Even Awanux, in his strength arrayed,
Whose thunder roars and whose red lightning glows?
Make him your friend and victory follows sure,
And Narraganset rests in peace secure."
XLIII.
The old chief downward gazed; the warriors round,
Some in stern silence sate of doubtful mood,
Some gave a scornful smile, some fiercely frowned,
And others toiled to sharp their darts for blood;
At length the Sachem, rising from the ground,
With piercing eyes, full in the visage viewed
Our anxious Founder.—"Thou dost speak," he said,
"The words of wisdom, but these ears are dead;
XLIV.
"Dead to a Yengee's voice. When did the tongue
Of the white stranger fail to speak most fair?
When did his actions not his speeches wrong,
And lay the falsehood of his bosom bare?
Fain would I die in peace, and leave this throng
To have their glory down the ages fare;
But still I feel the stranger's grasping hand,
And still he soothes me with his accents bland.
XLV.
"If true he speak—that should his actions show;
May not his heart be darker than yon cloud,
And yet his words white as its falling snow?
Still, if his speech were true, and not a shroud
To hide dark thought, these gray hairs yet might go
Down to the grave in peace—and of my blood
Might all, whilst rivers roll, or rain descends,
Live with the Yengee, kind and loving friends."
