He paused a while; at last he thus began: “Sachem of many moons, and wise as gray! Well knowest thou how short the life of man; These aged oaks have witnessed the decay Of many a generation of thy clan, Which flourished like their leaves, and past away; Why war ye, then, upon a life so brief!-- Why fill its little span with wretchedness and grief? XXVI. “But they who seek the pure unmingled goods That last for aye,--to strenuous duty true,-- Count freedom of the soul, in her high moods, The first of gifts from the Great Manittoo:-- For this I wander to these distant woods; For this from persecution’s brands I flew, And left my friends, my kindred, and my home, Through stormy skies and snowy wilds to roam. XXVII. “Some thoughts of mine, that the Great Spirit might Rule better His own kingdom than frail men, Awoke the anger of my brothers white, And sent me forth to seek some far-off glen, Where I, unharmed, my council fire might light, And share its freedom with my kindred, when Under the tree of peace, the red men should Smoke the white pipe in friendly neighborhood. XXVIII. “On Seekonk’s eastern marge I chose a glade, Fertile and fair, with hope to plant thereon; The Wampanoag would the grant have made, But, momently, the startling rumor run That all Coweset was in arms arrayed Against that chief, and, had the dance begun; Then paused your brother--for he would not bring His friends to sit beneath the hatchet’s swing. XXIX. “Then did he take Haup’s calumet to crave That peace between the hostile nations be; Not that the Wampanoag warriors brave Sought from the Narraganset storm to flee; But that no guilty stain, on Seekonk’s wave, Rebuke the Pokanoket Chief or thee,-- The work, perchance, of darts from heedless bows, Confounding pale-faced friends with warring foes. XXX. “My motives these; now let the wise chief tell What wrongs he suffers; what redress he seeks. Do not his buried kindred slumber well? What murdered victim’s ghost for vengeance shrieks-- Sends through the echoing woods the warrior’s yell, And from its iron sleep the hatchet wakes? Or does some impious tongue his anger brave, By speaking names made sacred by the grave?” XXXI. Then passed a murmur through that concourse wide, And man on man cast the inquiring eye; At length the old chief laid his pipe aside, And, musing, sate, as pondering his reply; Then slowly rose, and drew the pluméd hide From his right shoulder, and, with stature high, Stretched forth his long bare arm and shriveled hand, And pointing round the sky-encircled land;-- XXXII.