“And straight appeared a venerable seer, Such as on earth none ever saw before; His temples spake at least their hundredth year, In many a long and deeply furrowed score; But, Oh! his eyes, in youthful glory clear, Did from them a celestial radiance pour; And then that face scarce seemed to veil the rays, (Too bright for mortal!) of an angel’s blaze. LXVI. “And when he spake, methought the music clear Of tongue seraphic, filled his heavenly tone; It came so full, yet gently, on my ear, It well might serenade the Almighty’s throne; ‘Williams,’ it said, ‘I come on message here Of mighty moment, to this age unknown; Thou must not dally, or the tempest fear, But fly by morn into the forest drear. LXVII. “‘Thou art to voyage an unexploréd flood, No chart is there thy lonely bark to steer; Beneath her rocks, around her tempests rude, And persecution’s billows in her rear, Shall shake thy soul till it is near subdued; But when the welcome of _Whatcheer! Whatcheer!_ Shall greet thine ears from Indian multitude, Cast thou the Anchor there, and trust in God.’ LXVIII. “He went away, and I could not detain Him from departing in the stormy night; He would but promise to be seen again Where faith in freedom should my rest invite. I’ve often dwelt on that prophetic strain, Recalled that voice,--and rightly can recite The words it uttered.--Oh that I had more Their import weighed, and shunned this tyrant shore! LXIX. “For, Mary, deem it not a sinful thought, That Heaven should give her counsels to restore The soul to freedom.--Lo! what wonders wrought The God of Christians for the Church of yore; With heathen darkness was the conscience fraught, And tyrants chained it to a barbarous lore; To break like thraldom in a Christian land, Angels may speak, and God disclose his hand. LXX. “This spot I rashly chose. No Indian train Glad welcome gave to my enraptured ear, And that mysterious form comes not again, Inspiring courage; therefore hence we steer, Nor land nor dwelling let us think to gain Until the greeting of Whatcheer! Whatcheer! Our journey stays,--there, there is our abode; Our anchor there, our Hope, Almighty God!” LXXI. Thus spoke our Sire, and now, with ready hand And spirits lightened, Mary did prepare For their departure to another land,-- Alas! they knew not how and knew not where. At eventide, red Waban from the strand, The children from the glade, with cheerless air Revisited the cot.--One more sad night, And thence they journey at the rising light. LXXII.