A pause ensued, and Waban silent sate; Yet to himself his lips repeating were; At length he answering broke the pause sedate, “Waban remembers, and the talk will bear.” Then he in silence fired his calumet, And gave its vapors to the wigwam’s air, Whilst Williams wrote, with stationery rude, His first epistle from the lonely wood. LXI. ’Twas on the inner bark stript from the pine, Our Father penciled this epistle rare; Two blazing pine-knots did his torches shine, Two braided pallets formed his desk and chair; He wrote his wife the brief familiar line, How he had journeyed, and his roof now where; And that poor Waban was his host benign, And bade her cheer and gave him blankets fine. LXII. Then bade her send the Indian presents, bought When first they suffered persecution’s thrall,-- The strings of wampum, and the scarlet coat, The tinseled belt and jeweled coronal; The pocket Bible, which his haste forgot, For he had cheering hopes of Waban’s soul; Then gave her solace to the bad unknown, That God o’errules and still protects his own. LXIII. And to the hunter Williams now presents The secret charge, with all directions meet; For Waban means to take his journey hence Ere dawns the day upon his lone retreat; And then once more did sleep our Founder’s sense And knowledge steal away till morn complete; When he awoke and found his host was gone, The lodge all silent, and himself alone. LXIV. His fast he broke with the accustomed prayer, And trimmed him for his walk to Seekonk’s side; Calm was the morn, and pure the winter air, As from the wigwam forth our Founder hied; So tall the pines--so thick the branches were, That, through their screens, the heavens were scarce espied; But melting snows and dripping foliage prove The South blows warmer in the fields above. LXV. Now from the swamp to upland woods he past, Where leafless boughs branched thinner overhead, And saw the welkin by no cloud o’ercast, And felt the settled snows give firmer tread. Now all was calm, no wild and thundering blast Mixed earth with heaven, as through the boughs it sped; And far as eye the boundless forest traced, Glimmered the snow and stretched the lonely waste. LXVI. Onward he went, the magnet still his guide, And through the wood his course due westward took; Across his path, with antlers branching wide, The red deer often from the thicket broke; The timid partridge, at his rapid stride, On whirring wings the sheltering bush forsook, And the wild turkey foot and pinion plied, Or from her lofty bough uncouthly cried. LXVII.