But if a sluggard and a coward, then
To rove all wretched in the glooms of night,
Misled by Chepian, a poor wandering ghost,—
In swamps and fens and bogs and brambles lost.
XXIX.
"And now, my brother, rightly worship we,
When to Cawtantowit we make our prayer?
Or when for help to Chepian we flee,
And pray that us from every harm he spare?
For every harm is all his own, we see,
And good Cawtantowit has ne'er a share—
Then why should not I Chepian sue to be
Much sparing of his harm to mine and me?"
XXX.
Williams made answer, "When red warriors brave
The fight's dark tempest and for glory die,
Does Waban tremble whilst the battles rave,
And at the hurtling arrows wink his eye?
Or, basely cowering, does he mercy crave
Of the red hatchet o'er him lifted high?
Who prays to Chepian is a cringing slave,
And, dying, fills at last a coward's grave."
XXXI.
Strongly these words to Waban's pride appealed;
Yet back upon him did the memory rush
Of by-gone ages, and of many a field
Where fought his fathers, who with victory flush,
Not to Cawtantowit, but to Chepian kneeled,
And thanked his aid.—They cowards! and the blush,
That in their worship fear should seem revealed,
Was scantly by his tawny hue concealed.
