The storm, that else had o'er the nation rushed,
Had by his sufferings and his toils been stayed;
And as he mused, his hand the Sachem pressed,
For like emotions swelled his rugged breast.
LXXV.
"And oh!" he cried, "what can the Sachem do?
How can he give to Winiams recompense?
Our foes were many, and our warriors few,
But Winiams came, and he was our defence;
Go, brother, plant—go, plant our forest through—
All hast thou won by thy benevolence;
All hast thou saved from ruthless enemies,
Take what thou wilt, and take what best may please."
LXXVI.
Our Father answered—"give me bounds and deeds—
No lands I take but such as parchment names;
To future ages will I leave no seeds
To yield a harvest of discordant claims;
If name I must, I name fair Seekonk's meads—
What first I craved still satisfies my aims;
These and the friendship of my neighbors are
Reward too generous for my toil and care."
LXXVII.
"My brother gives with palm expanded wide,"
The Sachem said, "but with a closing hand
Our gifts are half received and half denied;
Ha! was he born in the white stranger's land?
My brother's corn shall wave by Seekonk's tide—
My brother's town shall on its margin stand;
And on the deer-skin, tested by my bow,
My painted voice shall talk, and to far ages go."
