Not of the Pequot, but the Plymouth kind;
My promised harvest blighted in the bloom,
My voiceless roof,—all, all have I resigned,
And hither come to seek Mooshausick’s plain,
And beg the gift once proffered me in vain.”
XXX.
Good Massasoit, who did these accents hear,
Would now our Founder greet,—and with a face,
That spoke a sorrow deep and most sincere:
“Long have I strove,” he said, “in thought to trace