Then moving slowly in the gloomy wood, Doubtful and darkling through the ghostly shade, A form approached, and as it onward trod, Appeared distinct upon the open glade; ’Twas Waban!--Waban bathed in hostile blood; And by the lock he held a trunkless head. He stooped beside the mounting blaze to shew, Still more distinct, his trophy to the view. LVIII. With lips still quivering, and with eyes unglazed, The reeking fragment seemed as living still; Fierce on the horrid thing the victor gazed, The battle’s wrath did still his bosom fill; His eyes looked fire, another yell he raised, That rang rebellowing from hill to hill; Then, by the long dark lock swung from the ground, He whirled on high the ghastly ball around. LIX. Around--around--still gathering force it went; Still on his sinews strained the whirling head, Till cleaving from the skull the scalp was rent, And through the air the ponderous body sped; Deep in the hollow woods its force was spent, Thrice bounding from the ground, then falling dead;-- He turned and spoke: “No more the babes shall weep! The grim Pawaw now sleeps! and Waban now can sleep!” LX. They passed the turf, as they the cavern sought, Where fell the body of the earliest slain;-- Said Waban, as he paused beside the spot, “The black Priest’s comrade never wakes again;” Then seized the body roughly by the foot, And dragged it, bleeding yet, along the plain Straight to the rocky steep, and o’er it dashed; It dropped in night; re-echoing thickets crashed. LXI. Then the rude victor washed the stains away, Cast him on earth, and soon deep slumber showed How lightly in his rugged bosom lay The horrid memory of that scene of blood;-- But Williams watched until the dawning gray, And Mary’s fitful sleep the scenes renewed, While the young dreamers in her circling arms, Oft shrieked and sobbed in slumber’s vain alarms. LXII. The morning dawns, and they their march resume; No perils now annoy their toilsome way; The night came down, and with its sober gloom Brought quiet sleep until the morning’s ray; Again they rose, and gained their joyous home On Seekonk’s marge, just at the close of day; And Him they blessed, who had in safety led Them through dire perils, to their humble shed. CANTO EIGHTH. [SCENE. The New Home in Seekonk’s Mead.] Through Seekonk’s groves the morning sun once more Flames in his glory. Waving verdant gold, The boundless forest stands. Wild songsters pour, From every dewy glade and tufted wold, The melody of joy. From shore to shore The tranquil waters dream, and soul-like hold A mirrored world below of softest hue, With underhanging vault of cloudless blue. II.