Chapter XV

“No town--the feast of peace!”--the red man cried,
And still with brawny arms impelled the oar;
“The clans from Narraganset far and wide,
And every tribe from Pokanoket’s shore,
There smoke the pipe, and lay the axe aside,--
The pipe my chief to Potowomet bore;
Much they rejoice--their ancient hate forego,
And deem the White Chief a good Manittoo.”