When from beneath the arches of the wood,
Rang the far-trembling, death-announcing yell,
So like a demon's issuing from his pit—
Who but that savage could the sound emit?
LVII.
Then moving slowly in the gloomy wood,
Doubtful and darkling through the ghostly shade,
A form approached, and as it onward trod,
Appeared distinct upon the open glade;
'Twas Waban!—Waban bathed in hostile blood;
And by the lock he held a trunkless head.
He stooped beside the mounting blaze to shew,
Still more distinct, his trophy to the view.
LVIII.
With lips still quivering, and with eyes unglazed,
The reeking fragment seemed as living still;
Fierce on the horrid thing the victor gazed,
The battle's wrath did still his bosom fill;
His eyes looked fire, another yell he raised,
That rang rebellowing from hill to hill;
Then, by the long dark lock swung from the ground,
He whirled on high the ghastly ball around.
LIX.
Around—around—still gathering force it went;
Still on his sinews strained the whirling head,
Till cleaving from the skull the scalp was rent,
And through the air the ponderous body sped;
Deep in the hollow woods its force was spent,
Thrice bounding from the ground, then falling dead;—
He turned and spoke: "No more the babes shall weep!
The grim Pawaw now sleeps! and Waban now can sleep!"
