LX.
They slept at last, though piercing cold the night,
And round them howled the hungry beasts of prey;
Nor broke their slumber, till the dawning light
Gleamed in the east,—when they resumed their way.
Encrusted hard and flashing far and bright,
The snow sent back the rising solar ray;
Mooshausick's wave was bridged from shore to shore,
And safe they passed the solid water o'er.
LXI.
Westward till now his course did Waban draw;
He shunned Weybosset, the accustomed ford,
Where dwelt dark Chepian's priest, that grim Pawaw,
Who well he knew the Yengee's faith abhorred,
And who, perchance, if he our Founder saw
Bearing the pipe of peace, might ill accord
With such kind purpose, and, on evil wing
To Narraganset's host strange omens bring.
LXII.
Now down the western bank their course they speed,
Passing Pawtuxet in their onward way;
And fast doth Indian town to town succeed,
Some large, some small, in populous array;
And here and there was many an ample mead,
Where green the maize had grown in summer's ray,
And forth there poured, where'er they passed along,
Of naked children many a gazing throng.
LXIII.
Their small sunk eyes, like sparks from burning coal,
On the white stranger stared; but when they spied
The Wampanoag, they began to roll
With all the fury—mimicking the pride—
