“Waban,” said Williams, “dost thou fear to go? Wilt thou thy Yengee sachem leave alone? How will thy Sagamore the speeches know, If homeward now his messenger should run? Not thou, but I will ask the haughty foe To quench his fires, and quell the dance begun; But for thy safety, thou the calumet Shalt bear beside me, till the chiefs are met.” LXXII. “Waban,” he answered, “never shook with fear, Nor left his Sachem when he needed friends; It is the thought of many a by-gone year That kindles wrath within my breast, and sends Through all this frame, my boiling blood on fire!-- Still Waban on his pale-faced chief attends, But bears no pipe;--the Wampanoag’s pride Bids him to die, as his brave fathers died.” LXXIII. “Waban, at least, will smoke the pipe awhile?” Said Williams gravely to his moody guide, “Its fragrant breath is as on billows oil; It calms the troubled waves of memory’s tide.” The grateful offer seemed to reconcile The peaceful emblem to the warrior’s pride: He fills the bowl--he wakes the kindling fire-- And o’er his head the curling clouds aspire. LXXIV. And whilst he sits, the sylvan muse will string Her rustic harp to wake no gentle strain Of barbarous camps, and savage chiefs who sing The song of vengeance to their raptured train; Of councils, and of wizard priests that bring Strange omens, dark dominion to maintain; Of incantations dire, and of that spell By Sesek wrought--which seemed the feat of Hell. CANTO FOURTH. [SCENE. The Narraganset Camp at Potowomet.] The twain have left the height, and sought the glade Where the red warriors wheel the martial dance; A while the thick young cedars round them made A cover that concealed their still advance; But passing quickly through the denser shade, Sire Williams sent abroad his searching glance O’er the rude camp, and saw, on every side, Around the blazing fires the dancers glide. II. Hundreds on hundreds thronged the glade, I ween, With painted visages and pluméd hair; There bristled darts, there glittered lances sheen, And brandished knives upon the ambient air Carved fiery circles--whilst, with threatening mien, Their dark locks streaming and their muscles bare, The dancers circled o’er the thundering ground, And leaping, breathed the hard, harsh, aspirated sound. III. But chiefly tow’rd the centre pressed the throngs Where plied the bravest chiefs their dances rude:-- There listened to their Sachem’s battle songs, And when he ceased, in leaps his lance pursued; The while the tumult swelled until their lungs, Wrung to the highest effort, filled the wood With the wild war-whoop, tremulous and shrill, Then hushed itself and suddenly was still; IV.