At length, no longer heedful of disguise, Upon the opposing bank the wizard stood, With meet compeer--both armed; their battle cries And challenge fired brave Waban’s martial blood; Scorning all counsel, to the marge he flies, And shoots his arrows o’er the severing flood; To taunts and jeers his bow alone replies, And soon their hostile missiles span the skies. XXVIII. From tree to tree the champions fly and fight, Driving or driven from the sheltering screen, Each change, each movement, yielding to the sight Their swarthy members through the foliage green; Whereat their arrows follow, flight on flight, With hideous yells at every pause between; Now down the stream--now at the tumbling falls, The petty battle raves, and wrath to vengeance calls. XXIX. Hour after hour thus raged the doubtful fight, Until the combatants their shafts had spent; Then to the river’s marge in peaceful plight, Bearing the pipe with fumes all redolent, The fraudful wizard came, as to invite Across the stream to cheer quite innocent And friendly league a neighbor and a friend; “Come, let the pipe,” he said, “the battle end. XXX. “Waban is brave, and Tatoban is brave; Hereafter let us live as neighbors kind, And let thy arrows sleep; no more shall rave This knife and hatchet; Tatoban was blind!” “Go!” Waban cried, “thou and thy dastard slave! Go trap the Neyhom, or the foolish hind; But thinkest thou into thy open snare, To lure the cunning fox, and slay him there?” XXXI. Thus closed the strife that day; another came, And all was peace; another sun and still Another rose and set, and still the same Unbroken peace--no threatening sign of ill: Quite undisturbed red Waban trapped his game Or delved the shore--no foe appeared; until Our Sire believed that he might safely bless His weary hours with earth’s best happiness. XXXII. Waban, his only counsellor and friend, Warrior and subject in this lone domain, Did now the summons of his chief attend, And, questioned by him, straightway answered plain. “Waban,” said Williams, “do our battles end? Is the war over--have we peace again? No more on yonder bank the prophet stands And wings his darts or whirls his blazing brands.” XXXIII. Waban replied, “Did ever noon-day light On midnight break? Did ever tempest shed, Just as it gathered, radiance mild and bright? Heard not my Sachem what the prophet said,-- That if the red men were all turning white, He’d seek such white men as were turning red? Perchance he goes, and Waban has a fear That to his cunning speech they’ll lend an ear.” XXXIV.