What cheer

Front matter

Chap. Copyright No.

Tti C,

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Contents

Introduction vii

What Cheer i

Notes 177

Introduction

TO THE REV. ROMEO ELTON,

PROFESSOR OF LANGUAGES IN BROWN UNIVERSITY.

What time, dear Elton, we were wont to rove From classic Brown along fair Seekonk's vale.

And, in the murmurs of his storied cove,

Hear barbarous voices still our Founder hail ;

E'en then my bosom with young rapture hove To give to deathless verse the exile's tale;

And every ripple's moan or breeze's sigh

Brought back whole centuries as it murmured by.

But soon the transient dream of youth was gone, And different labors to our lots were given ;

You at the shrine of peace and glory shone, —

Sublime your toils, for still your theme was Heaven;

I, upon life's tempestuous billows thrown, — A little bark before the tempest driven,—

Strove for a time the surging tide to breast.

And up its rolling mountains sought for rest.

Wearied at length with the unceasing strife,

I gave my pinnace to the harbor's lee, And left that ocean, still with tempests rife.

To mad ambition's heartless rivalry; No longer venturing for exalted life,

(For storms and quicksands have no charms for me,) I, in the listless labors of the swain, Provoke no turmoil and awake no pain.

To drive the team afield and guide the plough, Or lead the herds to graze the dewy mead,

Wakes not the glance of lynx-eyed rival now. And makes no heart with disappointment bleed ;

VIU INTRODUCTION.

Once more I joy to see the rivers flow.

The lambkins sport, and brindled oxen feed, And o'er the tranquil soul returns the dream, Which once she cherished by fair Seekonk's stream.

And when stern winter breathes the chilling storm. And night comes down on earth in mantle hoar,

I guide the herds and flocks to shelter warm, And sate their hunger from the gathered store;

Then round the cottage hearth the circle form Of childhood lovelier than the vernal flower,

Partake its harmless glee and prattle gay.

And soothe my soul to tune the artless lay.

Thus were the numbers taught at first to flow. Scarce conscious that they bore a tale along;

Beneath my hand still would the pages grow, — They were not labor, but the joy of song ;

Still every line would unsung beauties show In Williams' soul, and still the strain prolong;

Till, all in rapture with the theme sublime.

My thoughts spontaneous sought the embodying rhyme.

No man was he of heart with love confined. With blessings only for his bosom friend, —

His glowing soul embraced the human kind, — He toiled and suffered for earth's farthest end.

Touched by the truths of his unyielding mind, The human soul did her long bondage rend ;

Stern Persecution paused — blushed — dropped the rod :

He strove like man, but conquered like a God.

And now, my Elton, as in hours of ease.

With aimless joy I filled this frail balloon.

So like blind impulse bids me trust the breeze. And soar on dancing winds to fate unknown ;

And be my lot whatever chance decrees — Let gales propitious gently waft me on,

Or tempests dash far down oblivious night, —

Whate'er the goal, I tempt the heedless flight.

Tiverton, R. I., September, 1832.

WHATCHEER.

Canto First

[Scenes. The Fireside at Salem — The Wilderness— The Wig-vvam,

I SING of trials, toils and sufferings great, Which Father Williams in his exile bore,

That he the conscience-bound might liberate, And to the soul her sacred rights restore ; —

How, after flying persecution's hate.

And roving long by Narraganset's shore,

In lone Mooshausick's vale at last he sate.

And gave soul-liberty her Guardian State.

II

He was a man of spirit true and bold ;

Fearless to speak his thoughts w^hate'er they were ; His frame, though light, was of an iron mould,

And fitted well fatigue and change to bear ; For God ordained that he should breast the cold

And wet of northern wilds in winter drear, And of red savages protection pray From Christians, but — more savage still than they.

III. Midwinter reigned ; and Salem's infant town

Where late were cleft the forests' skirts away. Showed its low roofs, and, from their thatching brown

Sheeted with ice, sent back the sun's last ray ;

The school-boys left the slippery hillock's crown,

So keen the blast came o'er the eastern bay ; And pale in vapors thick the sun went down, And the glassed forest cast a sombre frown.

IV. The busy house-wife guarded well the door

That night, against the gathering winter storm -

Did well the walls of all the cot explore

Where'er the snow-gust might a passage form ;

And to the couch of age and childhood bore With anxious care the mantle thick and warm ;

And then of fuel gathered ample store.

And bade the blaze up the rude chimney roar.

That night sate Williams, with his children, by The blazing hearth — his consort at his side ;

And often did she heave the heavy sigh As still her task of needle-work she plied ;

And, from the lashes of her azure eye.

Did often brush the starting tear aside ;

For they at Spring the savage wilds must try, —

' Twas so decreed by ruthless bigotry.

VI. Beside the good-man lay his Bible's fair

Broad open page upon the accustomed stand.

And many a passage had he noted there.

Of Israel wandering o'er the desert's sand.

And each assurance he had marked with care. Made by Jehovah, of the promised land ;

And from the sacred page had learned to dare

The exile's peril, and his ills to bear.

VII

And, while the holy book he pondered o'er, And often told, to cheer his consort's breast,

How, for their faith, the blest apostles bore

The exile's wanderings and the dungeon's pest,

A heavy foot approached his humble door.

And some one, opening, instant entrance prest :

A well-known elder was he, strict and sour, —

Strong in a church ensphered in civil power.

VIII

** I come," he said in accents hard and stern, " The Governor's and Council's word to bear :

They are convened, and hear, with deep concern, That thou abusest their indulgence fair ;

Ay, with resentment and abhorrence learn That still thou dost thy specious tenets share

Strange godUness in thee, and from us turn.

IX

" Till spring we gave ; and thou wast not to teach Thy interdicted doctrines here the while,

But curb thy tongue, or with submissive speech The church regain, and quit thy errors vile ;

Of which condition thou committest breach,

And dost her saints from Salem's church beguile ;

And plan, 'tis said, to found in easy reach

A State where Antichrist himself may preach.

X. '' From such a State our blessed elders see

The church may, even here, the infection share ;

And therefore have the Council made decree. That to the wilderness thou shalt not fare ;

WHAT CHEER.

But have their mandate hither sent by me, That thou to Boston presently repair ; — Where waits a ship now ready for the sea, To carry back thy heresy and thee."

XI

WiUiams replied, " Thy message is unkind, — In sooth, I think it even somewhat rude ;

The snow falls fast, and searching is the wind And wildly howls through the benighted wood.

The path to Boston is a Httle blind,

Nor are my nerves in their robuster mood ; —

My soul has seldom at her lot repined, —

But to submission now she's disinclined.

XII

"A voyage to England, and to start to-night And brave the ocean at this season drear ?

' Twould scantly give the hardy tar delight, Much less my consort and these pledges dear.

Go, and the Council tell, that we're not quite In health to bear a trial so severe, —

That if we yield 'twill be to lawless might,

And not to their kind feelings or their right."

XIII

" Much do I grieve," the elder then repUed, " To bear this answer to the Governor ;

' Twill show that thou hast Church and State defied, And will I ween make not a little stir ;

And should a pinnace, on the morn espied O'er yonder waters speeding, bring with her

A squad of soldiers. Underbill their guide.

Be not surprised, but — Williams, quell thy pride ! "

XIV

This said, he turned and hastily withdrew, And all but Williams now were left in tears ;

His wife, still comely, lost her blooming hue, Her nature yielding to her rising fears ;

A giddy whirling passed her senses through, She almost heard the blazing musketeers,

And trembling to her couch retired to sigh,

And seek relief in prayer to God on high.

XV

" O ! for a friend," still as he paced the floor. Sire Williams cried, " a friend in my sore need.

To help me now some hidden way explore.

By which my glorious purpose may succeed ;

But closed to-night is every cottage door ; Yet there is one who is a friend indeed,

Forever present to the meek and poor —

I will thy counsels, mighty Lord, implore."

XVI

Here dropt the friend of conscience on his knees,

And prayed, with hand and heart to Heaven upreared ;

*^ O, thou, the God who parted Egypt's seas, And cloud or fire in Israel's van appeared,

Send down thine angel now, if so it please.

That forth from Church within the State ensphered

He guide my steps, to where there yet may be

A Church not ruled by men, but ruled by Thee."

XVII. Our Father ceased. — The tempest roared around

With double fury at this moment drear.

The cottage trembled, and the very ground

Did seem to feel the element's career ;

With ice and snow the window-panes were bound,

Nor through their dimness could the earth appear, And still in gusts the wind a passage found Down the rude chimney with a roaring sound.

XVIII. A voice divine it did to Williams seem

He sat awhile within himself retired, Then seemed to rouse, as from a transient dream,

Just as the lamp's last flickering ray expired ; Around the room soft falls a quivering beam.

Cast from the brands that on the hearth are fired ; The tempest lulls apace, until he seems To hear from neighboring woods the panther's screams.

XIX

" But what is that ? — a knocking } — and once more ?

Some way-lost wanderer seeks a shelter here ; Ah, wretched man, amid the boisterous roar

Of snow and wind, thy sufferings are severe ! " He raised the bar that kept the outer door.

And with the snow-gust from the darkness drear, A stranger entered, whose large garments bore Proof of the storm in clinging snowflakes hoar.

XX

Aged he seemed, and staff of length had he, Which well would holy pilgrim have become,

But yet he sought, with quiet dignity And easy step, the centre of the room ;

Then by the glimmering light our Sire could see His flowing beard, white as the lily's bloom ;

Age had his temples scored ; but, — glancing free.

As from the imprint of a century,

XXI

His eyes beamed youth ; and such a solemn mien, Joined with such majesty and graceful air,

Our Founder thought he ne'er before had seen In mortal form ; and at the offered chair

The stranger gently shook his brow serene, And by the act revealed his long white hair,

As fell the fleecy covering from it clean,

Where down his shoulder hung its tresses sheen.

XXII

And when he spake his voice was low and clear.

But yet so deeply thrilling in its tone, The listening soul seemed rapt into a sphere

Where angels speak in music of their own. " 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 at morn into the forest drear.

XXIII

" Thou art to voyage an unexplored 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 ' What cheer ! What cheer ! ' Shall greet thine ears from Indian multitude. Cast thou thine Anchor there, and trust in God,^^

XXIV

The stranger ceased, and gently past away, Though Williams to retain him still was fain ;

" The night was dark, and wild the tempest's sway, And lone the desert," but 'twas all in vain ;

S WHAT CHEER.

He only in soft accents seemed to say,

" Perchance I may behold thee yet again, What time thy day shall more auspicious be. And hope shall turn to joy in victory."

XXV. The stranger past, and Williams, by the fire

Long mused on this mysterious event : Was it some seraph, robed in man's attire.

Come down to urge and hallow his intent? — To counsel — kindle — and his breast inspire

With words of high prophetic sentiment ? Or had he dreamed and in his mind, as clear As if in corporal presence, seen the seer ?

XXVI

'Twas strange — mysterious! Yet, if dream it were, 'Twas such as chosen men of old had known.

When Jacob saw the heaven-ascending stair, ,

Ah ! did the Omniscient hear his earnest prayer. And did e'en Heaven the glorious project own !

Then would he, by the morrow's earliest ray,

Unto the distant forest make his way.

XXVII

He sought for rest, but feverous was his plight For peaceful and refreshing sleep, I trow ;

Still mused he on the morrow's toilsome flight.

Through unknown wilds and trackless wastes of snow ;

How to elude the persecutor's sight.

Or shun the eager quest of following foe,

Tasked his invention with no labor light —

And long, and slow, and lagging was the night.

XXVIII. And if by fits came intervening sleep

Through deserts wild and rugged roved his soul,

Here rose the rock — there sunk the headlong steep, And fiercely round him seemed the storm to howl ;

The while from sheltered glen his foes would peep With taunts and jeers, and with revilings foul

Scoff at his efforts ; and their clamors deep

Came mingled with that awful tempest's sweep.

XXIX

Morn came at last ; and by the dawning day. Our Founder rose his secret flight to take ;

His wife and infant still in slumber lay ; — And shall he now that blissful slumber break ?

Oh, yes, for he believes that trials may,

Within the mind, its mightier powers awake.

And that the storms, which gloom the pilgrim's way,

Prepare the soul for her eternal day.

XXX

" Mary! " (she woke) ''prepare the meet attire, My pocket-compass and my mantle strong.

My flint and steel to yield the needful fire. Food for a week, if that be not too long ;

My hatchet, too — its service I require To clip my fuel desert wilds among ;

W^ith these I go to found, in forests drear,

A State where none shall persecution fear."

XXXI. " What ! goest thou, Roger, in this chilling storm ?

Wait ! wait at least until its rage is o'er ; Its wrath will bar e'en persecution's arm

From thee and me until it fails to roar.

lO WHAT CHEER.

Oh, what protecting hand from lurking harm

Will be thy shield by night ? — What friendly door Will give thee refuge at the dire alarm Of hungry wolves, and beasts in human form ? "

XXXII

" Oh cease, my Mary, cease ! — Thou dost complain That Heaven itself doth interpose to save, —

Doth wing this tempest's fury to restrain

The quest of foes, and prompt my soul to brave

The desert's perils, that I may maintain

The conscience free against who would enslave ; —

Wait till the storm shall cease to sweep the plain.

And we are doomed to cross yon heaving main,"

XXXIII. No more he said, for she in silence went

From place to place until her task was o'er ;

Williams, the while, the fleeting moments spent To scrawl a message to delay the more —

Aye, to mislead the beagles on the scent.

Till he could safely reach far wood or shore ;

And, haply, hope its vain illusion lent

That friends might plead, and bigotry relent.

XXXIV

Then he to Heaven his weeping spouse commends, And craves its blessing on his purpose bold ; —

Still Salem lies in sleep, and forth he wends To breast the driving storm and chilling cold ;

While the lone mother from the window sends A look where all her aching heart is told ;

Dimly she marks him as his course he bends

Across the fields, and toward the forest tends.

XXXV. To show him parting, to the light she rears

His child, yet ignorant of human woe; And soon its guileless silver voice she hears,

" O ! where is father going in the snow ? " The tender accents start the mother's tears,

*' He does, my child, to barbarous red men go, To seek protection from hard brethren here For thee and me, and all to him that's dear."

XXXVI

So forth he ventured ; — even like the dove That earliest from the window of the ark.

Went forth on venturous wings, to soar above The world of waters heaving wild and dark

O'er sunken realms of death, the while she strove Some high emergent mountain peak to mark,

Where she might rest, beyond the billow's sweep,

And build herself a home amid the deep.

XXXVII

The boundless forests now our Founder trod, And due southwestwardly his course he took ;

The lofty pines and cedars round him nod, — Loud roars the tempest through the leafless oak ;

The snow lies deep upon the frozen sod.

And still the storm's descending torrents choke

The heavens above ; and only fancy could, —

So dim the view, — conceive the solitude

XXXVIII. Of the wide forests that before him lay

His ever steady onward pace alone Told that from home he lengthened yet his way.

While the same forms — the same drear hollow moan,

Seemed ever round him lingering to stay, And every step of progress to disown ; As with all sail the bark may breast the tide, Nor yet advance, but rather backward glide.

XXXIX

Above his head the branches writhe and bend. Or in the mingled wreck their ruin flies ;

The storm redoubles, and the whirlwinds blend The rising snow-drift with descending skies :

And oft the crags a friendly shelter lend

His breathless bosom, and his sightless eyes ;

But, when the transient gust its fury spends.

Amid the storm again his way he wends.

XL

Still truly does his course the magnet keep — No toils fatigue him, and no fears appal ;

Oft turns he at the glimpse of swampy deep. Or thicket dense, or crag abrupt and tall.

Or backward treads to shun the headlong steep, Or pass above the tumbling waterfall ;

Yet still rejoices when the torrent's leap,

Or crag abrupt, or thicket dense, or swamp's far sweep

XLI

Assures him progress. — From gray morn till noon — Hour after hour — from that drear noon until

The evening's gathering darkness had begun To clothe with deeper glooms the vale and hill.

Sire Williams journeyed in the forest lone ;

And then night's thickening shades began to fill

His soul with doubt — for shelter he had none —

And all the outstretched waste was clad with one

XLII

Vast mantle hoar. And he began to hear, At times, the fox's bark, and the fierce howl

Of wolf, sometimes afar — sometimes so near, That in the very glen they seemed to prowl

Where now he, wearied, paused — and then his ear Started to note some shaggy monster's growl,

That from his snow-clad rocky den did peer.

Shrunk with gaunt famine in that tempest drear,

XLIII

And scenting human blood: — yea, and so nigh, Thrice did our northern tiger seem to come.

He thought he heard the fagots crackling by.

And saw, through driven snow and twilight gloom,

Peer from the thickets his fierce burning eye.

Scanning his destined prey, and through the broom.

Thrice stealing on his ears, the whining cry

Swelled by degrees above the tempest high,

XLIV

Wayworn he stood — and fast that stormy night Was gathering round him over hill and dale ;

He looked around and by the lingering light, Found he had paused within a narrow vale ;

On either hand a snow-clad rocky height Ascended high, a shelter from the gale,

Whilst deep between them, in thick glooms bedight,

A swampy dingle lay before his sight.

XLV

Through the white billows thither did he wade. And deep within its solemn bosom trod ;

Then on the snow with oft repeated tread

Hardened a flooring for his night's abode ; —

All there was calm, for the thick branches made A screen above, and round him closely stood The trunks of cedars and of pines arrayed, — To the rude tempest a firm barricade.

XLVI

And now his hatchet, with resounding stroke. Hewed down the boscage that around him rose.

And of dry pine the brittle branches broke, To yield him fuel for the night's repose :

The gathered heap an ample store bespoke ; He smites the steel — the tinder brightly glows ;

Fired by the match forth burst the kindling flame,

And light upon night's seated darkness came.

XLVII. High branched the pines, and far the colonnade

Of tapering trunks stood glimmering through the glen ;

And then rejoiced he in that lonely glade So far away from persecuting men,

That he might break of honesty the bread, And blessing crave in his own way again ; —

Of up-piled brush a seat and board he made.

Spread his plain fare, and piously he prayed.

XLVIII

" Father of mercies ! thou the wanderer's guide In this dire storm along the howling waste,

Thanks for the shelter thou dost here provide. Thanks for the mercies of the day that's past ;

Thanks for the frugal fare thou hast supplied ; And O ! may still thy tender mercies last ;

And may thy light on every falsehood shine,

Till man's freed spirit owns no law but thine ! "

XLIX. Our father ceased, and with keen relish he

Refreshed his wearied frame in that lone dell ;

Ah ! little can his far posterity

Conceive the pleasures of that frugal meal ;

For naught he knew of lavish luxury,

And toil and fast had done their office well ;

No costliest viands culled from land and sea

Could half so sweet to pampered palates be.

L.

His hunger sated with his simple fare.

He would, in weariness, have sought repose ;

But at the kindUng blaze, heard wide and far. The howHngs drear of forest monsters rose ;

And, lured around him by the vivid glare.

Came darkling with light foot along the snows

Whole packs of wolves, from their far mountain lair.

And the fierce cat, which scarce the blaze might scare.

LI.

Growling they come, and in dark groups they stand. Show the white fang, and roll the brightening eye ;

Till urged by famine's rage, the shaggy band Seemed even the flame's bright terrors to defy ;

Then mid the group he hurled the blazing brand ; Swift they disperse, and raise the scattered cry ;

But, rallying soon, back to the siege they came,

And in their rage scarce faltered at the flame.

LII.

Yet Williams deemed that persecution took A form in them less odious than in men ;

He on their proper solitude had broke, — Ay, and had trespassed on their native glen ;

His human shape they scantly too might brook,

For it their enemy had ever been ; But bigot man to probe the conscience sought, And scathed his brother for his secret thought.

LIII.

Oft he recruited now the sinking blaze — His stock of fuel seemed too scant to last ;

Yet, in the terror of the glittering rays. Was now the anchor of his safety cast ;

With utmost reach the boscage did he raze, Or dipt the branches overhead that past ;

And still the burning pyre at times would raise,

Or hurl the firebrand at the monster's gaze.

LIV.

At length the groups a panic seemed to seize, And soon he knew the terrifying cause ;

For swelling slow beneath the arching trees.

Trilled the long whine the dreadful panther draws ;

A sound that might the boldest bosom freeze ; 'Twas followed by a drear and awful pause ;

Naught marred the silence save the murmuring breeze,

And the far storm, like roar of distant seas.

LV.

Of all the dangerous monsters of the wood. None did the hunter dread like panther dire.

For man and beast he fearlessly pursued ; — Whilst others shunned, he was allured by fire ;

And Williams knew how perilous his mood, And braced his nerves to battle with his ire ;

Beside the rising blaze he firmly stood,

And every avenue of danger viewed.

Canto First. 1 7 LVI

In God he trusted for deliverance, — He thought of Daniel in the lion's den ;

He waited silent for the fierce advance, — He heard the fagots break along the glen ;

Another long-drawn yell, and the fierce glance Of two bright burning eye-balls, looking then

Out of the darkness, did yet more enhance

The terrors of the menacing mischance.

LVII.

But at this moment from the darkness broke A human voice, in Narraganset's tongue ;

" Neemat ! " (my brother) in kind tone it spoke, " How comes Awanux these drear wilds among ? "

And at the accents the dark thickets shook. And from them lightly the red hunter sprung,

And from his belt familiarly he took

And fired his calumet, and curled its smoke.

LVIII.

Then to our Founder passed the simple cheer. In sign of friendship to a wandering man,

" Let not," he said, *' my brother quake with fear, 'Twas Waban's cry at which the monsters ran."

Williams received the pledge of faith sincere ; Yet warily his guest began to scan.

Tall did his straight and active form appear,

And armed but with the hunter's simple gear.

LIX,

The bear's dark fur loose o'er his shoulders cast. His hand did only at the breast confine.

The wampum wreath, which round his forehead past, Did with the flame's reflected brightness shine ;

The beaver's girdle closely swathed his waist ;

It's skirts hung low, all trimm'd with 'broidery fine ; The well-formed ankles the close gaiters bound, With furs befringed, and starred with tinsel round.

LX.

Nature's kind feelings did his visage grace ;

His gently arching brow was shorn all bare, And the slight smile now fading from his face.

The aspect left of serious goodness there ; Though bright his eyes beneath his forehead's base.

They rather seemed to smile than fiercely glare ; And the free dignity of Waban's race Seemed moving in his limbs and breathing from his face.

LXI.

Williams the pledge of friendship now returned, And thanks o'erflowing to the hunter gave :

" From the Great Spirit sure my brother learned His brother's danger, when he came to save."

*' Waban," he answered, " from his lodge discerned A stranger's fire, and heard the monsters rave.

Waban has long within these wilds sojourned ;

But ne'er before has pale Awanux burned

LXII.

" His fire within this unfrequented glade.

Wanders my brother from his homeward way ? The storm is thick, he surely may have strayed ;

Or has he hunted through the weary day The rapid moose ; or in this lonely shade

Seeks he to trap the deer, or make essay To catch the wily beavers, who have made Their cunning wigwams in the river's bed ? "

Canto First. LXIII

" 'Twere hard to tell my brother of the woods

What cause has forced his pale-faced brother here,

The red and white men have their different moods, And Narraganset's tongue lacks terms, I fear,

To tell the strifes among white multitudes — Strifes yet unknown within these forests drear.

Where undisturbed ye worship various gods.

And persecution leave to white abodes.

LXIV.

" Let it suffice, (for weary is the night,) That late across the mighty lake I came,

Seeking protection here of brethren white, [flame,

From those pale chiefs who had, with scourge and

Driven them as me o'er sea in dangerous flight ; — Our wrongs, as our offenses, were the same : •

God we had worshipped as to us seemed right.

And roused the vengeance of our men of might.

LXV.

" My brethren then had persecution fled,

And much I hoped with them a home to find ;

But to our common God whene'er we prayed, My honest worship did not suit their mind ;

It differed greatly from their own, they said ; Their anger kindled, and, with speech unkind,

They drove me from my family and home.

An exile in this dreadful storm to roam.

LXVI.

** And now, my brother, through the wilds I go. To seek some far — some lone sequestered glen —

Where burning fagot nevermore shall glow. Fired by the wrath of persecuting men ;

Where all may worship, as their gods they know,

Or conscience lights and leads their varying ken ; - Where ages after ages still may bow, And from free hearts free orisons may flow."

LXVII.

Waban a while mused on our Founder's tale.

And silent sate in meditative mood ; For much he wondered why his brothers pale

For differing worship sought their kindred's blood. At last he thought that they must surely fail

To know the Great Spirit as a father good, Or Chepian* was their god, and had inclined Them to indulge a fell and cruel mind.

LXVIII.

Then pity blended with his wonder grew ;

Here was a victim of that Evil One, Who from him and his angry servants flew

To seek a shelter in the forest lone.

" Brother," he said, '' thy brother much doth rue

(Hearing thy tales,) that thou art forced to shun Thy well-framed wigwam — thy familiar fire, And sleep so far amid this tempest dire.