Nor land nor dwelling let us think to gain

Until the greeting of Whatcheer! Whatcheer! Our journey stays, there, there is our abode ; Our anchor there, our Hope, Almighty God!”

LXXI.

Thus spoke our Sire, and now, with ready hand
And spirits lightened, Mary did prepare
For their departure 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 thence they journey at the rising light.

LXII.

Upon the cottage roof the Whip-poor-will

That night sang mournful 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 bayed; From all its howling depths the desert came, And seemed its lost dominion to reclaim.

II

CANTO NINTH.

SCENES. Seekonk's Stream and Banks-Whatcheer Cove and Shore-
Mooshausick's Vale, or Site of Providencc.]

'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 gray of morn,
Darkling to strike the foe, but now no more
They bear the freight of men athirst 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.
The anxious mother had not yet subdued
Despondent sorrow, and the briny dew

Stole often down her cheeks; hers was the smart
The searching anguish of the softer heart.

IV.

And, as she viewed the illimitable shade,
The haunt of savage men and beasts of prey,
She thought of all the dreadful ills arrayed

Against her children on their dangerous way; "Ye houseless babes!" in her wild grief she 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 rose to feelings of a loftier tone;
For Heaven to vigor had restored his mind,
And firmly braced it for the task unknown;
He scarcely glanced upon the toils behind;

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

VI.

As the bold bird that builds her mansion high
On beetling crag or helmlock's lofty bough,

Deep in the desert, far from human eye,

And deems herself secure from every foe, Aloft in overshadowing branches nigh,

Perceives the wild-cat's threatening eye-balls glow,

And spurns her eyry, with ascending flight
To some tall ash that crests the mountain's height;

VII.

So his vain toils he coldly now surveyed;

He had but sunk a bolder wing to try;

He snatched the weepers from the hated glade,
And bore them lightly to the shallop nigh;

Then sprang into the stern, and cheerly bade

The dusky pilot his deft paddle ply;

While, shoved from shore, the settling skiff descends Low in the flood, and with the burden bends.

VIII.

Now with a giddy whirl the wheeling prow
Veering around points with the downward tide;
Then Waban's paddle cuts the glassy flow;

The mimic whirlpools pass 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 through the smooth expanse the swift canoe. Drives on; and now the straitened pass appears With jutting mounds that lofty forests shew; Each giant trunk a navy's timber rears;

Their mighty shadows o'er the flood they threw, Shutting the heavens out, till glimmering day Could scarce the long, dark, winding path display.

X.

Deep silence reigned o'er all the sable tide,
Broke only by the swarthy pilot's oar;
Under the arching boughs the wanderers glide,
And the dark ripplings 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,
Tell where the streaked raccoon or wild cat climbs.

XI.

Oft on the lofty banks, from jutting rocks
The buck looked wildly on the swift canoe;
Oft o'er the bramble leaped the wary fox,
With bushy tail and fur of ruddy hue;
Or wheeling high and gathering still in flocks,
The dark-winged crows did by their clamors shew
Where the lone owl, upon his moss-grown seat,
Maintained, unvanquished yet, his drear retreat.

XII.

Far down the winding pass at length they spy
Where wider currents, bright as liquid gold,
Spread glimmering in the sun; and to the eye,
Still further down, broad Narraganset rolled
His host of waters azure as the sky;

For breezes from the hoary ocean cooled
His heaving breast, and, with rejoicing glance,
From shore to shore the wanton waters dance.

XIII.

And now did Williams in his mind debate ;
Should he that night cleave Narraganset's flood,
Or on the Seekonk's bank till morning wait,

And scour the while Mooshausick's gloomy wood? "Oh, would that Heaven might there predestinate On earth, Soul-Liberty! thy first abode," (He often thought) "or where, in ocean's arms, Aquidnay smiles in her wild virgin charms."

XIV.

While thus he ponders, down the stream he sees, Where from th' encroaching cove the wood retires, Dark wreaths of smoke rise o'er the lofty trees,

And deems that there some village wakes its fires.