“But I can go.--Oh, yes! I can submit;-- God in his mercy will give shelter still; Go--tell your Dudley in the book ’tis writ That the oppressor shall hereafter feel; Yet, gracious Lord, grant that repentance fit Him to receive the everlasting seal Of thy salvation--that his lost estate Be yet revealed, ere it is all too late! LII. “Grieve not, my Mary!--Children, do not weep! Though yonder verdant lawns, and opening flowers, And groves whose shades the murmuring streamlets sweep, All perish for us now,--yet on far shores, Perchance by yon blue bay or rolling deep, Far from white brethren, mid barbarian powers, Your father’s hands another glade may form,-- Another roof to shield you from the storm.” LIII. As here he ceased, in all the agony Of mental pain he paced the cottage floor; Absorbed in his own woes scarce did he see The Elder pass, and leave his humble door; His toils, cares, hopes, all lost; and poverty Sudden, gaunt, naked, spread its glooms once more. A clashing sound first broke this mental strife; ’Twas Waban, edging sharp his scalping knife. LIV. And such an ireful look, (his eyes so bright, So played his muscles and so gnashed his teeth)-- Red warrior ne’er did show, save when in fight His weapon makes the hostile heart a sheath, And forces out the soul. He looked a sprite Kindling a hell within!--Recoiling ’neath The horrid feelings that the image woke, Our Founder shrank, and thus the form bespoke: LV. “What fiend, O Waban! thus inflames thy breast?” The spell of frenzy at the accents broke; The red man paused, his hand the bosom pressed, His eyes still flashing fire, and thus he spoke: “My chief was angry with his pale-faced guest, And at my sachem’s ire my own awoke; I can pursue,--for viewless pinions lift My nimble feet to speed thy vengeance swift.” LVI. A freezing horror crept through every vein, As Williams heard the son of Nature speak; And humbled stood he, for that ire profane Was but his own that did new semblance take In that wild man;--there stood the ancient Cain And here the modern, better skilled to check The wayward passions, and how dark soe’er The mirror there might be, the real form was here. LVII. “Waban!” at length he said, “I grieve to see That all I sowed fell on a barren rock; How could my brother hope to gladden me By such a deed? Thou dost thy sachem shock! O! from thy savage nature try to flee;-- Lay down thy murderous knife and tomahawk, And dwell on better themes. New toils invite, And high rewards my brother shall requite. LVIII.