Waban replied, "O'er yonder distant brow,
Smokes in the vale Neponset's peopled town;
Thy red friends there will thee in safety keep,
There may the white hand and the children sleep."
XXII.
As thus he spake, across their pathway sped
The startled partridge on her whirring wings;
An arrow glanced—it grazed the hunter's head,
And the shrill forest with the bowstring rings;
Red Waban's eyes flash fire, and anger dread
Flames in his blood, and every muscle strings;
He stooped to mark where twanged that hostile bow,
Then sprang from tree to tree, to reach the foe.
XXIII.
But ere he gained the purposed point, or viewed
The fell assassin, the dry fagots' crash,
The waving coppice, and re-echoing wood,
And sounding footfalls down the brakes that dash,
Told him how vainly he his foe pursued,
Or that pursuit were dangerously rash;
And turning slowly he retraced his track,
As his foiled leap the lion measures back.
XXIV.
The matron trembled, at the scene dismayed,
For she had marked that hostile arrow's flight,
And Williams' glance, and Waban's mien betrayed
That instant peril did their fears excite;
And yet no frantic shrieks her acts degrade;
A mother's cares did every thought invite;
And o'er the little scions of her blood
She stretched her arms' frail fence, and trembling stood.
