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302 The new-come people, they whose axes rung Throughout the forest, spoke the English tongue, And never knew that men of other race From Europe's fields had settled in the place; But deemed these huts were built some long-past day By lonely seamen who were cast away And thrown upon the coast, who there had built Their homes, and lived until some woe or guilt Was bred among them, and they fled the sight Of scenes that held a horror to the light.

But while they thought such things, the spell that hung. And cast its shadow o'er the place, was strung To utmost tension that a breath would break. And show between the rifts the deep blue lake Of blessed peace,—as next to sorrow lies A stretch of rest, rewarding hopeful eyes. And while such things bethought this new-come folk, That breath was breathed, the olden spell was broke: