“He goes, and goes but for himself alone, To ask that peace between the nations be, And if the belt of Narraganset won He bring to Haup, ’twill be received by me. Now do I charge you, Keenomps, all as one, That on his path no lurking wolves ye be. Who dares with purpose fell his way to haunt, Dies by this hand--e’en were he Corbitant. XLIV. “Do thou, swift Waban, with the Yengee go, And point the way to Narraganset’s clan; If thou dar’st walk before the bended bow, Bring back the talks, that we the words may scan; In all things else to him obedience show-- He is thy sachem--be thou Winiams’[16] man. But it were safe that thou the pipe should’st bear Without that painted face and pluméd hair.” [16] The Wampanoags could not say _l_, but used _n_ in place of it. XLV. Then Williams brought his strings of wampum bright, And to the Keenomps each a present made, Which each received, and, mimicking the white, His thanks returned, and uncouth bow essayed; And Corbitant’s grim visage seemed to light With something like a smile that o’er it strayed, To see the wampum wreath our Founder flung, Where glittering on his breast the bauble hung. XLVI. To Haup’s old chief a belt, with tinselry Enchased, he gave, and trimmed with gilded wire; Which when he donned, the warriors gazed in glee Upon their Sachem in such brave attire; Then filing singly, each in his degree, They leave the lodge, and through the woods retire; The chief appointing Haup, whereat to be To hear the issue of the embassy. XLVII. Waban and Williams only tarried there, And for the journey soon began to trim; The red man doft his plumes, and loosed his hair, And cleansed his visage of its colors grim; Our Founder chose his Indian gifts to bear, And pipe of peace, as well becoming him; And forth they sallied, as from middle sky The sun looked down between the branches high. XLVIII. Waban went foremost, upon nimble feet, Through ancient grove and over woodland glade;-- His long black hair and blanket red, so fleet He went, streamed backward in the breeze he made; Often his form did out of sight retreat Behind the crag--behind the thicket’s shade-- And then his voice, along the echoing wood, Told when he paused, or where his way pursued. XLIX. At length upon Pawtucket’s marge they stood; They heard the thunder of his falls below; Though narrow was the pass, yet deep the flood, And frail the ice to bridge its dangerous flow; But on the bank a giant of the wood, A towering hemlock, waved its lofty bough; Waban his keen-edged hatchet promptly plied; It bowed, it fell, and bridged the sounding tide. L.