XVIII.
So for a while they two in quietude,
With hopes auspicious, urged their task along,—
Lighter of heart; though Williams still would brood,
And inly marvel, o'er the missing throng
Of friendly Indians, issuing from the wood
To greet him with "What-Cheer" in voices strong;
And oft would wonder if perchance a vain
Illusion had beguiled his troubled brain.
XIX.
But omens dark and dire appeared at last:
The grim Pawaw had seen the mansion rise,—
Had from Mooshausick's highlands often cast
On the advancing work his watchful eyes;
And often, wafted on the passing blast,
Our Sire had heard that wizard's warning cries:—
Yet hoped that, baffled and chastised, his pride,
And courage too, had with his serpent died.
XX.
Vain hope! The close had scarce been made secure,
Ere Seekonk's western marge was blazing bright,
And decked with horns, and furs, and paints impure,
The prophet with a comrade danced all night
Around the flame, and howling, did adjure
His manittoo that most abhorred the light
To give him aid, and, by or force or fraud,
His hated neighbor drive once more abroad.
XXI.
War! war! he threatened:—and when morning came,—
Though quenched the fire,—upon the margin he,
All trim for strife, bent his gigantic frame
O'er Seekonk's severing flow, and toward the lea
