“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.