XXXVI.

Hour after hour, thus raged the doubtful fight;
Until the combatants their arrows spent ;
Then to the river's marge, in peaceful plight,
Bearing the pipe with fumes all redolent,
The fraudful wizard came, as to invite

Across the stream to cheer quite innocent, And friendly league, a neighbor and a friend; "Come let the pipe," he said, "the battle end.

XXXVII.

"Waban is brave, and Tatoban is brave,
Hereafter may we live as neighbors kind,
So let thy arrows sleep-no more shall rave

This knife and hatchet-Tatoban was blind!"
"Go!" Waban cried, "thou and thy dastard slave,
Go trap the Neyhom, or the foolish hind,
But thinkest thou into thy open snare
To lure the cunning fox and slay him there?

XXXVIII.

Thus closed that day the strife-another came,
And all was peace-another sun, and still
Another sun, rose and still brought the same

Unbroken peace-no threatening sign of ill,
Quite undisturbed red Waban trapped his game-
Or delved the shore-no foe appeared-until
Williams beguiled deemed he might safely bless
His weary hours, with all earth's happiness.

XXXIX.

Waban his only counsellor and friend,

Warrior and subject in this lone domain,
Did now the summons of his chief attend,
And to each question gave the answer plain.
"Waban!" said Williams, "do our battles end?
Is the war over-have we peace again?

No more the prophet on yon margin stands—

No more he wings his darts, or whirls his blazing brands."

XL.

Waban replied, "did ever noon-day light

On mid-night darkness break?—or tempest shed, Just as it gathered, radiance mild and bright ?— Heard not my sachem what the prophet said? That if the red men were all turning white,

He'd seek such white men as were turning red. Perchance he goes-and Waban has a fear,

That to his cunning speech they'll lend a listening ear."

XLI.

Waban! fear not, my pale-faced brethren are
All christians, or at least would so be thought;
And think'st thou Beelzebub, however fair

His speech may be, could move their feelings aught Against their brother. It is better far,

If the grim savage hath such vengeance sought,
Than lurking be among the bushes here,
To fill our days with care—our nights with fear.

- XLII.

"But, Waban, I have now a task for thee

Think not of him, be thy attention here-
Whilst the snows covered earth, and ice the sea,
I left my consort and my children dear;
'Twas stormy night-the hunter sheltered me;
And in his lodge he gave abundant cheer;
Then to the rising sun he cheerly sped,
And saw 'mong faces pale the wanderer's shed.

XLIII.

"There too he saw his little children play,

And the white hand which gave the blanket red, But now far distant seems that gloomy day,

When from their presence thy white sachem fled; The lodge is built-the garden smiling gay

Will the swift foot once more the forest thread, And guide the children and the snow-white hand, Along the howling wilds to this far distant land?"

XLIV.

Waban replied, the nimble foot will go

But a gaunt wolf may haunt the hunter's way,
And he will sharp his darts, and string his bow,
And gird his loins as for the battle fray;
The Priest of Chepian ne'er forgets a foe-
His vengeance lasts until a bloody day
Shall feed the crows, or still a bloodier night
Give the gaunt wolf a banquet ere 'tis light.

XLV.

"God is our trust!" our pious founder said

Arm, and go forth confiding in his might— Far as a banished exile's foot dare tread,

On ground forbidden, will thy sachem white Journey to meet thee. When the sun has shed

Five times from orient skies his flaming light, Williams will meet his spouse and children dear, Hid in brown shades forbidden Salem near.

XLVI.

Our founder then the brief epistle traced;
Intreating first that some kind Salem friend,
To aid his little Israel through the waste,

Would for a space two well trained palfreys lend;
Then to his spouse with kind expression graced,
Did meet directions for her guidance send ;
Called her from Egypt-bade her cheerly dare
The desert pass, and find her Canaan there.

XLVII.

The next morn dawned, and Waban stood preparedHis knife well sharpened and his bow well strungHe waited only till his chief declared

His purpose full-then on his mantle flung

Girded his loins-his brawny arms embared

Then with a plunge through rattling thickets sprungAnd soon the thunderings of the partridge tell,

Where bounds his distant foot from dell to dell.

XLVIII.

Ne'er from himself had father Williams hid,

That his own strength had on that journey tired, But his hard lot all tenderness forbid,

And hearts scarce feminine in all required; But whilst he mused new apprehensions chid

Each softer thought, and dire alarms inspired; Still Waban's words would on his mind intrude ; "That Prophet's wrath was quenched alone by blood.”

CANTO SEVENTH.

Much Williams dreaded that dark priest, I ween,
Albeit he hid his fears from Waban's eyes;
His threat'ning arrows and his savage mien

Would often now in mid-night dreams arise;
And, rising, spread of blood a woful scene ;-

His Mary pale-his children's wailing criesThen would he start, and marvel how a dream, Delirium's thought, should so substantial seem.

JI.

If in the lonely wilds, by evening dim,

That vengeful savage should the path waylay, Of all the riches earth contained for him,

Those jewels of the heart, what power could stay His thirst of blood-his fury wild and grim As is the tiger's, bounding on his preyOft came obtruding this annoying thoughtHe shook it off-still it returned unsought.

III.

Not long he brooks this torturing delay,

But soon tow'rd Salem through lone forest goes ;

Nor will the Muse now linger on his way,

And sing in horrid shades each night's repose,

Until she shuddering mingle with her lay,
And seem herself to bear her hero's woes;

Let it suffice, that he in forests brown,

Upon the third day's dawn, saw that forbidden town.