LXXI.
Turned by the words that gently woke his ears,
Before his eyes a boundless forest lay;
The mossy giants of a thousand years,
O'er hill and plain their mighty arms display;
Mound after mound, far lessening north, appears,
Till in blue haze they seem to melt away;
Here Seekonk wedded with Mooshausick beamed,
And there Cohannet's liquid silver gleamed.
LXXII.
Here Kikimuet left his woodland height,
Bright in the clear, or dark beneath the shade;
There Sowams gleamed,—if names the muse aright,
Till in the forest far his glories fade;
While here and there, rose curling on his sight
The village smokes of many a sheltered glade;
And, nearer, clustered at the mountain's base,
The foremost town of Pokanoket's race.
LXXIII.
Embosomed there in massy shades it stood;
Its frequent voices, up the silent steep,
Came on our Founder's ear;—in cheerful mood,
The tones of childhood shrill, and manhood deep,
Told him what sports, what toils were there pursued;
Or, wild and clear, the melody would sweep
Of girlish voices, warbling plaintive strains,
Half chant, half music, over woods and plains.
LXXIV.
Ah! how more lovely than the silence hushed,
That lists in horror for the foeman's tread!
A tender joy our Father's bosom flushed,—
The work was his that had these blessings spread;
