XXXIX.
The Priest's forsaken lodge rose thereamid,
Beside a fountain on a verdant lawn,
Spacious as some great Sachem's, and half-hid
In mantling vines wherewith it was o'ergrown;
And Williams thought of what his warrior did
On that dark bloody night, so direly known,—
Mourning the fate that caused the Sorcerer's doom;
Yet sees its fruit, a temporary home.
XL.
But some last scruples still his mind assail;
For, ah! what rites had made the place profane!
When thus the chief:—"No more my son bewail
Thy comforts lost; let the Great Spirit reign
Where Chepian reigned; ay, let thy God prevail;
Be thou His Priest, and this thine own domain;
From wild Pawtucket to Pawtuxet's bounds
To thee and thine be all the teeming grounds."
XLI.
High thanks Sire Williams paid;—but as he spake,
Came over him a feeling passing strange;
A prophet's rapture in his breast did wake;
For, at that moment, down the boundless range
Of heavenly spheres did some bright being take
Wing to his soul, and wrought to suited change
The visual nerve, and straight in outward space
Stood manifest in its celestial grace.[1]
XLII.
At once he cried, "I see! I see the seer!
His very form, his very shape and air!
By yonder fount;—the same his robes appear;
The same his radiant eyes and flowing hair;
- ↑ See note.
