LIII.
Now struggling by the flames they past from sight,
For Williams lingered yet to guard the cave;
And there, enveloped in a deeper night,
With fiercer fury did the contest rave;—
The blow, the wrench, the pantings of the fight,
The crash of branches and of thickets gave
A dreadful note of every effort made,
Where life sought life within that shuddering shade.
LIV.
The mother sank beside the father, pale
And scared; the children her affright partook;
At times they raised the sympathetic wail;
At times with breathless terror mutely shook.
Williams peered out along the kindling vale;
No sign of other foe there met his look;
Then with a word that quick return presaged,
He rushed tow'rd where the doubtful contest raged.
LV.
He passed the flame and paused—for on his ear
There came, with one loud crash, a heavy sound;
He listens still; and silence, sudden, drear,
Reigns oe'r the glade, and through the gloom profound.
Who is the victim? Evil-boding fear
Tells him that Waban gasps upon the ground;
One bubbling groan, as if the life-blood gushed;
A shuddering struggle then—and all was hushed.
LVI.
In dire suspense the anxious father stood,
Yet did he still unmanly terrors quell;
His hand, yet innocent of human blood,
Now grasped the axe to meet the victor fell;
