“Brother! we grant thee quiet neighborhood,-- The tree of peace o’ershadows thee and me; And thou mayst hunt in Narraganset’s wood, And catch the fish that in our waters be; But thou must still promote the red man’s good, Keep bright his belt, and make thy counsels free When danger darkens;--and if this be done, I am thy father, thou shalt be my son.” LVII. Scarce need I say, Sire Williams cheerly gave The pipe he bore and took the friendly belt; That thanks he tendered to the Sachems brave; That what he uttered he as deeply felt; That he repeated each assurance grave Of friendly favors, whilst he near them dwelt; Nor pause I, now, the customs to describe, By which the truce was honored by the tribe. LVIII. He took the Sachem’s friendly calumet, Then scattered wampum mid the warriors all; On Miantonomi’s lofty brow he set, Round waving plumes, the jeweled coronal; The scarlet coat the elder potentate Most trimly graced, and gave delight withal; Then ribbons gave he, various their hue, To counsellors and Keenomps, bold and true. LIX. His mission finished, Father Williams sped, With Waban guiding, through the forest lone; Nor cold nor hunger did he longer dread, Or bore them cheerly now, his object won; Quickly to Haup did he the thickets thread-- To Haup, so well to Pilgrim Father known-- And found that Sachem, mid his warriors stern, Alarmed, but hoping still his safe return. LX. Gladly he heard from Waban’s faithful tongue Sire Williams’ speeches and the answers given, And wildly shouted all that warrior throng, To learn the dire enchanter’s spell was riven; And wilder shouts the echoing vales prolong, To hear that priest was from the council driven; “The tree of peace” they cried, “will bloom again, The wizard’s banished, and his manit slain.” LXI. Then to the elder chief our Father gave The Narraganset friendly calumet; And it was pleasant to behold the grave And stern old Sachem, whilst his eyes were wet With tears of gratitude;--he could outbrave The stake’s grim tortures, and could smiling sit Amid surrounding foes; yet kindness could Subdue to tears this “stoic of the wood.” LXII. He clasped our Father by the hand and led Him up, in silence, to the mountain’s crown; And there, from snow-capt outlook at its head, They gazed o’er bay and isle and forest brown. It seemed a summer’s eve in winter bred; The sun in ruddy gold was going down, And calm and far the expanded waters lay, Clad in the glory of the dying day. LXIII.