Had I the heart for such unseemly broil.
The forest fair that by Mooshausick grows,
Would long withstand the hardy woodman’s toil.
The Seekonk’s marge will easy tillage yield,
And soon the spiry maize will clothe its field.
IX.
Canonicus.
How could my brother’s thoughts his friends offend?
Why flies he to the red from faces pale?
How can he still the nations red befriend?