LXIV.

"And straight appeared a venerable seer,
Such as on earth none ever saw before;
His temples spake at least their hundredth year,
In many a long and deeply furrowed score;
But, Oh! his eyes, in youthful glory clear,

Did in bright streams celestial radiance pour; And then that face scarce seemed to veil the rays, (Too bright for mortal!) of an angel's blaze.

LXV.

"And when he spake, methought the music clear
Of tongue seraphic, filled his Heavenly tone;
It came so full yet gently on my ear,

It well might serenade the Almighty's throne; 'Williams!' it said, 'I come on message here,

Of moment great to this blind age unknown;
Thou must not dally, or the tempest fear,
But fly by morn into the forest drear.

LXVI.

"Thou art to voyage an unexplored 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 Whatcheer! Whatcheer!

Shall greet thy ears from Indian multitude,

Cast thou the Anchor there, and Trust in God.'

LXVII.

"He past away, nor could I him detain

From the drear forest and the stormy night,

He only said he should be seen again

Where faith in freedom should my rest invite.
Oft have I dwelt on that prophetic strain,
Recalled the voice-yet can I but recite
The words it spake-Oh! had I heeded more
Its import high, and shunned this tyrant shore!

LXVIII.

"Deem not, my Mary, it a sinful thought,

That Heaven should give her counsels to restore The soul to freedom.-Lo! what wonders wrought The God of Christians for the Church of yore; With heathen darkness was the conscience fraught, And tyrants chained it to a barbarous lore— To break like thraldom in a christian land, Angels may speak, and God reveal his hand.

LXIX.

"This spot I rashly chose-no Indian train
Gave the glad welcome to my raptured ear,
And that mysterious form comes not again.
Inspiring courage-therefore hence we steer-
Nor land nor dwelling augur we to gain-

Until the greeting of Whatcheer! Whatcheer!
Our journey stay-there, there is our abode.
Our Anchor there—our Hope, Almighty God!"

LXX.

Thus spake our Founder-and with ready hand,
Her spirits cheered, did Mary now prepare
For their drear journey to another land—

Alas they knew not how-and knew not where.
At eventide, red Waban from the strand-
The children from the glade with cheerless air,
Revisited the cot.-One more sad night,
And hence they journey at the rising light.

LXXI.

Upon the cottage roof the Whippoorwill

That night sang mourful to the conscious glade ; The lonely owl forsook her valley still,

And perched and hooted in the neighboring shade; The wolf returned, and lapped the purling rill, Sate on its marge, and at the cottage bayedFrom all his howling depths the desert came, And seemed his lost dominion to reclaim.

CANTO NINTH.

'Tis early morn-Pawtucket's torrent roar,
A solemn bass to Nature's anthem bold,
Alone wakes Williams' ear.-Its currents pour
Along with foaming haste, where they have rolled
Ages on ages-fretting, here from shore,

The basin broad, and there 'twixt hill and wold,
Furrowing their channel deep-far hastening on-
Now lost in shades-now glimmering in the sun.

II.

No thraldom had they known, save winter's frost ;
No exile yet had their free bosom borne ;
Deep in that glade, (now to our Founder lost)
Their wave eternal had a basin worn;

Oft thence their flow had borne the stealthy host,
In light canoes, before the dusk of morn,

Darkling to strike the foe-But now no more,

They blush to bear the freight of men that thirst for gore.

III.

Early that morn, beside the tranquil flood,

Where ready trimmed rode Waban's frail canoe,
The banished man, his spouse and children stood,
And bade their lately blooming hopes adieu.
As yet the mother had but half subdued
Despondent sorrow, and the briny dew

1

Stole frequent down her cheeks-Hers was the smartThe searching anguish of the softer heart.

IV.

And as she viewed the illimitable shade,

The haunt of savage men and beasts of prey,
Thought of her children, and what fears arrayed,
Their, haply, long uncomfortable way;
"Ye houseless babes!" she in her anguish said,

"What crimes were yours, what dire offences, say,
That, even ye, should share this cruel doom,
Beg of barbarians bread, and savage deserts roam ?"

V.

But, father Williams to his lot resigned,
Now cherished feelings of a loftier tone;
Heaven to vigour had restored his mind,
And firmly armed it for the task unknown;
He scantly glanced upon his toils behind;

His soul inspired did bolder visions own,
And from his breast dispelled each cheerless gloom,
And winged him onward to his destined home.

VI.

As the bold bird that builds her mansion high,
On some tall crag, or hemlock's lofty bough,
Deep in the desert, far from human eye,

And deems herself secure from every foe,
Does, in a pine's o'ershadowing branch, descry
The threatening eye-balls of the wild cat glow-
She spurns her eyry with a heaven-ward flight,

And builds upon some ash that crests the mountain's

height.

VII.

Thus his vain toils he coldly now surveyed;

He'd sunk, but 'twas a bolder wing to try; He snatched the weepers from the hated glade, And bore them lightly to the shallop nigh; Then

sprang himself into the stern, and bade The dusky pilot now his paddle ply;

Shoved from the bank the settling skiff descends
Low in the flood, and 'neath the burden bends.

VIII.

Now, with a giddy whirl, the wheeling prow,

Veering around, looks on the downward tide ; Then Waban's paddle pierced the glassy flow;

The mimic whirlpools past on either side; The surface cleaves-the waters boil below,

The cot-the glade—the forests backward glide ; Until the shadows, moving as they flew,

Closed round the green, and shut the roof from view.

IX.

Pawtucket's murmurs die upon their ears,

As cleaves the expanded sheet the swift canoe ; And now the river's straightened pass appears, And jutting mounds their lofty forests shew; Each giant trunk a navy's timber rears—

Their mighty shadows o'er the flood they threw,
Shut out the Heavens, and scarce could glimmering day,
The long, dark, hollow, winding path display.

X.

Stern silence reigned o'er all the sable tide,

Broke only by the swarthy pilot's oar;

Beneath the arching boughs the wanderers glide,
And the dark riplings curl from shore to shore;
The startled wood-ducks 'neath the waters hide,
Or on fleet pinions through the branches soar ;
Whilst overhead the rattling boughs, at times,
Speak where the streaked rackoon, or furious wild-cat
climbs.

XI.

Oft, on the lofty banks from jutting rocks,

The buck looked down wild on the swift canoe;

Oft o'er the bramble leaped the wary fox

With bushy tail, and fur of ruddy hue ;