Sire Williams journeyed in the forest lone;

And then night's thickening shades began to fill His soul with doubt-for shelter had he noneAnd all the out-stretched waste was clad with one

XLIV.

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,

XLV.

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.

XLVI.

Wayworn he stood-and fast that stormy night
Was gathering round him over hill and dale-
He glanced 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 caught the wanderer's sight.

XLVII.

Through the white billows thither did he wade,
And deep within its silent bosom trod,

There on the snow his oft repeated tread
Hardened a flooring for his night's abode ;

All there was calm, for the thick branches made
A skreen above, and round him closely stood
The trunks of cedars, and of pines arrayed
To the rude tempest, a firm barricade.

XLVIII.

And now his hatchet, with resounding stroke,
Hewed down the boscage that around him rose,
And the dry pine of brittle branches struck,

To yield him fuel for the night's repose:
The gathered heap an ample store bespoke-
He smites the steel-the tinder brightly glows,
And the fired match the kindled flame awoke,
And light upon night's seated darkness broke.

XLIX.

High branched the pines, and far the colonnade

Of tapering trunks stood glimmering through the glen; Then joyed our father in this lonely glade,

So far from haunts of persecuting men, That he might break of honesty the bread,

And blessings crave in his own way again— Of the piled brush a seat and board he made, Spread his plain fare and piously he prayed.

L.

"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 Oh! may still thy tender mercies last ;-
May the delusion of our race subside,

That chains man's conscience to the ruler's pride.

LI.

Grant that thy humble instrument still shun

His persecutors in their eager quest ;—
Grant the asylum, yet to be begun,
To persecution's exiles yield a rest;

Let ages after ages take the boon,

And in religious freedom still be blestGrant that I live until this task be done,

And then O Lord! receive me as thine own."

LII.

Our father ceased, and with keen relish he
Refreshed his wearied frame in that lone dell;
Ah! little can his far posterity

Sense now the pleasures of that frugal meal;
For naught he knew of pampered luxury,

But toil and fast had done their office well, And not the dainties brought o'er India's sea, Or wrung from sweat of modern slavery,

LIII.

Are now so sweet as was his simple fare.

This banquet past, he would 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.

LIV.

Growling they come, and in dark groups they stand,
Show the white fang, and roll the bright'ning eye;
Till urged by hunger seemed the shaggy band
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 scarce their rage paused at the mounting flame.

LV.

Yet Williams deemed that persecution took,

A form in them less odious than in men ;

He on their dreary solitude had broke

Aye, and had trespassed on their native glen;

His human shape they scantly too might brook;
For it had been an enemy to them;
But fiend-like man did into conscience look,
And for the secret thought his brother struck.

LVI.

Oft he recruited now the sinking blaze-
His stock of fuel seemed too scant to last;
And, 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 did raise,
Or hurled the flame at the fierce monster's gaze.

LVII.

At length the groups a panick seemed to seize,
And soon he knew the terrifying cause;
For swelling slowly 'neath 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.

LVIII.

Of all the monsters of the dreary wood,

None like the panther did the hunter fear;
For man and beast he fearlessly pursued-
Whilst others shunned he was allured by fire;
And Williams knew how perilous his mood,
And for the trying onset did prepare ;
Still by the rising blaze he firmly stood,
And every dangerous avenue he viewed.

LIX.

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 from the darkness, seemed e'en to enhance, The mortal terrors of the sure mischance.

LX.

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.

LXI.

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.

LXII.

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 flames reflected brightness shine,

The beaver's girdle closely swathed his waist;

Its skirts hung low and trimm'd with 'broidery fine ; The well formed ankles bound in deer-skin close, The melting snow-drops to the sight disclose,

LXIII.

Nature's kind feelings did his visage grace;

His gently arching brow was shorn all bare, And the slight smile now vanished from his face, Left the full trace of serious goodness there.