Classic Poem

THE GREAT SWAMP FIGHT. A WATCHING WARRIOR. 1675.

Blow , blow, thou south wind, blow,
And break the bands of frost!
Our island stands secure;
And not one craven soul
Can cross the dreadful swamp,
Or crawl through all the roots,
If but the south wind blow
And break the bands of frost!

The palisade is strong,
The corn in plenty piled,
The wigwams tightly built,
With wood to warm them well.
Our women with their babes
Are busied baking cakes;
The warriors all are here
And wear the signs of war,
With arrows strong and swift,
Sound wood, and tipt with stone —
The black the Pequoits use,
And bone too strong to break,
And Narragansett quartz,
Bound round its narrow neck
With thongs so soft and strong,
Which our wise squaws can cut
From tender hides of deer.
Doubled the deadly pack
Each warrior has to-day,
For this is war — we wait
For victory, or for death.

Hark, hark! a sound of steps?
Ah no, 'tis but a sough,
A whisper of the wind
That sighs and softly wails.
Oh, blow, thou south wind, blow,
And break the bands of frost!

My mother knew these men;
With welcome free and full
She gave them of her corn;
She carried clams to them
And gave them of her best.
But she were better dead
Than show them such good will,
For soon she bore a son,
The scorn of all the tribe!
They settled here, and then
There came men with a coat,
The thing which these men cast
About them in the cold.
The thing was fine to see,
With yellow stuff tricked out,
And shining yellow spheres
Ran up and down the front;
Really the coat was rare.
Some pieces, too, they brought,
Bright shining as the bay
In sunlight when it lies
Upon the lapping wave.
And papers, too, they brought,
A present they proposed.
Our chiefs agreed full well,
Their gift was choice; by chance
The papers were a part.
They put their signs all down,
The arrow, and the bird,
And all that appertains
To show how great they are.
Now is their greatness gone!
For straight our lands were seized,
The lands tilled by our squaws,
The best of all for corn —
And strange beasts, too, they brought;
And turned it upside down.
Not small the cornstalks then;
But when we claimed a share,
They said we sold the lands.
Sell land! How could we sell
What surely no man owns!
The land lay there, good land,
Land fit to nourish corn
Which nourished all the tribe.
And now they say, no more
Your squaws may till the fields,
Nor fill the baskets full
With ears of golden corn!

But worse than stealing land,
They soon stole wife and child;
And to their service pressed
Our slender maids, and squaws
Wise in the ways of work —
And men to build them walls —
Until our warriors bold
Would burdens bear no more!
Ah, what a night was that,
The cold, the black, the still!
How fierce the fire burned
When fell the roof-tree in —
And how with shriek on shriek
The women screamed for life!
Ha, that was goodly work
To glut a gallant heart!
Revenge they seek, revenge,
But ruin we have wrought,
A ruin on the hill,
The highest house of all!

The night is black and cold,
Breathing a bitter breath.
No sound, no sign of wind,
The frozen swamp lies hard
As rock, along the shore,
Where all should be soft marsh.
The cedar trees stand stiff,
The birches spectre white;
The water makes no sound, —
No moon until the morn.
Asleep the warriors all,
Women and wailing babes
Wrapt in the cold. Secure
They rest, and soundly sleep.
But should the English come,
Straight through the frozen swamp
Their horses and their men
Unharmed could hold their way.
That were a ghastly fight
For gain and glory then!
But better wait awhile
Till breaks the bitter frost,
And black roots stretching deep
Are snares to snare them all.
Then easy were our prey,
As plunging in the peat
Man after man stuck fast!

But now these many days
The swamp is frozen hard,
Nor sun can make it soft.
Ho! spirits of the air,
Arise and come to aid,
And blow, thou south wind, blow,
And break the bands of frost!