Whilst Williams wrote, with stationery rude,
His first epistle from the lonely wood.
LXI.
’Twas on the inner bark stript from the pine,
Our Father penciled this epistle rare;
Two blazing pine-knots did his torches shine,
Two braided pallets formed his desk and chair;
He wrote his wife the brief familiar line,
How he had journeyed, and his roof now where;
And that poor Waban was his host benign,