That rude Pocasset—which, when Williams saw
From towering Haup, did one broad forest shew;
Here, steep o’er steep, there, leaving Nature’s law,
Hill, glade, and swamp,—presenting to the view
So mad a maze, that there, if hunter draw
His sounding bow, and but a space pursue
The wounded deer, he finds his guidance fail,
And lost, halloos through tangled brake and dale.
LXIX.
Yet the rude wigwams smoked from many a glade,