Where all may worship, as their gods they know,
Or conscience lights and leads their varying ken;—
Where ages after ages still may bow,
And from free hearts free orisons may flow."
LXVII.
Waban a while mused on our Founder's tale,
And silent sate in meditative mood;
For much he wondered why his brothers pale
For differing worship sought their kindred's blood.
At last he thought that they must surely fail
To know the Great Spirit as a father good,
Or Chepian[1] was their god, and had inclined
Them to indulge a fell and cruel mind.
LXVIII.
Then pity blended with his wonder grew;
Here was a victim of that Evil One,
Who from him and his angry servants flew
To seek a shelter in the forest lone.
"Brother," he said, "thy brother much doth rue
(Hearing thy tales,) that thou art forced to shun
Thy well-framed wigwam—thy familiar fire,
And sleep so far amid this tempest dire.
LXIX.
"Now, brother, hear, what Waban has to say:
The night is cold, and fast the snows descend;
Still round thy sleep will howl the beasts of prey;—
Will not my brother to my wigwam wend?
It smokes well-sheltered and not far away;
There may my brother this drear season spend,
And shun the wrath of Chepian's angry men,
Until Sowaniu's breezes scatter flowers again.
- ↑ The name of the Indian devil.
