Are we not hunted thus our forests through?

Will Haup’s brave Sachem yield Awanux aid,

While weep the spirits of his kindred dead?”

XLII.

“Go! thou dark Corbitant!” the old chief cried,

“Unarmed, the stranger seeks our vacant land,—

Far from his friends would plant by Seekonk’s tide,

His blood within the hollow of our hand.

When to the stranger has a chief denied

Food, fire, and space his blanket to expand?