WHATCHEER,

OR

ROGER WILLIAMS IN BANISHMENT.

A POEM.

BY JOB DURFEE, Esq.

And, surely betweene my friends of the Bay and Plimouth, I was sorely
tost for fourteen weeks, in a bitter cold winter season, not knowing what
bread or bed did meane.-Roger Williams' Letter to Mason.

PROVIDENCE, R. I.

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY CRANSTON & HAMMOND.

1832.

Entered according to an Act of Congress, in the year 1832, by Job Durfee, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, within and for the Rhode-Island District..

INTRODUCTION.

TO THE REV. ROMEO ELTON,

PROFESSOR OF LANGUAGES IN BROWN UNIVERSITY.

What time, dear Elton, we were wont to rove
From classic Brown along fair Seekonk's vale,
And, in the murmurs of his storied cove,

Hear barbarous voices still our Founder hail;
E'en then my bosom with young rapture hove
To give to deathless verse the exile's tale,
And every ripple's moan, or breeze's sigh,
Brought back whole centuries as it murmured by.

But soon the brittle dream of youth was gone,
And different labors to our lots were given :
You, at the shrine of peace and glory shown;
Sublime your toils, for still your theme was Heaven-
I, upon life's tempestuous billows thrown-

A little bark before the tempest driven-
Strove for a time the surging tide to breast,
And up its rolling mountains sought for rest.
Wearied, at length, with the unceasing strife,
I gave my pinnace to the harbor's lee,
And left that Ocean, still with tempests rife,
To mad ambition's heartless rivalry;

No longer venturing for exalted life,

(For storms and quicksands have no charms for me,) I, in the listless labors of the swain,

Provoke no turmoil, and awake no pain.

To drive the team afield, and guide the plough,
Or lead the herds to graze the dewy mead,

Wakes not the glance of lynx-eyed rival now,
And makes no heart with disappointment bleed;

Once more I joy to see the rivers flow,

The lambkins sport, and brindled oxen feed,
And o'er the tranquil soul returns the dream,

Which once she cherished by fair Seekonk's stream.

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And when stern winter breathes the chilling storm,
And night comes down on earth in mantle hoar,
I guide the herds and flocks to shelter warm,

And sate their hunger from the gathered store;
Then round the cottage hearth the circle form
Of childhood lovelier than the vernal flower,
Partake its harmless glee and prattle gay,
And sooth my soul to tune the artless lay.
Thus were the numbers taught at first to flow,
Scarce conscious that they bore a tale along-
Beneath my hand still would the pages grow-
They were not labor but the joy of song-
Still every line would unsung beauties show
In Williams' soul, and still the strain prolong;
Till all in rapture with the theme sublime,
My thoughts spontaneous sought the embodying rhyme.
No man was he of heart with love confined
With blessings only for his bosom friend—
His glowing so I embraced the human kind-
He toiled and suffered for earth's farthest end.
Touched by the truths of his unyielding mind,
The human soul did her long bondage rend;
Stern Persecution paused-blushed-dropped the rod-
He strove like man, but conquered like a God.

And now, my Elton, as in hours of ease,

With aimless joy I filled this frail balloon,
So like blind impulse bids me trust the breeze,
And soar on dancing winds to fate unknown;
And be my lot whatever chance decrees-

Let gales propitious gently waft me on,
Or tempests dash far down oblivious night—
Whate'er the goal, I tempt the heedless flight.

Tiverton, R. I. September, 1832.

WHATCHEER.

CANTO FIRST.

I sing the trials and the sufferings great,
Which FATHER WILLIAMS in his exile bore,
That he the conscience-bound might liberate,
And her religious rights the soul restore;
How, after flying persecution's hate,

And roving long by Narraganset's shore,
In lone Mooshausick's vale at last he sate,
And on Religious Freedom based our State.

II.

He was a man of spirit true and bold;

Feared not to speak his thoughts whate'er they were; His frame, though light, was of an iron mould,

And fitted well fatigue and change to bear;
For God ordained that he should breast the cold
Of howling wilderness, in winter drear,
And of red Savages protection pray

From Christians, but-more savage far than they.

III.

Mid winter reigned; and Salem's infant town,
Where late were cleft the forest's skirts away,
Showed its low roofs, and from the thatching brown,
The sheeted ice sent back the sun's last ray;