Bearing the pipe of peace, but ill accord With such kind purpose, and on evil wing,

To Narraganset's throng strange omens bring.

LVI.

Now down the western bank their course they speed;
They pass Pawtuxet in their onward way;
And now does Indian town to town succeed,
Some large, some small, in populous array ;
And here and there, was many an ample mead
Where the green maize had grown
in summer's ray;
And forth was poured, where'er they passed along,
Of naked children many a gazing throng.

LVII.

Their small sunk eyes, like sparks from burning coal, On the white stranger stared; but when they spied The Wampanoag, they began to roll

With all the fury-mimicing the pride,

Of their fierce fathers-and the savage soul,

Nursed e'en in youth on thoughts in carnage died, Instinctively-with simultaneous swell,

Sent from the lips their unfledged battle yell.

LVIII.

Their little bows they twanged with threat'ning mien,
Their little war-clubs shook to tell their ires;
Their mimic scalping knives they brandished keen,
And acted o'er the stories of their sires;

And had their fathers at this moment seen

(For they were gone to Potowomet's fires,)

Our founder's guide, they might have caught the tone Of their young urchins, and the hatchet thrown.

LIX.

Still village after village smoked-the woods.

All swarmed with life as onward still he fared;
For numbers great, but for such multitudes,
By no conjecture, was his mind prepared ;
Was it for him to tamper with the moods

Of these fierce Savages, whose arms were bared, Whose souls already ripe, and bodies trim,

For the wild revelry of slaughter grim?

LX.

How could he hope a safe abiding place,

Far in these forests, and his friends so few'Mid the blood-nurtured numbers of a race,

Who naught of laws divine or human knew—
Their wars oft prompted by some wild caprice,
Their hearts hard as the tomahawk they threw !—
Would his fond rashness be by Heaven carest?
Would God nurse zephyrs on the whirlwind's breast?

LXI.

Whilst thus his mind did meditations fill,

Still moving onward, vexed with cares and fears, He gained the summit of a towering hill,

And downward glanced.-Far stretched beneath appears A woodland plain; and murmurs harsh and shrill,

As from accordant voices, on his ears

Rise from the central groves, and o'er the trees,

Smokes from a hundred fires curl on the morning breeze.

LXII.

Now to the sight, through leafless boughs, revealed,

Now hid, where thicker branches wove their skreen, Bounding and glancing, in swift circles wheeled,

Men painted, plumed and armed with weapons sheen, Now flashing clear-by thickets now concealed;

Glimmering again and tost with threatening mien, The lifted tomahawks and lances bright

Seemed to anticipate the joys of fight.

LXIII.

Mixt with the sound of voices and of feet,
Alternate, slow and fast the hollow drum.
Its measured humdrum, or rolled numbers beat,
And ruled in various mood the general hum-
Now slow the sounds-now rapid their repeat→

Till at a sudden pause, did thrilling come
That tremulous, far undulating swell-
As from a thousand lips-the warrior's yell.

LXIV.

And Williams started-for that dreadful howl-
Whoop, shout, or yell, whate'er its fitting style,
As through the woods did its fierce echoes roll,
Filled every glade and valley, for a while,
With seeming demons-murderous as the soul
Of the red warrior leaping to despoil

(His knife bright glancing through the shuddering air) The dying victim of his tuft of hair.

LXV.

An ashen hue came over Waban's face

It dwelt a moment-vanished-and he said"The Narragansets there their war-dance trace, They count our scalps, and name our kindred deadThis heart grows big, it cannot ask for peace,

It rather rot upon a gory bed,

Than hear the spirits of its sires complain,

And call for blood-but ever call in vain."

LXVI.

"Waban," said Williams, "dost thou fear to go?— And wilt thou leave thy Yengee chief alone? How will thy Sagamore the speeches know,

If homeward, now, his messenger should run ?Not thou, but I will ask the haughty foe,

To quench his fires, and quell the dance begun ; But for thy safety, thou the calumet

Shall bear beside me, till the chiefs are met."

LXVII.

"Waban," (replied he,) "never shook with fear,

Nor left his Sachem when he needed friends.

It is the thought of many a by-gone year,

That kindles wrath within my breast, and sends Through all this frame, my boiling blood on fire !

Waban still on his pale-faced chief attends, But bears no pipe-the warrior's pride

Prompts him to die, as have his fathers died."

LXVIII.

"Waban at least will smoke the pipe awhile," Said Williams gravely to his kindling guide, "Its fragrant breath is as on billows oil;

It calms the troubled waves of memory's tide." The grateful offer seemed to reconcile

The peaceful emblem to the warrior's pride : He fills the bowl-he wakes the kindling fire, And o'er his head the curling clouds aspire.

LXIX.

And whilst he sits, the sylvan muse will string
Her rustic harp to wake no gentle strain
Of barbarous camps, and savage chiefs who sing
The song of vengeance to their raptured train;
Of council's shrewd, and wizard priests that bring
Strange omens, dark dominion to maintain ;-
Of incantations dire and of that spell

By Sesek wrought-which seemed the feat of Hell.

CANTO FOURTH.

1.

The twain has left the height and sought the glade
Where the red warriors wheel the martial dance.
The thick young cedars form'd a barricade

Which hid the travellers in their still advance;
But penetrating through their denser shade,

Soon father Williams sent his searching glance
O'er the rude camp. And there on every side
He sees the dancers round the blazes glide!

II.

Hundreds on hundreds swarmed that glade, I ween,
With painted visages and plumed hair;

There bristled darts, there glittered lances sheen,

And there the brandished knives cast thick on air Wild fiery circles—whilst with threatening mien, Their dark locks streaming and their muscles bare, The dancers circled o'er the thundering ground, And leaping, breathed the hard, harsh, aspirated sound.

III.

But chiefly round the central pile the throngs

(Where plied the bravest chiefs their dances rude,) Stood listening to their Sachem's battle songs, Or when they ceased in leaps his lance pursued; The tumult swelling, till their tortured lungs Wrung to the highest effort, filled the wood, With the wild war-whoop, tremulous and shrillThen pausing suddenly the throngs were still.