On Waban’s words my brother may repose,
Whilst these far feet imprint the distant snows.”
XLIII.
Then from the hearth a quenchéd brand he took,
And on the skin traced many a curving line;
Here rolled the river, there the winding brook,
Here rose the hills, and there the vales decline,
Here spreads the bay, and there the ocean broke,
Along red Waban’s map of rude design.
The work now finished, he to Williams spoke,