LXVII.
Whilst musing thus, and onward moving still,
His soul o'ershadowed with suspicious fears,
He gained the summit of a towering hill,
And downward gazed.—Far stretched beneath appears
A woodland plain; and murmurs harsh and shrill,
As from accordant voices, on his ears
Rise from the midmost groves, and o'er the trees,
A hundred smokes curl on the morning breeze.
LXVIII.
And now to sight, through leafless boughs revealed,
Now hid where thicker branches wove their screen,
Bounding and glancing, in swift circles wheeled
Men painted, plumed, and armed with weapons sheen,
And flashing clear or by the trees concealed,—
Glimmering again and waved with threatening mien,—
The lifted tomahawks and lances bright
Seemed to forestall the the frenzied joy of fight.
LXIX.
Mixed with the sound of voices and of feet,
Alternate slow and fast, the hollow drum
Its measured rote or rolling numbers beat,
And ruled in various mood the general hum;—
Now slow the sounds, now rapid their repeat,
Till at a sudden pause, did thrilling come
That tremulous far undulating swell,
From out a thousand lips, the warrior's yell;—
LXX.
As 'twere from frantic demons. And the face
Of Waban paled—then darkened as he said,
"The Narragansets there their war-dance trace,
They count our scalps, and name our kindred dead;
