He'll give my brother's town a cloudy sky, LVII. "Safer on Seekonk's hither border may My brother build, and wake his council blaze; Long grows the grass, and thrifty is the maize; And good old Massasoit's sheltering wing Will shield thy weakness from each harmful thing." LVIII. "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 : LIX. "Tell thou that Sachem, generous and wise, 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." LX. A pause ensued, and Waban silent sate; At length he answering broke the pause sedate, And gave its vapors to the wigwam's air, Whilst Williams wrote, with stationery rude, His first epistle from the lonely wood. LXI. 'Twas on the inner bark stript from the pine, How he had journeyed. and his roof now where; LXII. Then bade her send the Indian presents, bought For he had cheering hopes of Waban's soul; LXIII. 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 LXIV. His fast he broke with the accustomed prayer, As from the wigwam forth our Founder hied; [espied; That, through their screens, the heavens were scarce But melting snows and dripping foliage prove The South blows warmer in the fields above. LXV. Now from the swamp to upland woods he past, And felt the settled snows give firmer tread. Now all was calm, no wild and thundering blast [sped; And far as eye the boundless forest traced, LXVI. Onward he went, the magnet still his guide, And through the wood his course due westward took; On whirring wings the sheltering bush forsook, LXVII. At last a sound like murmurs from the shore Of many waters Beneath him quivers, and, through arching trees Bright glimmering and gliding on, he sees LXVIII. The river flowing to its dizzy steep 'Twixt fringing forests, from so far as sight And springing sun-bows o'er its showery flight, And bursting into foam, tumultuous go Down the deep chasm, to smoke and boil below. LXIX, Thence, hurrying onward through the narrow bound Till by the jutting cliffs half wheeling round, And there, alone, rejoiced that he had found LXX. 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 LXXI. Reluctantly he left the scene, and fast Down Seekonk's eastern bank pursued his way, Stood, towering and distinct, in proud array; LXXII. 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, LXXIII. Far down the glade; and groves of cedars green, With woven branches on the winter side, |