“Haup’s valiant Sachem is my brother’s friend,” Red Waban answered; “and I come before Him, and the train of Keenomps who attend Him, coming here--our mightiest Sagamore-- To ask my brother that his aid he lend ’Gainst Narraganset’s hatchet stained with gore; Miantonomi lifts it o’er his head, Gives the loud whoop, and names our valiant dead.” IX. No time there was for Williams to reply Ere near the lodge there rose a trampling sound, And warriors entered, stained with every dye, Crested and plumed, with--to their girdles bound-- The knife and hatchet; whilst the battle cry Burst from the crowds that flocked the lodge around, And lighted up, in every Keenomp’s eye That stared within, a dreadful sympathy. X. Amid the train came Massasoit old, But not too old for direst battle fray; Strong was his arm as was his spirit bold; His judgment, bettered by experience gray, The wildest passions of his tribe controlled, And checked their fury in its headlong way; Still with the whites his peace he had maintained, The terror of whose aid his foes restrained. XI. There too came Corbitant, austere of mood, And Annawan, who saw, in after times, Brave Metacom, and all of kindred blood, Slain, or enslaved and sold to foreign climes; And strong Appanow, of Pocasset’s wood, And other chiefs of names unmeet for rhymes; And round our Father, in the fearful trim Of savage war, they gathered, wroth and grim. XII. Each fired his pipe, and seat in silence took; Around the room a dreadful ring they made;-- Their eyes stared fiercely through the wreathing smoke, And luridly their gaudy plumage played, The while, obscured, they did scarce earthly look, But seemed like fiends in their infernal shade; And still the vapors rose and naught they spoke, Till Massasoit thus the silence broke: XIII. “And is my brother here? What does he seek? Tow’rd Wamponand, upon the passing wing, A singing bird there went; its opening beak Was by Namasket’s wigwam heard to sing That thou art friendless, homeless, poor and weak, Seeking protection from an Indian King. Do the white Sagamores their vengeance wreak, E’en as the red ones, on their brethren?--Speak.” XIV. Sire Williams answered: “’Twas no idle song Sung by that bird which passed Namasket near; I am an exile these drear wilds among, And hope for kindness from the red men here. Oft had thy friendship to the pale-faced throng, That first Patuxet[13] peopled, reached my ear; And a whisper told me thou wouldst still be kind To those who fly, and leave their all behind.” [13] Patuxet is the Indian name for Plymouth. XV.