LX.
They passed the turf, as they the cavern sought,
Where fell the body of the earliest slain;—
Said Waban, as he paused beside the spot,
"The black Priest's comrade never wakes again;"
Then seized the body roughly by the foot,
And dragged it, bleeding yet, along the plain
Straight to the rocky steep, and o'er it dashed;
It dropped in night; re-echoing thickets crashed.
LXI.
Then the rude victor washed the stains away,
Cast him on earth, and soon deep slumber showed
How lightly in his rugged bosom lay
The horrid memory of that scene of blood;—
But Williams watched until the dawning gray,
And Mary's fitful sleep the scenes renewed,
While the young dreamers in her circling arms,
Oft shrieked and sobbed in slumber's vain alarms.
LXII.
The morning dawns, and they their march resume;
No perils now annoy their toilsome way;
The night came down, and with its sober gloom
Brought quiet sleep until the morning's ray;
Again they rose, and gained their joyous home
On Seekonk's marge, just at the close of day;
And Him they blessed, who had in safety led
Them through dire perils, to their humble shed.
