Then to the gods that ride the angry blast,
Then to the fiends that dwell beneath the ground;
These made propitious, they the hatchet gave,
The bloody hatchet, to a peaceful grave.
XXII.
"Waban," said Williams, "we may venture now,
But pause ye short of the sure arrow's flight;"
Instant the red man drove the foaming prow
Along the cleaving flood, and, at the sight
Of the red hosts of men, the rose's glow
Fading at once left Mary's cheek all white;
And sudden fears her children's breasts surprise,
And, with their little hands, they veil their eyes.
XXIII.
Full in the front of that vast multitude,
Beyond an arrow's flight their skiff they stayed;
A sudden silence hushed the listening wood;
The crowds all paused, and with wild eyes surveyed
The pale-faced group, which in like stillness viewed
The wondering throngs. At length the woodland glade
Moves with their numbers; down the banks they pour,
Swarming and gathering on the dark'ning shore.
XXIV.
As when some urchin, with a heedless blow,
The insect nations of the hive alarms,
Down from their cells the watchful myriads flow,
And earth and air grow black with murmuring swarms;
So from the woods the wondering warriors go,
So o'er the dark'ning strand their concourse forms;
None save their haughty chiefs remain behind,
And they the lofty banks and forest margin lined.
