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 Why has he Seekonk's eastern border chose, And not surveyed Mooshausick's winding flood? Its banks are green,—its forests waving fair,— Its fountains cool, the deer abundant there.

VIII.

Ne'er will I dwell among my brother's foes,— To make them friends is now thy brother's toil; Too weak I am to bend their battle bows, Had I the heart for such unseemly broil. The forest fair that by Mooshausick grows, Would long withstand the hardy woodman's toil. The Seekonk's marge will easy tillage yield, And soon the spiry maize will clothe its field.

IX.

How could my brother's thoughts his friends offend? Why flies he to the red from faces pale? How can he still the nations red befriend? What can his speeches with his foes avail? No arms he bears, no Yengees him attend, How dares his foot to print this distant vale? The path was shut between the nations red,— How dared my brother on that path to tread?

X.

The white man labors to enthrall the mind, He will not let its thoughts of God be free; I come the soul's hard bondage to unbind, And clear her access to the Deity;