And mustering towns poured forth their eager trains,
From where wild Pawcatuck’s dark water flows,
To where Pawtucket cleaves the sounding plains;
From where Aquidnay’s blooming bosom throws
The ocean back, unto the far domains
Of the rude Nipnet, Narraganset’s wood
Rendered in eager throngs the multitude.
XXII.
Swarm upon swarm, far dark’ning all the ground,
They gathered, and on Potowomet’s plain,
The dusky rabble filled the borders round,
While near the centre stood the warrior train;
Wild dance their plumes; fierce looks, fierce threats abound,
With war of voices like the murmuring main,
Wherein these words continually prevail:--
“The priest of Chepian grim!--Awanux weak and pale!”
XXIII.
The council formed upon the open glade;
The Sachems sate about the mounting blaze;
Five thousand warriors round that senate made
A dreadful ring, and stared with fixed amaze;
Within the senate, (so the chieftains bade,)
Apart sate Williams, obvious to their gaze;
And off a little, but confronting him,
Appeared the wizard in his hideous trim.
XXIV.
From crown to heel stained black as night he rose,
All naked save his waist and heaving chest;
The sable fox-hide did his loins enclose,
The sable fox-tail formed the nodding crest
Above his inky locks, which, dangling loose,
Half veiled his cheeks, and reached unto his breast;
Around that breast the same black fox’s hair
Moved as he breathed, and seemed as growing there.
XXV.
Tall was his form, and in his dexter hand
He bore a barb with deadly venom fraught;
Whilst in his left, supported by a band,
He held a casket, where the rabble thought
A manittoo, awaiting his command,
Coiled in a serpent’s folds; and there was nought
That in brave warriors could awaken fright,
Save his dire glance and fascinating might.
XXVI.
For, strange to tell! e’en on the human kind,
That serpent ventured his mysterious charm;
And there were those who thought the subtle mind
Of Chepian’s self inspired his winding form.
All sought his omens.--He was aye enshrined,
Through winter’s cold, in furs to keep him warm;
And never issued to the open light,
Till famine roused his rage, or prey provoked his might.
XXVII.
Thus, with strange terrors armed, the wizard stood,
And on the casket riveted his eyes,
And whispered for a while in ghastly mood,
Until responses from it seemed to rise
Faintly distinct, whereat the vulgar blood
Stayed its career, and even Sachems wise
Heard with a thrill,--for these dread accents rose:
“Count ye the sands--ye count your pale-faced foes.”
XXVIII.
The prophet looked around, the throngs to scan;
And well he noted by the silence dread
The moment of effect, and then began,--
Beseeching first his fearful demon’s aid:
“Chepian, thou power of evil! dread of man!
God of destruction! pouring on the head
Of thy opposers, ruins, plagues, and pest,--
Let all thy might thy serpent form invest.”
XXIX.
He said; then turning to the throngs he spoke:
“Brothers! dark tempests overcast our sky;
The characters upon Cohannet’s rock
Set bounds in vain; the stranger doth defy
And break our spells; dread Chepian feels the shock;
In wrath he sees the approaching deity
Of the pale man--and, in his coming stride,
Feels scathe and death to his dominion wide.
XXX.
“Now hearken, brothers:--’twas a dismal night,
And in his cave sate Tatoban alone;
The fading embers shed a dreary light,
And the big owl sent forth a hollow moan;
The god of tempests sped his rapid flight,
And with his footsteps made the forest groan;
And whilst he sate, out from the deepest gloom
Did the dread form of awful Chepian come.
XXXI.
“‘Sleeps Tatoban!’ the awful demon said,
‘Sleeps Tatoban! my Priest, my Prophet sleep!
Does not a pale man my dominion tread?
With hostile gods has he not crossed the deep?
Prophet! the spirits of your kindred dead
Already o’er their children’s ashes weep;--
Arise! go forth, and by thy serpent quell
The daring stranger, and his gods expel!
XXXII.
“‘Hast thou forgot, when, by Cohannet’s stream,
To curse the strangers every charm was tried?
How, at your mutterings, the moon’s pale beam
Retired from Heaven, and backward rushed the tide?
How I appeared, and, by the embers’ gleam,
To the hard rock my lance’s point applied,
And scored my mandate--saying to the foe,
Thus far thy gods may come--no further go?[19]
[19] See note.
XXXIII.
“‘Rouse, Prophet, rouse! A stranger now doth dare
Pass the charmed limits, and our peace invade!’
He said, and, resting on the casket there,
Melted from sight into the sombre shade:
He chose my serpent for his earthly lair;
Swelled his huge volumes, and inspired his head,
And taught his tongue to speak the future well,
And charms most wise that can the bravest quell.
XXXIV.
“And dar’st thou, stranger, brave his glance of fire?
Dar’st thou confront the terror of his charms?
Confront grim Chepian in the dread attire
Of the great Sesek, whose unearthly arms
Wake fear in Sachems? O, thou fool! retire--
Bear off thy gods; for robed in all their harms
Thou art unsafe.--No power we yield to thee,
Or to thy gods; for Chepian rules by me.”
XXXVI.
Williams replied, “Thou Priest of Beelzebub!
Chepian, I mean, if that’s his better name--
I come not hither to assume thy robe
Pontifical, or emulate thy fame;
Or yet to trouble, with the warrior’s club,
Such saints as thou and thy dark demon claim;
For be but peaceful, and I let thee still
Worship thy manit dark, as suits thy will.
XXXVII.
“But here I sit, to prove thee to thy face
A foul impostor, and thy charms a cheat;--
To ope the eyes of a deluded race,
Strangely misled by thine infernal feat,
That in thy foe they confidence may place,
And him, in friendship, as a neighbor greet;
So try thy spells, thine utmost powers essay,
And if I blench, be thine the victor’s day.”
XXXVIII.
“Die, then!” he said, and down with fury cast
The magic casket, and wide open flew
Its fur-lined cavern. Forth his volumes vast,
Fold following fold, the monstrous serpent drew;
Flashed on his burnished scales, the sunbeams past
Along his flexuous form in many a hue;
Proud of his freedom, o’er the glade he rolled,
And mocked the rainbow in his hues of gold.
XXXIX.
High towered his head; in many an ample fold
He coiled his volumes, spires o’er spires ascending
And lessening as they rose and inward rolled;
His rustling scales, their various colors blending,
Surpassed the hues of diamond and of gold;
Till, from the top pyramidal extending,
Swam forth on crooked neck his eyes of flame,
Rang his sharp buzz, and on he slowly came.
XL.
Shouted the crowds, as they beheld him rise,
“The manittoo! The manittoo!” they cried.
In sooth, their demon, from his burning eyes,
Seemed looking forth, and his unlabored glide
Scarce earthly seemed, the while his glistering dyes
In mingling brilliance changed and multiplied,
And scarce the curves that moved him did untwist;
But o’er them floating, like a globe of mist,
XLI.
His quivering rattles buzzed. With curious eyes,
Williams beheld him gradually advance,
Then grasped a wand, then paused with fixed surprise,
To see the gorgeous radiance, moving, glance
The hues of heaven;--to see, now sink, now rise,
His bending spires,--his wavering colors dance;
And at each change of that deep thrilling hum
The motions change--the colors go and come.
XLII.
An odor, strange though not offensive, spread
About him, as he near and nearer drew;
But, piercing, keen, it filled our Founder’s head,
Involved his brain, and passed his senses through;
Entranced he sate, while round him rose and played
Celestial hues, and music strange and new;--
The heavens, the earth, to various radiance turned,
And in a maze of mingling colors burned.
XLIII.
The juggling sesek vanished from his sight;
No alien object did his trance confuse;
So rang the hum, so danced the colors bright,
The hues seemed music, and the music hues;
Still swelled the sounds, still livelier flashed the light;
His limbs obedience to his will refuse;
He strove to rise, he yielded to affright,
Like one be-nightmared in the dreams of night.
XLIV.
“Whence this dread power that steals my strength away?
This creeping torpor, this Lethean dew?
This strange wild rapture mingling with dismay?
Ye dangerous beauties! vanish from my view;
Creatures of Evil, come ye to betray
One victim more, and his sad soul subdue
Unto the Tempter, whose infernal spell
Brought death to Eden, and gave joy to hell?
XLV.
“And shall my labors thus inglorious end?
Shall my defeat give him a triumph new?”
The thought was fire, and did new vigor lend;
Back rushed his soul through every avenue.
A seeming cloud did from his brain ascend,
The magic colors vanished from his view;
And at his feet, in many a supple sweep,
The odious reptile coiled him for the leap.
XLVI.
Swift darts the tongue, the horrid jaws unfold;--
Williams beheld--struck--cleft the head away:
In many a loosening coil the body rolled,
Collapsed, grew still, and there extended lay,
A headless reptile;--all its hues of gold
And diamond deadened in its life’s decay;
Whilst the foiled wizard looked upon the slain,
And choked and yelled, then choked with rage again.
XLVII.
The crowds looked on ’twixt terror and surprise;
They gazed--they gaped with fixed astonishment;
Their serpent manit braved--ay, slaughtered lies!
Is it Awanux that is prevalent?
But when they gave full credence to their eyes,
Wild wondering clamors through the masses went,
Which closed in shouts that through the forest rolled,
“The wizard conquered by the Yengee bold!”
XLVIII.
Ill could that juggler a white victor brook,
And Hell’s dark passions boiled through all his blood;
His eyes shot fire, and from his belt he took
His deadly dart,--and in stern silence viewed
Its poisoned barb, whose short and horrid crook
The jaws of seseks armed,--jaws all imbued
With the keen venom gathered from the fangs
Of such as died by self-inflicted pangs.
XLIX.
Nothing he spake, but with a hideous yell,
Raised his long dart, and, backward as he bent,
From starting eye-balls shot the light of Hell;
At Williams’ breast the vengeful glance was sent,
But as his muscles did the barb impel,
Red Waban’s grasp obstructed their descent;--
On earth the weapon falls and pants for blood;
The lifted arm still threatening vengeance stood.
L.
Miantonomi, who the scene surveyed,
Too long had now his rising wrath concealed;
A mighty lance his better hand displayed,
And well he knew its haft of length to wield;
Backward its hilt the angry Sachem swayed,
And ’neath its stroke the staggering wizard reeled;
Till from a storm of blows he cringing fled,
And madly howling through the forest sped.
LI.
“Go, Priest of Chepian, go!” the Sachem said,
“Thy dreams are false--thy charms are all a cheat;
Go to thy manit--tell him that his aid
Has failed thee once, and thou art sorely beat.
Us have thy prophecies too long betrayed,
And vacant in the council is thy seat.
When aid we need, we will to him apply
Who conquers thee, and slays thy deity.”
LII.
A while the throngs sate as in deep amaze--
A while ’twas doubtful what might be their mood;
At length wild shoutings they began to raise;--
One transport filled the total multitude;
Their Sachem’s boldness cheerly did they praise,
For long had they with dread the wizard viewed;
Nor less admired our Founder’s courage true,
Which did that juggler and his charms subdue.
LIII.
Then rose Canonicus, that shrewd old chief;
“Brother!” he said, “much glory hast thou won;
Thy deeds this day will scantly gain belief
With warriors red, from rise to set of sun:
Great Chepian’s priest, within a moment brief,
Thou, with thy fearlessness, hast overdone;
And thou art greater than his manits are,--
For they were vanquished in the combat fair.
LIV.
“Brother! we take thy calumet of peace,
And throw the hatchet into quiet shade;
The Wampanoag’s terrors may surcease,
And thou mayst plant on Seekonk’s eastern glade;
But hearken, brother!--better far would please
Thy council fire if by Mooshausick made;
But pass we that; for well our brother knows
To live our friend surrounded by our foes.
LV.
“Brother! thou wilt our belt of friendship take,
And for us win the kindness of the White,
That when we war against the Pequot make,
His hands may aid us, and his counsels light;--
His thunders speak and all the forests shake,--
His lightnings flash and spread a wild affright
Through town and fortress, whereso’er we go,
Till not a Pequot lives to tell his nation’s woe.
LVI.
“Brother! we grant thee quiet neighborhood,--
The tree of peace o’ershadows thee and me;
And thou mayst hunt in Narraganset’s wood,
And catch the fish that in our waters be;
But thou must still promote the red man’s good,
Keep bright his belt, and make thy counsels free
When danger darkens;--and if this be done,
I am thy father, thou shalt be my son.”
LVII.
Scarce need I say, Sire Williams cheerly gave
The pipe he bore and took the friendly belt;
That thanks he tendered to the Sachems brave;
That what he uttered he as deeply felt;
That he repeated each assurance grave
Of friendly favors, whilst he near them dwelt;
Nor pause I, now, the customs to describe,
By which the truce was honored by the tribe.
LVIII.
He took the Sachem’s friendly calumet,
Then scattered wampum mid the warriors all;
On Miantonomi’s lofty brow he set,
Round waving plumes, the jeweled coronal;
The scarlet coat the elder potentate
Most trimly graced, and gave delight withal;
Then ribbons gave he, various their hue,
To counsellors and Keenomps, bold and true.
LIX.
His mission finished, Father Williams sped,
With Waban guiding, through the forest lone;
Nor cold nor hunger did he longer dread,
Or bore them cheerly now, his object won;
Quickly to Haup did he the thickets thread--
To Haup, so well to Pilgrim Father known--
And found that Sachem, mid his warriors stern,
Alarmed, but hoping still his safe return.
LX.
Gladly he heard from Waban’s faithful tongue
Sire Williams’ speeches and the answers given,
And wildly shouted all that warrior throng,
To learn the dire enchanter’s spell was riven;
And wilder shouts the echoing vales prolong,
To hear that priest was from the council driven;
“The tree of peace” they cried, “will bloom again,
The wizard’s banished, and his manit slain.”
LXI.
Then to the elder chief our Father gave
The Narraganset friendly calumet;
And it was pleasant to behold the grave
And stern old Sachem, whilst his eyes were wet
With tears of gratitude;--he could outbrave
The stake’s grim tortures, and could smiling sit
Amid surrounding foes; yet kindness could
Subdue to tears this “stoic of the wood.”
LXII.
He clasped our Father by the hand and led
Him up, in silence, to the mountain’s crown;
And there, from snow-capt outlook at its head,
They gazed o’er bay and isle and forest brown.
It seemed a summer’s eve in winter bred;
The sun in ruddy gold was going down,
And calm and far the expanded waters lay,
Clad in the glory of the dying day.
LXIII.
There stretched Aquidnay tow’rd the ocean blue,
In virgin wildness still of isles the queen;
Her forests glimmered with the western hue,
Her vales and banks were decked with cedars green,
And southward far her swelling bosom drew
Its lessening contours, in the distance seen;--
Till, wavering indistinctly, in the gray
Encroaching sea-mists they were hid away.
LXIV.
Beneath his feet, Aquidnay’s north extreme
Displayed a cove, begemmed with islets gay;
Its silvery surface caught the setting beam,
Where’er the op’ning hemlocks gave it way;
Young nature there, tranced in her earliest dream,
Did all her whims in vital forms array;
Her feathered tribes round beak and headland glide,
Her scaly broods leap from the glassy tide.
LXV.
Out from Aquidnay tow’rd the setting sun,
Spread the calm waters like a sea of gold
Studded with isles, till Narraganset dun
Fringed the far west, and cape and headland bold,
With forest shagged, cast their huge shadows down,
And glassed them in the wave; while silence old
Resumed her reign, save that by times did rise,
On Williams’ ears, the sea-birds’ jangling cries.
LXVI.
Or the lone fowler, in his light canoe,
Round jutting point all warily did glide,
And pause awhile to watch, with steadfast view,
Where the long-diving loon might break the tide;
Then, noiseless, near the myriad seafowl drew,
And, baffled, saw them scur, with clangor wide,
Up from the foamy flood, and, mounting high,
Darken the day, and seek another sky.
LXVII.
Then looking north, from far could he behold,
Bright bursting from his source through forests dun,
Like liquid silver, broad Cohannet rolled
Tow’rd parent ocean;--there his currents run
Embrowned by fringing woods;--here molten gold,
Gleaming and glittering in the setting sun,
They glance by Haup--there, eastward as they pour,
They cleave Aquidnay from Pocasset’s shore.
LXVIII.
That rude Pocasset--which, when Williams saw
From towering Haup, did one broad forest shew;
Here, steep o’er steep, there, leaving Nature’s law,
Hill, glade, and swamp,--presenting to the view
So mad a maze, that there, if hunter draw
His sounding bow, and but a space pursue
The wounded deer, he finds his guidance fail,
And lost, halloos through tangled brake and dale.
LXIX.
Yet the rude wigwams smoked from many a glade,
Where near the shore the oaks were branching wide,
Where future gardens might invite the spade,
Or furrowing plough the fertile glebe divide,
And where, still south, the hills retiring made
More ample meadows by the glassy tide;
Till far Seaconnet showed her rim of rock,
Whereon the ocean’s rolling billows broke.
LXX.
But on Aquidnay dwelt our Founder’s gaze,
Enraptured still. “Would Seekonk’s mead compare
With yon wild Eden?” While he thus delays,
The old chief’s hand does on his bosom bear,
As he explains: “Another sachem sways
The isle of peace. All Haup’s dominions are
Stretched tow’rd the God of frost--look there and choose;
All thou hast won, and well a part mayst use.”
LXXI.
Turned by the words that gently woke his ears,
Before his eyes a boundless forest lay;
The mossy giants of a thousand years,
O’er hill and plain their mighty arms display;
Mound after mound, far lessening north, appears,
Till in blue haze they seem to melt away;
Here Seekonk wedded with Mooshausick beamed,
And there Cohannet’s liquid silver gleamed.
LXXII.
Here Kikimuet left his woodland height,
Bright in the clear, or dark beneath the shade;
There Sowams gleamed,--if names the muse aright,
Till in the forest far his glories fade;
While here and there, rose curling on his sight
The village smokes of many a sheltered glade;
And, nearer, clustered at the mountain’s base,
The foremost town of Pokanoket’s race.
LXXIII.
Embosomed there in massy shades it stood;
Its frequent voices, up the silent steep,
Came on our Founder’s ear;--in cheerful mood,
The tones of childhood shrill, and manhood deep,
Told him what sports, what toils were there pursued;
Or, wild and clear, the melody would sweep
Of girlish voices, warbling plaintive strains,
Half chant, half music, over woods and plains.
LXXIV.
Ah! how more lovely than the silence hushed,
That lists in horror for the foeman’s tread!
A tender joy our Father’s bosom flushed,--
The work was his that had these blessings spread;
The storm, that else had o’er the nation rushed,
Had by his sufferings and his toils been stayed;
And as he mused, his hand the Sachem pressed,
For like emotions swelled his rugged breast.
LXXV.
“And oh!” he cried, “what can the Sachem do?
How can he give to Winiams recompense?
Our foes were many, and our warriors few,
But Winiams came, and he was our defence;
Go, brother, plant--go, plant our forest through--
All hast thou won by thy benevolence;
All hast thou saved from ruthless enemies,
Take what thou wilt, and take what best may please.”
LXXVI.
Our Father answered--“give me bounds and deeds--
No lands I take but such as parchment names;
To future ages will I leave no seeds
To yield a harvest of discordant claims;
If name I must, I name fair Seekonk’s meads--
What first I craved still satisfies my aims;
These and the friendship of my neighbors are
Reward too generous for my toil and care.”
LXXVII.
“My brother gives with palm expanded wide,”
The Sachem said, “but with a closing hand
Our gifts are half received and half denied;
Ha! was he born in the white stranger’s land?
My brother’s corn shall wave by Seekonk’s tide--
My brother’s town shall on its margin stand;
And on the deer-skin, tested by my bow,
My painted voice shall talk, and to far ages go.”
LXXVIII.
While thus they spake, the sun declining low,
In Narraganset’s shades, half veiled his light;
On rapid pinions did the dark winged crow
And broad plumed eagle speed their homeward flight;
Warned by the signs, the twain, descending slow,
In converse grave, pass down the wooded height;
And, in the Sachem’s sylvan palace, share
Respite from hunger, toil, and present care.
CANTO SIXTH.
[SCENE. Seekonk’s Mead, or Place of the First Settlement.]
The winds of March o’er Narraganset’s bay
Move in their strength--the waves with foam are white;
O’er Seekonk’s tide the tossing branches play,
The woods roar o’er resounding plain and height;
’Twixt sailing clouds, the sun’s inconstant ray
But glances on the scene--then fades from sight;
The frequent showers dash from the passing clouds;
The hills are peeping through their wintry shrouds.
II.
Dissolving snows each downward channel fill,
Each swollen brook a foaming torrent brawls,
Old Seekonk murmurs, and from every hill
Answer aloud the coming waterfalls;
Deep-voiced Pawtucket thunders louder still,--
To dark Mooshausick joyously he calls,
Who breaks his bondage, and through forests brown
Murmurs the hoarse response and rolls his tribute down.
III.
But hark! that sound, above the cataracts
And hollow winds in this wild solitude,
Seems passing strange.--Who with the laboring axe,
On Seekonk’s eastern marge, invades the wood?
Stroke follows stroke;--some sturdy hind attacks
Yon ancient groves, which from their birth have stood
Unmarred by steel, and, startled at the sound,
The wild deer snuffs the gales,--then, with a bound,
IV.
Vaults o’er the thickets, and down yonder glen
His antlers vanish; on yon shaggy height
Sits the lone wolf, half-peering from his den,
And howls regardless of the morning light;
Unwonted sounds and a strange denizen
Vex his repose; soon, cowering with affright,
He shrinks away, for with a crackling sound,
Yon hemlock bows and thunders to the ground.
V.
Who on the prostrate trunk has risen now,
And does with cleaving steel the blows renew?
Broad is the beaver on his manly brow,
His mantle gray, his hosen azure blue;
His feet are dripping with dissolving snow,
His garments sated with the morning dew;--
Our Founder is he, and, though changed by long
And grievous suffering, steadfast still and strong.
VI.
Hard by yon little fountain clear and sheen,
Whose swollen streamlet murmurs down the glade,
Where groves of hemlock and of cedars green
Oppose to northern storms a barricade,
Stands the first mansion of his rude demesne,
A slender wigwam by red Waban made;
Their common shelter from the wintry blast;
And place of rest when daily toils are past.
VII.
Yet from the storm he seldom shrinks away,
With his own hands he labors now to rear
A mansion, where his wife and children may,
In happier days, partake the social cheer;
And unrelenting bigot ne’er essay
To make the free-born spirit quail with fear
At threat of scourge, or banishment or death,
For free belief, the soul’s sustaining breath.
VIII.
Day after day does he his toil renew;
From dawn till dark still doth his axe resound,
And falling cedars still the valley strew,
Or cumber with their trunks the littered ground;
The solid beams and rafters does he hew,
Or labors hard to roll or heave them round;
Or squares their sides, or shapes the joints aright
To match their fellows and the whole unite.
IX.
The beams now hewn, he frames the building square,
Each joint adjusting to its counterpart--
Tier over tier with labor does he bear,
Timber on timber closes every part,
Except where door or lattice to the air
A passage yields,--and from the walls now start
The rafters, matted over and between,--
Against the storm and cold,--with rushes green.
X.