Then from the rattlesnake’s skin, with a sudden, contemptuous
      gesture, 475
  Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets
  Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage,
  Saying, in thundering tones; “Here, take it! this is your answer!”
  Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage,
  Bearing the serpent’s skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, 480
  Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest.

  V

  THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER.

  Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows,
  There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth;
  Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order imperative, “Forward!”
  Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. 485
  Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village. 
  Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army,
  Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white men,
  Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. 
  Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David; 490
  Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible,—­
  Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Philistines,
  Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning;
  Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing,
  Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 495

  Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth
  Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. 
  Sweet was the air and soft; and slowly the smoke from the chimneys
  Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily eastward;
  Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the weather, 500
  Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the Mayflower;
  Talked of their Captain’s departure, and all the dangers that menaced,
  He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his absence. 
  Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women
  Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the household. 505
  Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming;
  Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the mountains,
  Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at anchor,
  Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. 
  Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her canvas, 510
  Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. 
  Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean,
  Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward; anon rang
  Loud over field and forest the cannon’s roar, and the echoes
  Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun