 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 the branches melt away.
Here Seekonk wedded with Mooshausick beamed,
And there Cohannet liquid silver gleamed.

LXXIII.

Here Kikimuet left his woodland height,

Shined 'twixt the hills, or wandered 'neath the shade;
There Sowams gleamed, if names the Muse aright,
Till far in forest brown its glories fade;

And, here and there, curled on our founder's sight
Smokes from the village of each sheltered glade ;
Whilst 'neath his feet, just at the mountain's base,
Rose the chief town of Pokanoket's race.

LXXIV.

Embosomed in thick shades the village 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,
Now told what sports and now what toils pursued
The happy throngs-then would the echoes sweep
Of girlhood's voice, warbling the plaintive strain,
Half chant, half music, to the woodland plain.

LXXV.

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

His were the toils 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.

66

LXXVI.

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."

LXXVII.

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."

LXXVIII.

"My brother gives with palm expanded wide," The sachem said, "but with a closing hand, Our gifts are half received and half denied—

Hah! 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 standAnd on the deer-skin, tested by my bow, My painted voice shall talk, and to far ages go.

LXXIX.

Whilst 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, passed down the wooded height; And, in the sachem's sylvan palace, share Respite from hunger, toil and present care.

CANTO SIXTH.

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 waving 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.

II.

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.

III.

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

IV.

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-then, cowering with affright
He shrinks away-for with a crackling sound,
Yon lofty hemlock bows, and thunders to the ground.

V.

Who on the prostrate trunk has risen now,

And does with cleaving steel the blows renew? Broad is the beaver of his manly brow,

His mantle gray, his hosen azure blue ; His feet are dripping with dissolving snow; His garments sated with the morning dew; His nerves seem strengthened with the labor past ;— His visage hardened by the winter's blast.

VI.

Though changed by sufferings, 'tis our founder yet;
There does he hope, and labor, but in vain,
On free opinion's base to build a State,

Where reason aye shall spurn the tyrant's chain ;

But, ah! unhappy man! the bigot's hate,
Will still, I fear, thy lofty soul restrain :

Will rob thee even of an exile's home,
And leave thee still in savage wilds to roam.

VII.

Hard by yon little fountain, clear and sheen,

Whose swollen streamlet murmurs down the glade, Where groves of hemlocks and of cedars green, Stand 'gainst the northern storm a barricade, Springs the first mansion of his rude demesne, A slender wigwam by red Waban made: Such is sire Williams' shelter from the blast, And there his rest when daily toils are past.