And forces out the soul. He looked a sprite
Kindling a hell within!—Recoiling ’neath
The horrid feelings that the image woke,
Our Founder shrank, and thus the form bespoke:
LV.
“What fiend, O Waban! thus inflames thy breast?”
The spell of frenzy at the accents broke;
The red man paused, his hand the bosom pressed,
His eyes still flashing fire, and thus he spoke:
“My chief was angry with his pale-faced guest,