And Williams issued from his humble cot, Not as of late in solitary mood, With cheerless heart and ill-foreboding thought, But with light step and breast of quietude; And by him came the partner of his lot, And their young children, with blithe interlude Of prattling speech, softening the graver talk Of the fond parents in their morning walk. III. In sooth his buoyant spirits seemed to spread O’er all about him their enlivening flush; Ne’er was the grass so verdant on the glade, Ne’er did the fountain sparkle with such gush; Ne’er had the stream such lovely music made, Ne’er sang so blithe the robin on the bush; The woodland flowers far brighter hues displayed, More sunny was the lawn, more dark the shade. IV. They walked and talked; he told his trials o’er; And often Mary brushed aside the tear, And oft they joined to thank kind Heaven once more, That thus his sufferings were rewarded here; Then they would sit beneath the fountain’s bower, And woo the breeze, or smiling bend the ear To childly mirth, which, in its silver tone, Soothed the rude wilds with music erst unknown. V. And all was happiness,--security In blest seclusion. The rude storm seemed past, The bow of promise spanned their life’s new sky; No threatening cloud their prospects overcast,-- No shadow lowered; but Heaven with gracious eye Looked smiling down and blest their toils at last. Their Salem friends to join them soon will try,-- That they’re not here is all that brings a sigh. VI. Thus for a time did they anticipate The bliss which Heaven for pilgrims has in store, When their freed souls review their former state, And bygone pains enhance their joys the more; But yet one lingering fear of frowning fate, Our Founder’s bosom lightly brooded o’er-- No Indian throng, as promised by the seer, Had bid them welcome with Whatcheer! Whatcheer! VII. But let it pass;--perchance it was a dream; His thoughts seemed wandering or disturbed at best, When stood or seemed to stand, in doubtful gleam, That form scarce earthly, and his ears addrest;-- Ay, let it pass--for ill would it beseem So staid a man to be at all deprest By visionary fears or superstitious dread, Whilst Heaven is showering mercies on his head. VIII. “Waban,” he said, “a generous feast prepare, We can be cheerful, and yet not be mad; The good man’s smiles may be a praise or prayer; The wicked only should be very sad. God feeds the birds, my Mary, in the air,-- Hear how they thank Him with their voices glad. The heart of man should nearer kindred own, Joy in his smiles and sorrow in his frown.” IX.