What Manit most my Plymouth friends revere;
For aye their deeds their better words efface,
Their tongues much speak of Spirit good and great,
Their hands much do the work of Chepian’s hate.”
XXXI.
Here grave Canonicus came from the throng,—
“Welcome, my son!” exclaimed the aged chief,
“Bear thou the inflictions of thy kindred’s wrong
With man’s stout courage, not with woman’s grief;
The lands thou seëst shall to thee belong,