The neyhom's[1] mantle did his shoulders grace,
With ample folds that stayed the winter's harms;
At every movement, changing in the sun,
From plume to plume its glistering glories run.
XXII.
Mute were the chiefs and seemed to meditate;
Nor turned their heads, nor cast a glance aside,
When on the offered mat our Founder sate,
And close behind him came his watchful guide.
Then spread the warriors round in circle great,
And did the earth beneath their numbers hide;
They sit, kneel, stand, or climb the forest boughs,
Till all around the live enclosure grows.
XXIII.
When ceased the crowd to stir, and died their hum,
Long on our Sire the old chief kept his gaze;
At length he said: "And has Awanux come?
He's welcome to the red man's council blaze.
What news brings he from the pale stranger's home?
Or from the dog that near his wigwam strays?
Our young men see the pipe—what does it seek?
Our ears are open—let Awanux speak."
XXIV.
Sire Williams rose;—a thousand staring eyes
Were on him fixed; a thousand ears were spread
To catch his words, whilst all around him lies
That mass of life hushed in a calmness dread,
Like that of dark Ontario, when the skies
Are mustering their tempests overhead;
And the round moon looks through the gathering storm
And, glassed mid tempest shapes, beholds her form.
- ↑ The neyhom, or wild turkey. See note.
