Chapter LXXX (1)

Full of this thought, he turned at close of day,
And gained the humble lodge as night came down;
And he could scarcely brook the short delay,
Till Waban, coming from the white man’s town,
Should from Namasket, where the Sachem lay,
The cheering welcome bring, or blasting frown;
For thou, Soul-Liberty, couldst then no more
Than build thy hopes on that rude sagamore.

CANTO THIRD.

[SCENES. The Wigwam--Massasoit and other Chiefs--The Wilderness--A Night in the Wilderness--The Narraganset or Coweset Country--Coweset Height.]

No pain is keener to the ardent mind,
Filled with sublime and glorious intents,
Than when strict judgment checks the impulse blind,
And bids to watch the pace of slow events
To time the action;--for it seems to bind
The ethereal soul upon a fire intense,
Lit by herself within the kindling breast,
Prompting to act, while she restrains to rest.

II.

Two nights had passed, and, Waban lingering still,
Williams began to doubt his steadfast faith;
Quick was his foot o’er forest, vale and hill,
His swerveless eyes aye keeping true his path.
Why does he tarry? and the doubts instil
Suspicions in our Sire of waking wrath
Against his purpose in the barbarous clan,
Whose fears e’en then on future dangers ran.

III.

But on the morrow’s morn, while Williams mused,--
Anxious and wondering at the long delay,--
The wigwam’s entrance, by the deer-skin closed,
Abruptly opened, and a warrior gay
Glided within it. To the sight unused
Of Keenomp trimmed as for the battle fray,
Williams, recoiling, gazed with fixed surprise
On the fierce savage and his fearful guise.

IV.

The eagle’s plumes waved round his hair of jet,
Whose crest-like lock played lightly o’er his head;
On breast and face the war-paints harshly met,
Down from his shoulders hung his blanket red,
With seeming blood his hatchet haft was wet,--
Its edge of death was by his girdle stayed;
Bright flashed his eyes, and, ready for the strife,
Gleamed in his hand the dreadful scalping-knife.

V.

He placed a packet, bound, in Williams’ hands,
And fired his pipe, and sitting, curled its smoke,
The while our Founder broke the hempen bands,
And gave the contents an exploring look.
There found he, answered, all his late commands
To Waban, ere the wigwam he forsook;
And from his wife a brief epistle too,
Which told her sorrows since their last adieu:

VI.

How came the messengers with arméd men
To search her mansion for “the heretic;”
How his escape provoked their wrath--and then
How they condemned him for his feigning sick;
But with the thought consoled themselves again,
That he had perished in the tempest thick;
God’s righteous retribution, setting free
Their Israel from his heinous heresy.

VII.

But, as he reads, the warrior starting cries,
“War! war! my brother.”--Williams drops his hand,
And at the voice perceives, in altered guise
Till now unknown, the generous Waban stand
Erect and tall, with fiercely flashing eyes,
The while he pressed the hatchet in its band;
“Brother, there’s war!” “With whom?” our Founder said;
“Have I not friends among my brothers red?”

VIII.

“Haup’s valiant Sachem is my brother’s friend,”
Red Waban answered; “and I come before
Him, and the train of Keenomps who attend
Him, coming here--our mightiest Sagamore--
To ask my brother that his aid he lend
’Gainst Narraganset’s hatchet stained with gore;
Miantonomi lifts it o’er his head,
Gives the loud whoop, and names our valiant dead.”

IX.

No time there was for Williams to reply
Ere near the lodge there rose a trampling sound,
And warriors entered, stained with every dye,
Crested and plumed, with--to their girdles bound--
The knife and hatchet; whilst the battle cry
Burst from the crowds that flocked the lodge around,
And lighted up, in every Keenomp’s eye
That stared within, a dreadful sympathy.

X.

Amid the train came Massasoit old,
But not too old for direst battle fray;
Strong was his arm as was his spirit bold;
His judgment, bettered by experience gray,
The wildest passions of his tribe controlled,
And checked their fury in its headlong way;
Still with the whites his peace he had maintained,
The terror of whose aid his foes restrained.

XI.

There too came Corbitant, austere of mood,
And Annawan, who saw, in after times,
Brave Metacom, and all of kindred blood,
Slain, or enslaved and sold to foreign climes;
And strong Appanow, of Pocasset’s wood,
And other chiefs of names unmeet for rhymes;
And round our Father, in the fearful trim
Of savage war, they gathered, wroth and grim.

XII.

Each fired his pipe, and seat in silence took;
Around the room a dreadful ring they made;--
Their eyes stared fiercely through the wreathing smoke,
And luridly their gaudy plumage played,
The while, obscured, they did scarce earthly look,
But seemed like fiends in their infernal shade;
And still the vapors rose and naught they spoke,
Till Massasoit thus the silence broke:

XIII.

“And is my brother here? What does he seek?
Tow’rd Wamponand, upon the passing wing,
A singing bird there went; its opening beak
Was by Namasket’s wigwam heard to sing
That thou art friendless, homeless, poor and weak,
Seeking protection from an Indian King.
Do the white Sagamores their vengeance wreak,
E’en as the red ones, on their brethren?--Speak.”

XIV.

Sire Williams answered: “’Twas no idle song
Sung by that bird which passed Namasket near;
I am an exile these drear wilds among,
And hope for kindness from the red men here.
Oft had thy friendship to the pale-faced throng,
That first Patuxet[13] peopled, reached my ear;
And a whisper told me thou wouldst still be kind
To those who fly, and leave their all behind.”

[13] Patuxet is the Indian name for Plymouth.

XV.

Then rose the tawny monarch of the wood
To speak his memory, as became a chief;
And back he cast his crimson robes, and stood
With naked arm outstretched a moment brief;
Commanding silence by that attitude,
And to his words attention and belief.
Often he paused, his eyes on Williams fixt,
Whilst rang applause his weighty words betwixt.

XVI.

“Brother,” he said, “full many a rolling year
Has cast its leaves and fruitage on the ground,
And many a Keenomp, to his country dear,
Has sate in death beneath his grassy mound,
Since first the pale Awanux kindled here
His council blaze, and so began to found
His tribes and villages, and far and near,
With thundering arms, to wake the red man’s fear.

XVII.

“Brother, attend! When first Awanux came,
He was a child, not higher than my knee;
Hunger and cold consumed and pinched his frame;
Houseless on yonder naked shore was he;
Waves roared between him and his corn and game,
Snows clad the wilds, and winter vexed the sea;
His big canoe shrunk from the angry flood,
And death was on the barren strand he trod.

XVIII.

“Brother, attend! I gave the infant food;
My lodge was open and my fire was warm;
He gathered strength, and felt a richer blood
Renew the vigor of his wasted arm;
He grew--waxed strong--the trees began to bud;
He asked for lands a little town to form;
I gave him lands, and taught him how to plant,
To fish and hunt,--for he was ignorant.

XIX.

“Brother, attend! Still did Awanux grow;
Still did he ask for land;--I gave him more--
And more--and more, till now his hatchet’s blow
Is at Namasket heard, with crash and roar
Of falling oaks, and, like the whit’ning snow,
His growing numbers spread my borders o’er;
Scarce do they leave a scant and narrow place
Where we may spread the blanket of our race.”

XX.

Here paused the chief, as if to ask reply;
Of thankless guests he spoke, and seemed to say
That the white strangers grasped too eagerly,
Nor heeded aught their benefactor’s sway.
Ne’er to the Indian did our Sire deny
His share of Heaven’s free gifts; and, to allay
The ominous mistrust, he answered mild
The dusky king of Pokanoket’s wild:

XXI.

“Brother, I know that all these lands are thine,
These rolling rivers, and these waving trees,--
From the Great Spirit came the gift divine;
And who would trespass upon boons like these?
I would take nothing, if the power were mine,
Of all thy lands, lest it should Him displease;
But for just meed shouldst thou some part resign,
Would the Great Spirit blame the deed benign?”

XXII.

“’Tis not the peäg,” said the sagamore,
“Nor knives, nor guns, nor garments red as blood,
That buy the lands I hold dominion o’er--
Lands that were fashioned by the red man’s God;
But to my friend I give, and take no more
Than to his generous bosom seemeth good;
But still we pass the belt, and for the lands,
He strengthens mine, and I make strong his hands.”

XXIII.

“Weak is my hand, brave chief,” our Sire replied;
“Aid do I need, but none can I bestow;
Yet on the vacant plain, by Seekonk’s tide,
I fain would build, and peaceful neighbors know;
But if my brother has that plain denied,
Far tow’rds the setting sun will Williams go,
And on the lands of other chiefs abide,
Whose blankets are with ampler room supplied.”

XXIV.

As thus our Founder spake, this murmur low
Circled that savage group of warriors round,
“The stranger will to Narraganset go!”
“A hungry wolf shall in his path be found!”
Rejoined stern Corbitant, whose eyes did glow
With kindling wrath;--then from his belt unbound
His hatchet and beneath his blanket hid;--
Warrior to warrior glanced, as this he did.

XXV.

Again Haup’s Sachem broke the fearful pause:
“Brother, be wise; I gave thy brethren lands;
They smoked my pipe, and they espoused my cause;
They made me strong; and all the neighboring bands
Forsook the Narraganset Sachem’s laws[14]
And mine obeyed.--We weakened hostile hands;
All dropt their arms and looked, but looked in vain,
For my white friends to measure back the main.

[14] See notes to Canto Fourth.

XXVI.

“This leaf, which budded of their hope, now dies;
The Narraganset warriors crest their hair;
Their hatchets keen from troubled slumber rise
And through Coweset make their edges glare;
Chiefs strike the war-post,--blood is in their cries,
And fierce their yells cleave Pokanoket’s air;
They count already with revengeful eyes
The future scalps of vanquished enemies;--

XXVII.

“And all for Wampanoag’s life-blood crave.
On Seekonk’s marge the storm of war will burst;
Lands might I give thee there but that the wave
Will there run red with human slaughter first.
And yet my brother and his friends are brave;
His bulwarks there with guardian thunders pierced,
Might frown on harm;--for surely he would fight
Both for his own and for the giver’s right.

XXVIII.

“And when the Narragansets by our arms
Are from the Seekonk driven far away,
No more molested by the wild alarms
Of scalping knife and tomahawk’s affray,
We may together sit, secure from harms,
And smoke the calumet from day to day;
And our descendants, all the years to come,
Have but one fire--one undivided home.”

XXIX.

“Brother,” said Williams, “these thou seëst are
Hands that the blood of man ne’er crimsoned yet;
Oft do I lift them to the God of prayer--
Ah! how unseemly if with slaughter wet!
But to the hostile Sachems I could bear
The pipe of peace, thy snow-white calumet,
And quench the flame of strife--how better far
Than win thy lands by all-devouring war!

XXX.

“With Waban for my guide, in friendly guise,
Sachem, I would the arduous task essay
To heal those ancient feuds by counsel wise,
And quell the wrath begotten long away;
Were this not better than the sacrifice
Of armies slain in many a bloody fray?
Then may I plant, and, in each neighboring clan,
Meet with a friend where’er I meet a man.

XXXI.

“Ha! Yengee,” said the Sachem, “wouldst thou go
To soothe the hungry panther scenting blood?
Say, canst thou bid Pawtucket’s downward flow
Turn and run backward to Woonsocket’s wood?
The path to peace is shut;--the eager foe
Sharpens his darts, and treads his dances rude,
And through the trembling groves the war-whoop trills
From bleak Manisses[15] to the Nipnet hills.

[15] Manisses--Block Island.

XXXII.

“Yengee! thou seest these Wampanoags brave--
They are my Keenomps in the battle fray;
Would it become Haup’s sagamore to crave
Inglorious rest for warriors strong as they?
They shrink from nothing but a dastard’s grave:
Bound to the stake, upon their lips would play
The smile of scorn. How can they crouch and cry
For peace?”--he said; and Williams made reply:

XXXIII.

“The Great Spirit, almighty o’er the Whole,
Wields earth at will and moulds the hearts of men;
At his command torrents may backward roll,
The hare may gambol in the panther’s den;
In Him I trust, and in His strength my soul
Is more than armies.--Let your brother then
Ask for himself, if not for thee or thine,
That on these lands the sky of peace may shine.

XXIV.

“How could your brother plant, where all around
War’s tempest raging pours its showers of blood?
Where from each thicket bursts the war-whoop’s sound,
And death in ambush lurks in every wood?
When would the feet of his dear friends be found
To pass along the blood-stained solitude,
And bring their all--their dearer far than life--
Beneath uplifted axe and scalping knife?”

XXXV.

Upon our Father’s words to meditate,
That wise old chief kept silence for a space;
Thus far he had prolonged the shrewd debate,
And inly striven his bounties to retrace--
Not, as it seemed at first, from growing hate,
But so to magnify his purposed grace,
That what he gave should be right worthy thought
Of the much needed succor that he sought.

XXXVI.

“Keenomps!” at length thus spake the Sagamore,
“Shall our white brother, not for me or mine,
But for himself, seek Narraganset’s shore,
Disperse the clouds, and let the sunlight shine
From the blue sky of peace?--Our wounds are sore
But hatchets none too keen; and our design
May profit by delay, if he will light
His council fire and gathering friends invite.

XXXVII.

“His bow’s now broken, and his knife now dull,--
But when his warriors shall around him throng--
Its sharpened edge will thirst to peel the skull
Of Narraganset foe;--and he, more strong,
Will wield a mightier weapon, and, more full
Of valor, help us guard ourselves from wrong;
Whilst many a soul he sends to join the ghosts
That cry for vengeance round Sowaniu’s coasts.

XXXVIII.

“On Seekonk’s marge--our battle-stained frontier--
His town will rise, and warlike will he feel;
The foe must pass him if he strike us here;
Our brother then will hang upon his heel,
Hinder his progress, and salute his ear
With the big thunders and the muskets’ peal;
Lo! from the east the Tarrateen no more
Dare pass the Yengee by the ocean shore.”

XXXIX.

As ceased the chief, a fierce smile lit the eyes
And curled the muscles of those men of blood;
They feared the number of their enemies;
This hope was cheering, and all answered--good!
All save stern Corbitant, whose visage is
Dark and portentous as a slumbering flood,
Whose silent bosom holds the imaged storm,
And seems the tempest that the skies deform.

XL.

Then rose each Keenomp, in his turn, and spake:
Each said his knife was sharp, his hands were strong;
But still such counsel as his chief might take
He should deem wise, and so advise his throng.
At length stern Corbitant did silence break;--
But first unloosened from its leathern thong
His scalping knife, and then a circle true
With its bare point upon the earth he drew.

XLI.

“So move the hunters,” the grim sachem said,
Then near the centre made of scores a few;
“Here do the moose and deer the thickets thread
To certain death from them whose feet pursue;
Do not the Yengees thus around us spread?
Are we not hunted thus our forests through?
Will Haup’s brave Sachem yield Awanux aid,
While weep the spirits of his kindred dead?”

XLII.

“Go! thou dark Corbitant!” the old chief cried,
“Unarmed, the stranger seeks our vacant land,--
Far from his friends would plant by Seekonk’s tide,
His blood within the hollow of our hand.
When to the stranger has a chief denied
Food, fire, and space his blanket to expand?
Hunted by him!--when come his friends he may,
If timid deer we are, turn off the beasts of prey.

XLIII.

“He goes, and goes but for himself alone,
To ask that peace between the nations be,
And if the belt of Narraganset won
He bring to Haup, ’twill be received by me.
Now do I charge you, Keenomps, all as one,
That on his path no lurking wolves ye be.
Who dares with purpose fell his way to haunt,
Dies by this hand--e’en were he Corbitant.

XLIV.

“Do thou, swift Waban, with the Yengee go,
And point the way to Narraganset’s clan;
If thou dar’st walk before the bended bow,
Bring back the talks, that we the words may scan;
In all things else to him obedience show--
He is thy sachem--be thou Winiams’[16] man.
But it were safe that thou the pipe should’st bear
Without that painted face and pluméd hair.”

[16] The Wampanoags could not say _l_, but used _n_ in place of it.

XLV.

Then Williams brought his strings of wampum bright,
And to the Keenomps each a present made,
Which each received, and, mimicking the white,
His thanks returned, and uncouth bow essayed;
And Corbitant’s grim visage seemed to light
With something like a smile that o’er it strayed,
To see the wampum wreath our Founder flung,
Where glittering on his breast the bauble hung.

XLVI.

To Haup’s old chief a belt, with tinselry
Enchased, he gave, and trimmed with gilded wire;
Which when he donned, the warriors gazed in glee
Upon their Sachem in such brave attire;
Then filing singly, each in his degree,
They leave the lodge, and through the woods retire;
The chief appointing Haup, whereat to be
To hear the issue of the embassy.

XLVII.

Waban and Williams only tarried there,
And for the journey soon began to trim;
The red man doft his plumes, and loosed his hair,
And cleansed his visage of its colors grim;
Our Founder chose his Indian gifts to bear,
And pipe of peace, as well becoming him;
And forth they sallied, as from middle sky
The sun looked down between the branches high.

XLVIII.

Waban went foremost, upon nimble feet,
Through ancient grove and over woodland glade;--
His long black hair and blanket red, so fleet
He went, streamed backward in the breeze he made;
Often his form did out of sight retreat
Behind the crag--behind the thicket’s shade--
And then his voice, along the echoing wood,
Told when he paused, or where his way pursued.

XLIX.

At length upon Pawtucket’s marge they stood;
They heard the thunder of his falls below;
Though narrow was the pass, yet deep the flood,
And frail the ice to bridge its dangerous flow;
But on the bank a giant of the wood,
A towering hemlock, waved its lofty bough;
Waban his keen-edged hatchet promptly plied;
It bowed, it fell, and bridged the sounding tide.

L.

Upstayed thereon from bank to bank they past,
And now they travel under hostile sway:
The night around them gathers thick and fast,
Till, as more doubtful grows their devious way.
Their blankets on the frozen earth they cast,
And light the fire, and wait the coming day;--
When safely they their journey may pursue,
And greet the chiefs they seek in season due.

LI.

Williams that night lay on the snow-clad ground,
With nothing o’er him but the starry blue;
In parchéd maize and water pure he found
A sweet repast, that woke devotion true;
For while he saw the soul constrained and bound,
With wings enthralled, but not her eagle view,
One pious prayer made every suffering light,--
That he might free and speed her heavenward flight.

LII.

The red man smoked his pipe, or trimmed the fire,
And to our Father many a story told
Of barbarous battles and of slaughter dire
That on Pawtucket’s marge befell of old;--
How always son inherited from sire
The same fierce passions in like bosom bold;
And wondered that his pale-faced chief could dare
The pipe between such angry Sachems bear.

LIII.

“Ten summers since, on yonder margin green,”
He thus continued in a sadder tone,
“A strong old hunter--Keenomp he had been
Of many deeds--dwelt with his daughter lone:
She, like the bright-eyed fawn, whose beauteous mien
So charms the hunter that he stands like stone;
He, like the brawny stag, with burning eye
And antlers broad, and sinews that defy

LIV.

“The well-aimed shaft. Then Waban was a boy;
And, lonely, loved to go, by moonlight dim
Or dewy morn, to see, all life and joy,
The Bright-Eyed Fawn. But ah! it chanced to him
One morn to seek her at her home’s employ--
And, O! what havoc there!--what horrors grim!
The old man lay in gore!--his daughter gone!
His lodge in ashes! But the dewy lawn

LV.

“Showed prints of hostile feet. Waban is true--
He followed on the trail--a devious route;
Far up the winding stream the morning dew
Betrayed their steps, and hers with theirs; here out
They turned--leaping from rock to rock, they drew
Still onward far, until a thrilling shout,
From far Woonsocket, died on Waban’s ears:
He pauses--listens--and again he hears--

LVI.

“The _Pequot’s_ yell! My Sachem sure has seen
The well-drawn arrow leave the red man’s bow;
So Waban went--the steps he made between
Him and his foes no memory left--e’en now
Waban is there; and, from behind a screen,
Formed by the leaf of bush and bending bough,
He saw the Bright-Eyed Fawn, bound to the stake--
The fagots heaped around--the flames awake!

LVII.

“Two warriors, standing, mock her cries, and four,
In the fire-water drenched, lie here and there
In slumber deep, from which they woke no more.
One arrow Waban sent;--through shoulder bare
Transfixed, one scoffer fell, and quenched in gore
His kindling brand. Then, springing from his lair,
As panther springs, with the bright glancing knife
Did Waban dart, and, hand to hand in strife,

LVIII.

“Cleft down the second, who, with wild amaze,
But faintly fought;--straight from the Bright-Eyed Fawn
The bands were cut, and from the rising blaze
She springs unscathed. The slumberers on the lawn
Were not forgot: they slept--they sleep--yet gaze
(If gaze that be which is all sightless); dawn,
Noon, and night, are one. Broad Antler’s ghost
Wandered not long upon Sowaniu’s coast;

LIX.

“Fully avenged, he sought the spirit band
Of his brave fathers, whilst the daughter, won
By Waban from the cruel Pequot’s hand,
Dwelt in his lodge, the mother of his son.
All now are gone--gone to the spirit land,
And Waban’s left all desolate and lone.”
Such tales the evening hours beguiled, and filled
With breathless zest, or with blank horror chilled.

LX.

They slept at last, though piercing cold the night,
And round them howled the hungry beasts of prey;
Nor broke their slumber, till the dawning light
Gleamed in the east,--when they resumed their way.
Encrusted hard and flashing far and bright,
The snow sent back the rising solar ray;
Mooshausick’s wave was bridged from shore to shore,
And safe they passed the solid water o’er.

LXI.

Westward till now his course did Waban draw;
He shunned Weybosset, the accustomed ford,
Where dwelt dark Chepian’s priest, that grim Pawaw,
Who well he knew the Yengee’s faith abhorred,
And who, perchance, if he our Founder saw
Bearing the pipe of peace, might ill accord
With such kind purpose, and, on evil wing
To Narraganset’s host strange omens bring.

LXII.

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

LXIII.

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--mimicking the pride--
Of their fierce fathers; and the savage soul,
Nursed e’en in youth on thoughts in carnage dyed,
Instinctively, with simultaneous swell,
Sent from their lips the unfledged battle yell.

LXIV.

Their little bows they twanged with threatening 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.

LXV.

Still village after village smoked; the woods
All swarmed with life as forward still they fared;
For numbers great, but not for multitudes
So numberless, had Williams been prepared;
Was it for him to tamper with the moods
Of these fierce savages, whose arms were bared,
Whose souls were ripe, and stalwart bodies trim,
For the wild revelry of slaughter grim?

LXVI.

How could he hope a safe abiding place,
Far in these forests, and his friends so few--
Among a wild and blood-besotted race,
That naught of laws divine or human knew;
Their wars proceeding oft from mad caprice,
Their hearts as hard ’s the tomahawks they threw:--
Would his temerity by Heaven be blest?
Would God nurse zephyrs on the whirlwind’s breast?

LXVII.

Whilst musing thus, and onward moving still,
His soul o’ershadowed with suspicious fears,
He gained the summit of a towering hill,
And downward gazed.--Far stretched beneath appears
A woodland plain; and murmurs harsh and shrill,
As from accordant voices, on his ears
Rise from the midmost groves, and o’er the trees,
A hundred smokes curl on the morning breeze.

LXVIII.

And now to sight, through leafless boughs revealed,
Now hid where thicker branches wove their screen,
Bounding and glancing, in swift circles wheeled
Men painted, plumed, and armed with weapons sheen,
And flashing clear or by the trees concealed,--
Glimmering again and waved with threatening mien,--
The lifted tomahawks and lances bright
Seemed to forestall the frenzied joy of fight.

LXIX.

Mixed with the sound of voices and of feet,
Alternate slow and fast, the hollow drum
Its measured rote or rolling 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,
From out a thousand lips, the warrior’s yell;--

LXX.

As ’twere from frantic demons. And the face
Of Waban paled--then darkened as he said,
“The Narragansets there their war-dance trace,
They count our scalps, and name our kindred dead;
This heart grows big--it cannot ask for peace;
’Twould rather rot upon a gory bed
Than hear the spirits of its sires complain,
And call for blood,--but ever call in vain.”

LXXI.

“Waban,” said Williams, “dost thou fear to go?
Wilt thou thy Yengee sachem leave 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
Shalt bear beside me, till the chiefs are met.”

LXXII.

“Waban,” he answered, “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!--
Still Waban on his pale-faced chief attends,
But bears no pipe;--the Wampanoag’s pride
Bids him to die, as his brave fathers died.”

LXXIII.

“Waban, at least, will smoke the pipe awhile?”
Said Williams gravely to his moody 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.

LXXIV.

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 councils, and of 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.

[SCENE. The Narraganset Camp at Potowomet.]

The twain have left the height, and sought the glade
Where the red warriors wheel the martial dance;
A while the thick young cedars round them made
A cover that concealed their still advance;
But passing quickly through the denser shade,
Sire Williams sent abroad his searching glance
O’er the rude camp, and saw, on every side,
Around the blazing fires the dancers glide.

II.

Hundreds on hundreds thronged the glade, I ween,
With painted visages and pluméd hair;
There bristled darts, there glittered lances sheen,
And brandished knives upon the ambient air
Carved 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 tow’rd the centre pressed the throngs
Where plied the bravest chiefs their dances rude:--
There listened to their Sachem’s battle songs,
And when he ceased, in leaps his lance pursued;
The while the tumult swelled until their lungs,
Wrung to the highest effort, filled the wood
With the wild war-whoop, tremulous and shrill,
Then hushed itself and suddenly was still;

IV.

Till from the groups another Sachem sprung,
To tell his deeds, and count his foemen slain;
Lancing the war-post as his numbers rung,
As if he slew his vanquished foe again;
Whilst on his words the listening warriors hung,
And drank with greedy ears the bloody strain,
Cheering at times with plaudits loud and long,
The butcheries numbered in the martial song.

V.

Amid the tumult of this boisterous rout,
Williams, unmarked, had gained the central glade,
When all at once an unaccustomed shout
Startled the groups around the fires arrayed,
And staring eyes, and pointing hands about,
Proclaimed the strangers to their view betrayed;
Then died that hum, like the past whirlwind’s roar,
When the dust rises on the distant shore.

VI.

And all were hushed, while round them, man to man
They glanced, and wonder in their faces grew,
Till through the camp the sullen rumor ran,
“Pale-faced Awanux! Wampanoag too!”
And warriors, kindling at the words, began
To grasp their weapons all that gathering through;
When, lo! they opened like a parting tide,
And once again their murmurs lulled and died.

VII.

And Williams paused; for, from the severed crowd,
A chief advancing trod the breathing plain;
Bold was his port, his bearing high and proud,
A lance of length did his right hand sustain;
The glittering wampum did his brows enshroud,
His nodding plumage wore a crimson stain;
His armlets gleamed--his belt, with figures traced,
Supported skirts with purple pëag laced.

VIII.

His naked limbs were stained a sable hue,
His naked chest and face a crimson red;
Streamed backward from his brow two ribbons blue,
And with his long black hair wild dalliance made;
Suspended from his belt, half sheathed from view,
His scalping knife and tomahawk were stayed;
His eyes below his lowering forehead glowed
Like two bright stars beneath a thunder cloud.

IX.

With strong majestic stride and lofty gait,
He neared our Founder and his dusky guide,
Who, in half tone, could but ejaculate,
“Miantonomi!” when his Indian pride
Choked further utterance, though still elate,
Grasping his axe, with nostrils spreading wide,
Self-poised he stood; appearing to await
The approaching chief, who glanced disdainful hate.

X.

Our Founder chid his guide, and high displayed
The calumet in one white hand, the while
He raised the other, and mild gesture made
Bespeaking peace. Well did the act beguile
And soothe the Sachem’s passion, and he said,
Turning from Waban, with a scornful smile:
“Has, then, Awanux come to hear the song?
Our darts are thirsty, and our arms are strong!”

XI.

Then Williams: “Sachem, in the cause of Him,
The great Good Spirit whom we all adore--
Who smiles not on the contests fierce and grim
Of his red children in the field of gore--
I have come hither, in unwarlike trim,
To crave thy friendship, and of thee implore
That these black clouds portending bloody rain
May go, and let the sky shine out again.”

XII.

So answering, the calumet of peace
He tendered to that warlike Sagamore,
Who clenched his hands, and backward stept a pace,
“Nay! Nay, Awanux! Wampanoag gore
Will M’antonomi’s feet in battle trace
Ere dies another moon. He hears no more;
’Tis not for him, amid these Keenomps bold,
To talk of peace--that suits his uncle old.”

XIII.

Williams to this: “Then the gray chief is wise;
His glance is forward, and around him turns;
But o’er the young chief clouds of anger rise,
He sees but backward, and his vengeance burns;
Show me to him who looks with wisdom’s eyes
Upon the nations, and most truly learns,
From by-gone toils and dangers of his life,
To prize the pipe above the scalping-knife.”

XIV.

At this his bosom the young Sachem struck,
And braced his frame, and flashed his kindling eye--
“This breast is generous,” he proudly spoke,
“Of like for like abundant its supply;
Of good and bad it hath an ample stock;
It cheers its friend, it blasts its enemy--
Ten favors does it for each favor done,
And ten darts sends for every hostile one.

XV.

“Follow the war-chief;--mid yon heavy cloud
Of warriors grim in arms and martial dyes,
Sits the gray Sachem in his numbers proud,
But prouder still in counsels old and wise.”
So spake he, striding tow’rd the lowering crowd.
Williams to calmness did his guide advise;
And both with cautious step and slow pursued
The Sachem tow’rd that fearful multitude.

XVI.

Not more horrific gleams the glistering snake,
Where coiled on glowing rocks he basking lies,
When, at the approaching step his rattles shake,
Flickers his forky tongue, and burn his eyes,
Than glared that crowd of warriors round the stake,
Arrayed in murderous arms and martial guise;
Their turbulent murmurs kindling through the whole
The sympathetic wrath of one inspiring soul.

XVII.

But when the Sachem, coming, near them trod,
He raised his open hand, and, pausing, spoke:
“Keenomps! Awanux, prompted by his God,
Brings back the pipe the Wampanoag broke.
Our fathers ever answered good with good,
And for the bearer of the pipe ne’er woke
The storm of vengeance;--list ye to his talk;
He brings no message from the tomahawk.”

XVIII.

As thus he spake, the sullen murmurs died,
And, hushed and listening, all the warriors stood;
Again he moved--and at his onward stride
The deep mass parted like a severing flood;
And, yielding either way, the living tide
Left clear the space through which our Founder trod:
Their breath alone he heard--like the hoarse breeze
Foreboding tempests to the shuddering trees.

XIX.

At last he came where the old Sachems sate,
Who formed the Narraganset senate grave;
Renownéd were they once, in fierce debate
Of battle dire, as bravest of the brave;
But now, as guardians of their little state,
To younger hands they prudent counsel gave.
Their youth was gone, but their experience sage
Had thrice its value in a wise old age.

XX.

On settles, raised around the mounting blaze,
Sit gray Wauontom, Keenomp, Sagamore;
But he who most attracts our Founder’s gaze
Is sage Canonicus, whose tresses hoar
Float on the passing breeze; whose brow displays
The care-worn soul in many a furrowed score;
But whose bright eyes, that underneath it glow,
Still show the chief of sixty years ago.

XXI.

Beside him lay the calumet of peace--
It was his sceptre mid the din of arms;
No martial dyes did on his visage trace
The lines of wrath--for him they had no charms;
The neyhom’s[17] mantle did his shoulders grace,
With ample folds that stayed the winter’s harms;
At every movement, changing in the sun,
From plume to plume its glistering glories run.

[17] The neyhom, or wild turkey. See note.

XXII.

Mute were the chiefs and seemed to meditate;
Nor turned their heads, nor cast a glance aside,
When on the offered mat our Founder sate,
And close behind him came his watchful guide.
Then spread the warriors round in circle great,
And did the earth beneath their numbers hide;
They sit, kneel, stand, or climb the forest boughs,
Till all around the live enclosure grows.

XXIII.

When ceased the crowd to stir, and died their hum,
Long on our Sire the old chief kept his gaze;
At length he said: “And has Awanux come?
He’s welcome to the red man’s council blaze.
What news brings he from the pale stranger’s home?
Or from the dog that near his wigwam strays?
Our young men see the pipe--what does it seek?
Our ears are open--let Awanux speak.”

XXIV.

Sire Williams rose;--a thousand staring eyes
Were on him fixed; a thousand ears were spread
To catch his words, whilst all around him lies
That mass of life hushed in a calmness dread,
Like that of dark Ontario, when the skies
Are mustering their tempests overhead;
And the round moon looks through the gathering storm
And, glassed mid tempest shapes, beholds her form.

XXV.

He paused a while; at last he thus began:
“Sachem of many moons, and wise as gray!
Well knowest thou how short the life of man;
These aged oaks have witnessed the decay
Of many a generation of thy clan,
Which flourished like their leaves, and past away;
Why war ye, then, upon a life so brief!--
Why fill its little span with wretchedness and grief?

XXVI.

“But they who seek the pure unmingled goods
That last for aye,--to strenuous duty true,--
Count freedom of the soul, in her high moods,
The first of gifts from the Great Manittoo:--
For this I wander to these distant woods;
For this from persecution’s brands I flew,
And left my friends, my kindred, and my home,
Through stormy skies and snowy wilds to roam.

XXVII.

“Some thoughts of mine, that the Great Spirit might
Rule better His own kingdom than frail men,
Awoke the anger of my brothers white,
And sent me forth to seek some far-off glen,
Where I, unharmed, my council fire might light,
And share its freedom with my kindred, when
Under the tree of peace, the red men should
Smoke the white pipe in friendly neighborhood.

XXVIII.

“On Seekonk’s eastern marge I chose a glade,
Fertile and fair, with hope to plant thereon;
The Wampanoag would the grant have made,
But, momently, the startling rumor run
That all Coweset was in arms arrayed
Against that chief, and, had the dance begun;
Then paused your brother--for he would not bring
His friends to sit beneath the hatchet’s swing.

XXIX.

“Then did he take Haup’s calumet to crave
That peace between the hostile nations be;
Not that the Wampanoag warriors brave
Sought from the Narraganset storm to flee;
But that no guilty stain, on Seekonk’s wave,
Rebuke the Pokanoket Chief or thee,--
The work, perchance, of darts from heedless bows,
Confounding pale-faced friends with warring foes.

XXX.

“My motives these; now let the wise chief tell
What wrongs he suffers; what redress he seeks.
Do not his buried kindred slumber well?
What murdered victim’s ghost for vengeance shrieks--
Sends through the echoing woods the warrior’s yell,
And from its iron sleep the hatchet wakes?
Or does some impious tongue his anger brave,
By speaking names made sacred by the grave?”

XXXI.

Then passed a murmur through that concourse wide,
And man on man cast the inquiring eye;
At length the old chief laid his pipe aside,
And, musing, sate, as pondering his reply;
Then slowly rose, and drew the pluméd hide
From his right shoulder, and, with stature high,
Stretched forth his long bare arm and shriveled hand,
And pointing round the sky-encircled land;--

XXXII.

“As far,” he said, and solemn was his tone,
“As from Coweset’s hill the hunter’s sight
Goes tow’rd the Nipnet--tow’rd the rising sun--
And o’er the mighty billows, foaming bright,
Where bleak Manisses’ shores they thunder on,
Moved Narraganset warriors,--till the White
Came from the east, and o’er the waters blue,
Brought his loud thunders in the big canoe:

XXXIII.

“Yes, ere he came, Pocasset’s martial band
Did at our bidding come to fight the foe,
And the tall warriors of the Nipnet land
Rushed with swift foot to bend our battle bow;
And e’en the dog of Haup did cringing stand
Beside our wigwam, and his tribute show.
Then we were strong--we fought the Maquas fell,
And laughed to hear the bordering Pequot’s yell.

XXXIV.

“But, Yengee, hear: The pale-faced strangers came;
No runners told us that they trod our shores;
Near the big waters rose their council flame,
And to it ran our eastern Sagamores;
Haup’s dog forgot the Narraganset name,
And ate the offal cast from white men’s doors,
Moved at their heels, and after him he drew
The strong Pocassets, and the Nipnets too.

XXXV.

“Then the fierce Pequots on our borders broke,--
We sent the belt to claim the accustomed aid;
The rebel chiefs the angry hatchet shook--
They were the Yengee’s men, not ours, they said;
We stood alone; and, like a steadfast rock,
Turned back the torrent to its fountain head,
Which else had swept those sluggard tribes away,
That by Awanux’ wigwam slumbering lay.

XXXVI.

“These are our wrongs, and who can ever mend
The belt thus broken by the rebel train?
The falling waters with earth’s bosom blend,
And who shall hold them in his palm again?
Against the common foe our warriors spend
Their blood like rivers--who can wake the slain?
Heal up the wounds for other men endured--
Give back the blood which has their rest secured?”

XXXVII.

The Sachem ceased, and mingled murmurs ran
Through all that crowd--“He speaks a manittoo!
Base Wampanoag! we’ll devour that clan,
And drive the Yengees back o’er ocean blue!”
And through the concourse motions mixed began,
With clash of arms, and twanging of the yew;
But when they saw our Founder rise again,
Mute stillness hushed the murmurs of the train.

XXXVIII.

“Brother,” said Williams, “thou art old and wise,
And know’st the pipe is better than the dart.
The barb can drink the blood of enemies;
But the pipe’s conquest is the foeman’s heart;
It gives to us his strength and energies,
And makes the Pequot from our path depart.
This, to the good, gives triumph long and just--
That, to the bad, a victory over dust.

XXXIX.

“If, then, my brother can subdue his foes
By the white pipe, he will be very strong!
The offending chiefs once more will bend his bows,
And shout around his fire their battle song;
No more will Pequot harass his repose,
Or Maqua yells resound these hills among.
See not my brothers whence all this distrust?--
The belt between them and the Yengees rust.

XL.

“Hearken a space--Deem not the Yengee weak;
Betwixt him and Haup’s chief the chain is bright;
If thou on him a finger’s vengeance wreak,
The conscious chain will vibrate to the White,
And, roused from slumber, will the big guns speak,
And flames will flash from every woodland height.
Pause, brother, pause--and to the pale-faced train
Extend thy friendship, and keep bright the chain.

XLI.

“But hearken still--Thy brother knows no guile;
His tongue speaks truly what his heart conceives;
Against the Pequots do your bosoms boil,
And for the Pequot deeds Awanux grieves;
Their hands are laden with the white man’s spoil,
And crimsoned with the stain that murder leaves;
Soon will the big guns to their nation speak,
And, in their aid, may’st thou just vengeance wreak.

XLII.

“Thou would’st compel the Wampanoag’s aid
To guard thy borders, and chastise thy foes;
Will not my brothers let me them persuade
To get them warriors armed with more than bows?
Even Awanux, in his strength arrayed,
Whose thunder roars and whose red lightning glows?
Make him your friend and victory follows sure,
And Narraganset rests in peace secure.”

XLIII.

The old chief downward gazed; the warriors round,
Some in stern silence sate of doubtful mood,
Some gave a scornful smile, some fiercely frowned,
And others toiled to sharp their darts for blood;
At length the Sachem, rising from the ground,
With piercing eyes, full in the visage viewed
Our anxious Founder.--“Thou dost speak,” he said,
“The words of wisdom, but these ears are dead;

XLIV.

“Dead to a Yengee’s voice. When did the tongue
Of the white stranger fail to speak most fair?
When did his actions not his speeches wrong,
And lay the falsehood of his bosom bare?
Fain would I die in peace, and leave this throng
To have their glory down the ages fare;
But still I feel the stranger’s grasping hand,
And still he soothes me with his accents bland.

XLV.

“If true he speak--that should his actions show;
May not his heart be darker than yon cloud,
And yet his words white as its falling snow?
Still, if his speech were true, and not a shroud
To hide dark thought, these gray hairs yet might go
Down to the grave in peace--and of my blood
Might all, whilst rivers roll, or rain descends,
Live with the Yengee, kind and loving friends.”

XLVI.

’Twas for our Founder now in turn to pause--
He felt his weakness at rebuff so stern;
The kid had leaped beneath the lion’s paws,
Whose fangs began to move, and eyes to burn;
At length he said, “What bold encroachment draws
The Sachem’s mind into this deep concern?
How have the Yengees given thee offence?
What deeds of theirs have marred thy confidence?”

XLVII.

At this, the Sachem from his girdle took
His snow-white pipe, and snapt the stem in twain:
“They came intruders, and the pipe was broke,”
Said the stern Sachem, and it snapt again;
“Our subject chiefs their ruling chiefs forsook,
And they were sheltered by the stranger’s train.
This fragment shows the serpent’s skin they sent,
Filled with round thunders to our royal tent.

XLVIII.

“This shows, they raised their bulwarks high and proud,
And poised their big guns at our distant home.
This, when at Sowams[18] raged our battle loud,
How their round thunders made that battle dumb.
This, the fire-water how they have bestowed,
And with its madness have our youth o’ercome.
This, how amid the Pequot nation they
Build the square lodge, and whet him to the fray.

[18] See note to stanza XXXIII.

XLIX.

“This, with the Maqua how a league they made,
And filled with arms his all-destroying hand.
This, how they claim right over quick and dead--
Our fathers’ buried bones, their children’s land.
This, how the earth grows pale, as fast they spread
From glade to glade, like snow from Wamponand,
When borne o’er ocean on the sounding gales,
It crowns the hills and whitens through the vales.

L.

“Take thou the fragments--count their numbers well--
Ten times complains our violated right;
They’ll help thy memory, and perchance will tell,
Ten causes have we to distrust the White;
Scarce can the grave our fathers’ spirits quell--
They come complaining in the dreams of night;
Ten times the pipe was by the strangers broke,
Ten times the hatchet from its slumbers woke.”

LI.

Williams the fragments took, and, counting ten,
He promptly answered with this calm reply:
“Sachem, some charity is due to men
Who tread upon thy pipe unwittingly.
Long had the waters tossed those wanderers, when,
Hungry and cold, they came thy borders nigh;
And, Sachem, they were ignorant of thy race,
They only sought a safe abiding place.

LII.

“And this they found in that deserted strand,
Where slept the dead--where living men were not;
They knew no wrong in this--a rightful hand
Appeared, and welcomed to the vacant spot;
Each Sachem seemed as sovereign of his band--
They took his belt, for ’twas a token brought
Of friendly greeting--who can this condemn?
They aid the Whites, the Whites in turn aid them.

LIII.

“Bound in the skin of the great sachem snake,
My brother sent his barbs--but to his foe,
Awanux took the challenge by mistake,
And let his bullets for an answer go;
They deemed the Sachem angry, and did take
Some wise precaution ’gainst a secret blow;
They raise their bulwarks, and their guns they poise;
This was respect to sovereign brave and wise.

LIV.

“No leagues have they with the fierce Maqua made,
Nor with the Pequot hostile is the race;
But if my brothers, for the fight arrayed,
O’er Pokanoket’s borders speed their pace,
I dare not say they would forego the aid
Of any tribe that would thy battle face;
Mohegans, Pequots, Tarrateens would fly
To join their force, and swell their battle cry.

LV.

“To these six fragments of the pipe I’ve spoke;
Take them again, if I have answered well;
But those which tell me that the stem was broke
By the fire-water, and of what befel
Thee upon Haup--of claims thou canst not brook,
Made by those strangers from the nations pale
To these broad forests as their own domain--
These will I ask Awanux to explain.

LVI.

“This fragment tells me that his numbers grow,
That they are spreading fast, from glade to glade;
If the Great Spirit does increase bestow,
Will the wise Sachem that great Power upbraid?
The lands they take, well does my brother know,
They fairly purchase of the nations red;
E’en thus would I on Seekonk’s marge abide,
If peaceful nations dwelt on either side.

LVII.

“On Seekonk’s bank, betwixt my brothers white
And the red nations I might friendly stand,
And help them still to understand aright
Whate’er was doubtful from each other’s hand;
The chain of friendship hold, and keep it bright,
And strengthen thus all Narraganset’s band;
Till ’gainst our common foes we all unite,
And conquer safety through resistless might.

LVIII.

“This question seeks the Sachem’s plain reply:
Takes he the pipe--lays he the axe aside?
Have I his peace, or does he peace deny,
Nor in my honest counsels aught confide?
Still chooses he the doubtful strife to try,
And brave the Yengees with his foes allied?
Say--can he listen to an exiled man,
Whose words and deeds might still befriend his clan?”

LIX.

“Brother,” the Sachem said in milder tone,
“Six fragments of the pipe, as well explained,
My willing hand receives--I ponder on
The last in doubt--the three, thou hast retained,
Send to Awanux--may he answer soon,
And show our blindness has of them complained;
Thy heart seems open, and its speech is brave;
Queries of weight demand an answer grave.

LX.

“Large is our regal lodge, and furnished well
With skins of beaver, bear, and buffalo;
Nausamp and venison is its royal meal;
And its warm fire is like the summer’s glow:
There, with that Wampanoag shalt thou dwell,
And all our comforts in full safety know;
The whilst, our old chiefs shall, in council great,
Upon thy questions gravely meditate.”

LXI.

Here closed the long debate, and, from the ground,
Rose the thronged warriors, and hoarse murmurs past
Through all that concourse, like the hollow sound
Of Narraganset’s waters, when the blast
Begins to roll the tumbling billows round
The rock-bound cape, which had so lately glassed
Its imaged self--its pendant crags and wood--
In the calm bosom of the silent flood.

CANTO FIFTH.

[SCENES. A Sequestered Dale--Open Glade and Grand National Council--The SUMMIT OF HAUP.]

Deep in the dale’s sequestered solitude,
Screened from the winter’s storm and chilling blast
By branching cedars and thick underwood,
And ever with their shadows overcast,
Old Narraganset’s regal wigwam stood,
Where dwelt her chief, while yet the cold did last,
And tempests, driving from the frozen north,
Detained his warriors from the work of wrath.

II.

And near it rose an ample council hall,
Where oft the Narraganset senate sate,
When came the wise men, at their Sachem’s call,
On schemes of high emprise to hold debate;
And in the shade were shelters meet, for all
His grave advisers who should on him wait;
And, with the red men just as with the white,
Such free provision did delays invite.

III.

Here Father Williams must a while remain.
And, with apt converse born of feelings mild,
Soothe the stern natures of the warlike train,
His destined neighbors in that barbarous wild;
Allay distrust and confidence obtain,
Until suspicion and fierce wrath, despoiled
Of all their terrors, leave the vanquished mind
To generous friendship and full faith inclined.

IV.

Day after day he passed from man to man,
Whome’er of note the mightier Sachems swayed,
And, to the chieftains of each martial clan,
In paints all grim--in horrid arms arrayed--
He talked of peace; then o’er the dangers ran,
Were war against the Wampanoag made;
And then besought them that with friendly eyes,
They would behold his smoke from Seekonk rise.

V.