Part 2

Growling they come, and in dark groups they stand, Show the white fang, and roll the brightening eye; Till urged by famine’s rage, the shaggy band Seemed even the flame’s bright terrors to defy; Then mid the group he hurled the blazing brand; Swift they disperse, and raise the scattered cry; But, rallying soon, back to the siege they came, And in their rage scarce faltered at the flame.

LII.

Yet Williams deemed that persecution took A form in them less odious than in men; He on their proper solitude had broke,-- Ay, and had trespassed on their native glen; His human shape they scantly too might brook, For it their enemy had ever been; But bigot man to probe the conscience sought, And scathed his brother for his secret thought.

LIII.

Oft he recruited now the sinking blaze-- His stock of fuel seemed too scant to last; Yet, in the terror of the glittering rays, Was now the anchor of his safety cast; With utmost reach the boscage did he raze, Or clipt the branches overhead that past; And still the burning pyre at times would raise, Or hurl the firebrand at the monster’s gaze.

LIV.

At length the groups a panic seemed to seize, And soon he knew the terrifying cause; For swelling slow beneath the arching trees, Trilled the long whine the dreadful panther draws; A sound that might the boldest bosom freeze; ’Twas followed by a drear and awful pause; Naught marred the silence save the murmuring breeze, And the far storm, like roar of distant seas.

LV.

Of all the dangerous monsters of the wood, None did the hunter dread like panther dire, For man and beast he fearlessly pursued;-- Whilst others shunned, he was allured by fire; And Williams knew how perilous his mood, And braced his nerves to battle with his ire; Beside the rising blaze he firmly stood, And every avenue of danger viewed.

LVI.

In God he trusted for deliverance,-- He thought of Daniel in the lion’s den; He waited silent for the fierce advance,-- He heard the fagots break along the glen; Another long-drawn yell, and the fierce glance Of two bright burning eye-balls, looking then Out of the darkness, did yet more enhance The terrors of the menacing mischance.

LVII.

But at this moment from the darkness broke A human voice, in Narraganset’s tongue; “Neemat!” (my brother) in kind tone it spoke, “How comes Awanux these drear wilds among?” And at the accents the dark thickets shook, And from them lightly the red hunter sprung, And from his belt familiarly he took And fired his calumet, and curled its smoke.

LVIII.

Then to our Founder passed the simple cheer, In sign of friendship to a wandering man, “Let not,” he said, “my brother quake with fear, ’Twas _Waban’s_ cry at which the monsters ran.” Williams received the pledge of faith sincere; Yet warily his guest began to scan. Tall did his straight and active form appear, And armed but with the hunter’s simple gear.

LIX.

The bear’s dark fur loose o’er his shoulders cast, His hand did only at the breast confine, The wampum wreath, which round his forehead past, Did with the flame’s reflected brightness shine; The beaver’s girdle closely swathed his waist; It’s skirts hung low, all trimm’d with ’broidery fine; The well-formed ankles the close gaiters bound, With furs befringed, and starred with tinsel round.

LX.

Nature’s kind feelings did his visage grace; His gently arching brow was shorn all bare, And the slight smile now fading from his face, The aspect left of serious goodness there; Though bright his eyes beneath his forehead’s base, They rather seemed to smile than fiercely glare; And the free dignity of Waban’s race Seemed moving in his limbs and breathing from his face.

LXI.

Williams the pledge of friendship now returned, And thanks o’erflowing to the hunter gave: “From the Great Spirit sure my brother learned His brother’s danger, when he came to save.” “Waban,” he answered, “from his lodge discerned A stranger’s fire, and heard the monsters rave. Waban has long within these wilds sojourned; But ne’er before has pale Awanux burned

LXII.

“His fire within this unfrequented glade. Wanders my brother from his homeward way? The storm is thick, he surely may have strayed; Or has he hunted through the weary day The rapid moose; or in this lonely shade Seeks he to trap the deer, or make essay To catch the wily beavers, who have made Their cunning wigwams in the river’s bed?”

LXIII.

“’Twere hard to tell my brother of the woods What cause has forced his pale-faced brother here, The red and white men have their different moods, And Narraganset’s tongue lacks terms, I fear, To tell the strifes among white multitudes-- Strifes yet unknown within these forests drear, Where undisturbed ye worship various gods, And persecution leave to white abodes.

LXIV.

“Let it suffice, (for weary is the night,) That late across the mighty lake I came, Seeking protection here of brethren white, From those pale chiefs who had, with scourge and flame, Driven them as me o’er sea in dangerous flight;-- Our wrongs, as our offenses, were the same: God we had worshipped as to us seemed right, And roused the vengeance of our men of might.

LXV.

“My brethren then had persecution fled, And much I hoped with them a home to find; But to our common God whene’er we prayed, My honest worship did not suit their mind; It differed greatly from their own, they said; Their anger kindled, and, with speech unkind, They drove me from my family and home, An exile in this dreadful storm to roam.

LXVI.

“And now, my brother, through the wilds I go, To seek some far--some lone sequestered glen-- Where burning fagot nevermore shall glow, Fired by the wrath of persecuting men; Where all may worship, as their gods they know, Or conscience lights and leads their varying ken;-- Where ages after ages still may bow, And from free hearts free orisons may flow.”

LXVII.

Waban a while mused on our Founder’s tale, And silent sate in meditative mood; For much he wondered why his brothers pale For differing worship sought their kindred’s blood. At last he thought that they must surely fail To know the Great Spirit as a father good, Or Chepian[1] was their god, and had inclined Them to indulge a fell and cruel mind.

[1] The name of the Indian devil.

LXVIII.

Then pity blended with his wonder grew; Here was a victim of that Evil One, Who from him and his angry servants flew To seek a shelter in the forest lone. “Brother,” he said, “thy brother much doth rue (Hearing thy tales,) that thou art forced to shun Thy well-framed wigwam--thy familiar fire, And sleep so far amid this tempest dire.

LXIX.

“Now, brother, hear, what Waban has to say: The night is cold, and fast the snows descend; Still round thy sleep will howl the beasts of prey;-- Will not my brother to my wigwam wend? It smokes well-sheltered and not far away; There may my brother this drear season spend, And shun the wrath of Chepian’s angry men, Until Sowaniu’s breezes scatter flowers again.

LXX.

“Right welcome to the red man’s lodge shall be His pale-faced brother, safe from Sachems pale; Waban’s nausamp and venison shall be free When hunger craves, and, when his store shall fail, His dart is true, and swift and far will he Pursue the bounding deer o’er hill and dale;-- When melts the snow we may together raise, On Seekonk’s banks, our common field of maize.”

LXXI.

Williams replied, “My brother sure is kind, But his red friends are doubtless with him here; And they may teach my kindred, left behind, To track my footsteps through the forest drear;-- To journey homeward I have little mind; My course is with the sun to wilds less near, Where I would form, if granted the domain, A tribe which never should the soul enchain.”

LXXII.

“Alone is Waban,” was the sad reply; “His wife and child have to that country gone Where go our spirits when our bodies die, And left thy brother in his lodge alone: He goes by day to catch the beavers shy, And sits by night in his still house to moan, And much ’twould please him should the wanderer come, And tell him where the loved ones’ spirits roam.”

LXXIII.

“Brother, I thank thee--thou art kind indeed,” Our Founder said--“and with thee I will go; Would that my brethren of the Christian creed Did half thy charity and goodness know! Waban, thou wilt thy brother’s purpose speed, And all the boundaries of those countries show Which lie adjoining Narraganset’s bay, And name the chiefs, and count the tribes they sway.”

LXXIV.

“Waban can do it”--was the quick reply, And Williams followed him, as fast he led Through bush and brake with blazing brand held high; The wolves around them gathered as they sped; But Waban often raised the mimic cry Of the fierce panther, and as oft they fled; Until the path descending swiftly steep, Led to his wigwam in the valley deep.

LXXV.

Then Williams noted, through the deepest night, The sparkles rising from the roof unseen, And, by the glancing of the firebrand’s light, Above him marked the thickening branches’ screen; For denser here, and of a loftier height, The pines and cedars arched their sombre green, With boughs deprest beneath the burden hoar; And further off did seem the tempest’s roar.

LXXVI.

An undressed deerskin closed the entrance rude Of the frail mansion of our Founder’s friend; “Brother,” he said, “this is my poor abode, But thou art welcome--it will well defend Thee from the bitter tempest,” and he showed The open pass. Beneath its arch they bend: From mid the room the blazing fagots sent The smoke and sparkles through the vault’s low vent,

LXXVII.

And, shining round, did for the ceiling show The braided mat of many colors made,-- Veiled here and there, where, hanging in a row, The beavers’ hides their silvery coats displayed; And here and there were antlers, from the brow Of bounding buck, around the room arrayed; And also, hung among the hunter’s gear, The dusky haunches of the moose and deer.

LXXVIII.

Hard-by the blazing hearth, raised from the ground Three braided pallets stood, with furs bespread, Where once red Waban, wife and child had found The humble settle, and still humbler bed; But now, alas! beneath the grassy mound, Two of the three sate with the silent dead;[2] The wampum girdle, that his spouse once wore, Gleamed on her garb of furs the settle o’er.

[2] The Indians bury their dead in a sitting posture.

LXXIX.

The room was warm, and plenteous the cheer Which Waban then did to our Founder bring; In trays the nocake,[3] and the joints of deer, And in the gourd-shell water from the spring; And, all the while, kept pouring in his ear How he had pierced the wild duck on the wing; And westward lately had the moose pursued Afar, and struck him in Mooshausick’s wood.

[3] A corruption of the Indian Nokehick--parched meal.

LXXX.

Slightly our Founder tasted of the fare, For toil and chill much more than hunger prest; This Waban noted, and with tender care, The vacant pallet showed, and urged him rest; Waban he said, would still the fire repair, And still in comfort keep his pale-faced guest, “And may the Manittoo of dreams,” he said, “The happiest visions on thy slumbers shed.

LXXXI.

“Upon this pallet she was wont to lay Herself to sleep whose spirit now is gone; And may that spirit to thy visions say Where now she dwells, and where my little son; Whether on that blest island far away, O’er the blue hills beyond the setting sun, They with their kindred joy, or nearer home, Still lingering, wait until the father come.”

LXXXII.

Williams replied, that he would speak at morn Of that far journey which the spirit takes; And name the Guide, who never soul forlorn, Whilst passing through death’s gloomy night, forsakes. His brother, then, on fitting day in turn, Would name the bounds, by rivers, bays, and lakes, Of neighboring chiefs, and say what Sachems might His mission threaten, or its hopes invite.

LXXXIII.

Our Founder slept; and on that night, I ween, Deep was the slumber of that pallet low, Calm were its dreams as was his breast serene-- Such sleep can persecutors never know; He slept, until the dawning light was seen Down through the dome to shine upon his brow; Then Waban woke him to his simple cheer Of the pure fount, nausamp,[4] and savory deer.

[4] The word _samp_ is a corruption of the Indian _nausamp_, and has the same meaning.

CANTO SECOND.

[SCENES. The Wigwam--The Wilderness--Pawtucket Falls--Seekonk’s Meads--The Wigwam.]

It was the morning of a Sabbath day, When Williams rose to Waban’s simple cheer, But knew not where, save that vast forests lay Betwixt his home and the lone wigwam here; Yet ’twas a place of peace; no thing of clay, ’Twixt God and conscience in communion near, Came, with profane and impious control, To check the heavenward wanderings of his soul.

II.

God loves the wilderness; in deserts lone, Where all is silent, where no living thing Mars the hushed solitudes, where Heaven looks down, And Earth looks up, each as if marvelling That aught should be; and, through the vast unknown, Thought-breathing silence seems as uttering The present God,--there does He rear his throne, And, tranced in boundless thoughts, the soul doth own

III.

And feel his strength within.--This day once more, In place thus sacred, did our Founder keep; None, save the Deity he bent before, Marked the devotions of his feelings deep. None, do I say? yet there was Waban poor; Alas! his mind in utter night did sleep; He saw our Founder at his earnest prayer, But knew not what his supplications were.

IV.

Yet earnestly the pious man besought, That Heaven would deign to shed the Gospel light On the kind pagan’s soul, as yet untaught Save in the dreams of her primordial night; And much he prayed, that to the truth when brought,-- Cleansed of his sins in garments pure and white,-- He might subdue the fierceness of his clan, And gain man refuge from intolerant man.

V.

Williams the task of goodness now essayed, To win the wanderer to a worship new; The utter darkness that his soul arrayed, Concealed her workings from our Founder’s view, Save when some question, rare and strange, betrayed His dream-bewildered glimpses of the true.-- Long was the task; and Williams back began, At earth’s creation and the fall of man.

VI.

He told how God from nothing formed the earth, And gave each creature shape surpassing fair; How He in Eden, at their happy birth, Placed with His blessing the first human pair; How, disobeying, they were driven forth, And they, and theirs, consigned to sad despair, Until, incarnate, God in pity gave Himself for man, and made it just to save.

VII.

He then told how the blessed martyrs bore The chains of dungeons, and the fagot’s flame, Glad that their sufferings might attest the more Their perfect faith in their Redeemer’s name; How His disciples past from shore to shore, Salvation’s joyful tidings to proclaim; How hither now they brought the Gospel’s light To cheer the red men wrapt in pagan night.

VIII.

Waban attentive listened to the strain, And at its close for long in silence sate; His visage did a graver cast attain And all his heart’s deep feelings indicate. At length he uttered thus the mental train:-- “Weak is my soul, and dark is her estate! No book has she to tell of Manit high, Except this outstretched earth and starry sky.

IX.

“Great news Awanux brings the red men here-- News that their legends old doth much excel; Yet give to Waban the attentive ear, And the traditions of his sires he’ll tell. From days afar, down many a rolling year-- Down to thy brothers red--their fathers’ tale Comes to inform them, in their mortal state, What powers they should revere--what deprecate.”

X.

Here Waban paused, and sitting mused a space, As pondering gravely on the mighty theme; Deep thought was graven on his earnest face, And still his groping memory did seem To gather up the legends of his race. At length he roused, as from a passing dream, And from his mat, majestically slow Rearing his form, began in accents low:

XI.

“Brother, that time is distant--far away, When Heaven or Earth or living thing was not, Save our great God, Cawtantowit, who lay Extended through immensity, where naught But shoreless waters were--and dead were they; No living thing did on their bosom float, And silentness the boundless space did fill; For the Great Spirit slept--and all was still.

XII.

“But though he slept, yet, as the human soul To this small frame, his being did pervade The universal space, and ruled the whole; E’en as the soul, when in deep slumber laid, Doth her wild dreams and fantasies control, And give them action, color, shape and shade Just as she wills. But the Great Spirit broke His sleep at last, and all the boundless shook.

XIII.

“In a vast eagle’s form embodied, He Did o’er the deep on outstretched pinions spring; Fire in his eye lit all immensity, Whilst his majestically gliding wing Trembled hoarse thunders to the shuddering sea; And, through their utmost limit quivering, The conscious waters felt their Manittoo, And life, at once, their deepest regions knew.

XIV.

“The mountain whale came spouting from below, The porpoise plunged along the foaming main, The smaller fry in sporting myriads go, With glancing backs above the liquid plain; Yet still refused her giant form to show-- Ay, sullenly below did yet remain Earth-bearing Tortoise, the _Unamis_ vast, And o’er her still the loftly billows past.

XV.

“Then great Cawtantowit in his anger spoke, And from his flaming eyes the lightnings past, And from his wings the tenfold thunders broke. The sullen Tortoise heard his words at last-- And slowly she her rocky grasp forsook, And her huge back of woods and mountains vast From the far depths tow’rd upper light began Slowly to heave.--The affrighted waters ran

XVI.

“Hither and thither, tumultous and far; But still Unamis, heaving from below The full formed earth, first, through the waves did rear The fast sky-climbing Alleghany’s brow, Dark, huge and craggy; from its summits bare The rolling billows fell, and rising now, All its broad forest to the breezy air Came out of Ocean, and, from verdure fair,

XVII.

“Shed the salt showers. Far o’er the deep, Hills after hills still lift their clustered trees, Wild down the rising slopes the waters leap, Then from the up-surging plain the ocean flees, Till lifted from the flood, in vale and steep And rock, and forest waving to the breeze, Earth, on the Tortoise borne, frowned ocean o’er, And spurned the billows from her thundering shore.

XVIII.

“But great Cawtantowit, on his pinions still, O’er the lone earth majestically sprung, And whispered to the mountain, vale and hill, And with new life the teeming regions rung; The feathered songsters tune their carols shrill, Herds upon herds the plain and mountain throng; In the still pools the cunning beavers toil, And the armed seseks[5] their strong folds uncoil.

[5] Sesek--rattlesnake.

XIX.

“Yet man was not.--Then great Cawtantowit spoke To the hard mountain crags and called for man: And sculptured, breathing, from the cleaving rock, Sprang the armed warrior, and a strife began With living things.--Hard as his native block, Was his stone heart, and through it ran Blood cold as ice--and the Great Spirit struck This cruel man, and him to atoms broke.

XX.

“Then He the oak, of fibre hard and fine, With the first red man’s soul and form endowed, And woman made he of the tapering pine, Which ’neath that oak in peaceful beauty bowed; She on the red man’s bosom did recline, Like the bright rainbow on the thunder-cloud. And the Great Spirit saw his work divine, And on the pair let fall His smile benign.

XXI.

“He gave them all these forests far and near, The forms that fly, and those that creeping go, The healthful fountains, and the rivers clear, And all the broods that sport the waves below; Then gave he man the swiftness of the deer, And armed his hands with arrows and the bow, And bade him shelter still his consort dear, And tread his large domain without a peer.

XXII.

“Then did he send Yotaanit on high, (For Gods he fashioned as he formed the land,) And bade him star with fires the azure sky, And kindle the round blaze of Keesuckquand; And then, to cheer by night the hunter’s eye, Bright Nanapaushat sprung from Wamponand; Thus with his will the manittoos comply, And every region knows its deity.[6]

[6] See note.

XXIII.

“All things thus were formed from what was good, And the foul refuse every evil had; But it had felt the influence of the God, (How should it not?) and a black demon, sad And stern and cruel, loving strife and blood, Filled with all malice, and with fury mad, Sprang into life:--such was fell Chepian’s birth, The hate of gods, and terror of the earth.

XXIV.

“Then to the south-west the Great Spirit flew, Whence the soft breezes of the summer come, And from the depths Sowaniu’s[7] island drew, And bade its fields with lasting verdure bloom. O’er it he bent another welkin blue, Which never night nor clouds nor tempests gloom, And kindled suns the lofty arches through, And bade them shine with glory ever new.

[7] Sowaniu--here of three syllables--was written by Williams, “Sowwainiu.”

XXV.

“When thus Cawtantowit had finished all, No more did he on eagle’s pinions roam, There did he limits to his works install, And centre there his everlasting home; There did he cast the eagle and recall His pristine shape, and manit-man become; There still he dwells, the all-pervading soul Of men and manittoos--yea, of creation’s whole.

XXVI.

“All that is good does from Cawtantowit flow; All that is evil Chepian doth supply; Praying for good we to Cawtantowit bow, And shunning evil we to Chepian cry; To other manittoos we offerings owe, Dwell they in mountain, flood, or lofty sky; And oft they aid us when we hunting go, Or in fierce battle rush upon the foe.

XXVII.

“And manittoos, that never death shall fear, Do likewise in this mortal form abide; What else, my brother, is there beating here? What heaves this breast--what rolls its crimson tide? Whilst, like Cawtantowit, doth the soul appear To live through all and over all preside; And when her mortal mansion here decays, She to Sowaniu’s blessed island strays,

XXVIII.

“There aye to joy; if, whilst she dwelt with men, She wisely counseled and did bravely fight, Or watchful caught the beavers in the glen, Or nimbly followed far the moose’s flight; But if a sluggard and a coward, then To rove all wretched in the glooms of night, Misled by Chepian, a poor wandering ghost,-- In swamps and fens and bogs and brambles lost.

XXIX.