Followed his steps. It was a cavern rude, Its floor a level rock, its vaulted roof Of granite masses formed, whose arches stood More firmly for the weight they propped aloof;-- And here and there upon the floor were strewed Extinguished brands, which, with like signs, gave proof That men had dwelt there;--then, through screening vines Sire Williams glances out and marks where shines, XXXVII. Full on red Waban’s face, the mounting blaze. Though half a bow-shot from the cavern he Stands at the fire, yet its bright sheen displays His hue and shape, and then could Williams see How well the hunter judged thus far to raise The burning pyre; no passage could there be For hostile foot, save by that glittering flame, Which well would light the arrow’s certain aim. XXXVIII. Such furniture, as for their strongest need The wretched exiles had themselves supplied, Was to the cave now brought, with bread to feed The little children clustering by the side Of their fond parents.--Then did thanks succeed To God who deigned such comforts to provide, And earnest prayers that His protecting might Would shield them through the dangers of the night. XXXIX. With trembling haste a slight repast they took, And to their several places then repaired; The mother sate deep in the rocky nook Beside her children, and their pallet shared; Red Waban sate upon a jutting rock, Hard by the cavern’s mouth, the pass to guard; While at the entrance, Williams listening stood, Screened by the vines, and every passage viewed. XL. Deep night came down o’er forest, vale and hill-- The dismal hootings of the darkling owl, The melancholy notes of Whip-poor-will, And the lone wolf’s far distant long-drawn howl, Answered at times by panther screaming shrill, Such hideous echoes through the forest roll, That Mary shudders, and, from transient sleep, The infants starting up for terror weep. XLI. But Williams listened with accustomed ear, The dread of man alone disturbed his breast; Hour after hour, unmarked by danger near, The pass he watches for the savage priest, And still, with eyes turned tow’rd the flame, doth hear Whatever steps the rustling leaves molest; And oft he thought that through the brake he saw The waving fox-tail of the grim Pawaw. XLII. At last within the hollow forest rose Strange sounds that were unmeaning to his ear;-- As if there human hands were breaking boughs Green with the verdure of the new-born year; Crash follows crash.--“Are these approaching foes? Do one or more their march thus pioneer?” No answer Waban made, but seemed to shrink Among the vines along the rock’s dark brink. XLIII.