IV.
They walked and talked; he told his trials o'er;
And often Mary brushed aside the tear,
And oft they joined to thank kind Heaven once more,
That thus his sufferings were rewarded here;
Then they would sit beneath the fountain's bower,
And woo the breeze, or smiling bend the ear
To childly mirth, which, in its silver tone,
Soothed the rude wilds with music erst unknown.
V.
And all was happiness,—security
In blest seclusion. The rude storm seemed past,
The bow of promise spanned their life's new sky;
No threatening cloud their prospects overcast,—
No shadow lowered; but Heaven with gracious eye
Looked smiling down and blest their toils at last.
Their Salem friends to join them soon will try,—
That they're not here is all that brings a sigh.
VI.
Thus for a time did they anticipate
The bliss which Heaven for pilgrims has in store,
When their freed souls review their former state,
And bygone pains enhance their joys the more;
But yet one lingering fear of frowning fate,
Our Founder's bosom lightly brooded o'er—
No Indian throng, as promised by the seer,
Had bid them welcome with Whatcheer! Whatcheer!
VII.
But let it pass;—perchance it was a dream;
His thoughts seemed wandering or disturbed at best,
When stood or seemed to stand, in doubtful gleam,
That form scarce earthly, and his ears addrest;—
