XIV.
It was the grim Pawaw.—He came in ire
From his proud dwelling by Mooshausick's stream;
His was the voice of gods and omens dire,
And loud he chanted his prophetic dream;
"The white man's gods had set the woods on fire,
And Chepian vanished in its fearful gleam;
Their fathers' ghosts came from their hunting ground—
Their children sought, and only ashes found."
XV.
Gravely attentive did the council hear
That crafty priest his awful omens sing.
The warriors, ruled by superstitious fear,
Half credence gave, and overawed the king.
In groups they thronged the forest, far and near,
With gathered brows and surly muttering;
And still the prophet through the kindling crowds,
Moved like a comet through night's lowering clouds.
XVI.
And as he passed, the varying rumors flew
Of secret plans hatched by the Yengees' hate;
And still their fears and doubts and wonder grew,
Whilst on that dream the chiefs prolonged debate;
For priest he was and politician too,
And oft he meddled with affairs of state,
Wrought on the fears of superstition's crew,
And the best counsels of the wise o'erthrew.
XVII.
Thus, when the senate dared resist his sway,
He still gained triumph with the multitude;
Till now the chiefs, half yielding to dismay,
Yet vexed and goaded by his rebel mood,
