Whilst, in 1676, this cruel and exterminating war was raging, the Indians approached the town of Providence. Williams, it is said, on seeing their advance, still feeling his wonted confidence in his influence over them, took his staff and left the garrison. But some of the old warriors on seeing him approach, advanced from the main body, and told him, that as for themselves they would do him no harm, nor would any amongst them who had long known him, but their young men could not be restrained. Upon which he returned to the garrison. ADDENDA. LIFE’S VOYAGE. There rose, amid the boundless flood, A little island green; And there a simple race abode That knew no other scene; Save that a vague tradition ran, That all the starry skies Bore up a brighter race of man, Robed in the rainbow’s dyes. A youth there was of ardent soul, Who viewed the azure hue, And saw the waves of ocean roll Against its circle blue. He launched his skiff, with bold intent To seek the nations bright, And o’er the rolling waters went, For many a day and night. His lusty arms did stoutly strain, Nor soon their vigor spent: All hope was he right soon to gain And climb the firmament; Where glorious forms, in garments bright, Dipped in the rainbow’s dyes, And streets, star-paved, should lend their light To his enraptured eyes. And then might he his isle regain, Fraught with a dazzling freight, And lead his kindred o’er the main To that celestial state. But, whilst he plied the bended oar, The island left his view; And yet afar his bark before, The azure circle flew. Yet flattering hope did still sustain And give him vigor new; But still before him o’er the main Retired the circle blue. Though whirlpools yawned; and tempests frowned And beat upon his head, And billows burst his bark around, Hope on that phantom fed; Nor yet had ceased his labors vain, Had not his vigor failed, And ’neath the fever of his brain, His vital spirit quailed. Then Death appeared upon the sea, An angel fair and bright; For he is not what mortals say-- A grim and haggard sprite. And, “Thou dost chase,” he said, “my child! A phantom o’er the main; But though it has thy toils beguiled, Thou hast not toiled in vain. “Thou hast thus roused each slumbering might, And framed thy soul to be Fit now to climb yon starry height;-- Come, then, and follow me.” HYMN BY TWILIGHT. See the hues of evening fading From the sky and tranquil bay; See the groves, with deeper shading, Brown the dale as fails the ray. Hear the distant torrent falling, Hear the note of whip-poor-will, Hear the shepherd homeward calling Flocks that bleat on lonely hill. See yon cloud the distance glooming, Hear its far-off thunder roar, Hear the distant ocean’s booming Billows beat the eternal shore.