Charmed with the scene, our sire explored the place, And penetrated deep the thickets round; At length his vision opened on a space Level and broad, and stretching without bound Southward afar; nor rose o’er all its face A tree, or shrub, or rock, or swelling mound; Yet, in large herds dotting the snows, appear, With antic gambols, the far bounding deer; LXXV. And, further down, the Narraganset flood, Unfurrowed yet by keel--its fretted blue With isles begemmed, and skirted by the wood Of far Coweset,--opens on his view; So long he had beneath the forest trod, That, when the prospect on his vision grew, His soul as from a prison seemed to fly And range in thought through an immensity. LXXVI. Raptured he paused.--Here then was Waban’s mead; In yonder little glen, the fountain by, He’d rear his shelter--here his flocks should feed, Cropping the grass beneath the summer sky; There by his cot he’d sow the foodful seed, And round his garden raise a paling high; And there at twilight, should his herds be seen, Following the tinkling bell from pastures green. LXXVII. Ay, here, in fancy, did he almost see A lovely hamlet in the future blest, Where Christians all might mutually agree To leave their God to judge the human breast; A place of refuge whitherto might flee The hapless exile for his faith opprest, And find his lately trammelled conscience free, And for the scourge and gibbet--charity. LXXVIII. He thought he saw the various spires ascending Of many churches, all of different kind, And heard the Sabbath bells harmonious blending Their calls to worshippers of various mind; And saw the people as harmonious wending To several worships, as their faith inclined; And felt that Deity might bend the ear, Such harmony from various chords to hear. LXXIX. But still across his mind a shadow came-- A doubt that seemed a superstitious fear; For yet no Indian throng, with loud acclaim, Had bid the welcome of Whatcheer! Whatcheer! Till when he should be tossed;--as did proclaim That nameless stranger--that mysterious seer;-- But from Haup’s Sachem he a grant will gain; Such were best welcome from that Sachem’s train. LXXX. Full of this thought, he turned at close of day, And gained the humble lodge as night came down; And he could scarcely brook the short delay, Till Waban, coming from the white man’s town, Should from Namasket, where the Sachem lay, The cheering welcome bring, or blasting frown; For thou, Soul-Liberty, couldst then no more Than build thy hopes on that rude sagamore. CANTO THIRD. [SCENES. The Wigwam--Massasoit and other Chiefs--The Wilderness--A Night in the Wilderness--The Narraganset or Coweset Country--Coweset Height.]