60?    INDIANS    IN    NEW-HAMPSHIRE.

Not always thus with rousing cheer
Of feast and bridal passed their year!
Foes sought the vale of Penacook,

And there within the sheltered nook
Of Sugar-Ball, thick arrows sped,

And hostile Mohawks scalped their dead.

No terms of half-forgotten lore
Were these sweet Indian names of yore
To men who built our meadow-town,
With dusky faces looking down
From wooded heights, to matron’s pale
Who spied the savage in the vale,

And trembled lest the moon should rise
On homesteads blazing to the skies.

In vain their fears, that shaft will tell
Whose granite shows us where they fell;
And yonder isle that bears the name
Of her who to its margin came
A pale-faced captive, nerving there
Her valiant soul to do and dare
The utmost, if its fearful cost
Might give once more her loved and lost.

There by the stream whose waters flow
As when she heard them long ago,
Listening in terror for a sound
From startled warriors, while the ground
Echoed each foot-fall, and her breath
Seemed warning them of coming death,—
There may her sculptured statue rise,
Bearing its witness to the skies,

That courage knows no narrow ban
But brave endeavors to be free
Strong arms and stronger will should be
Honored in woman as in man.

[The following beautiful poem was written for, and read on the occa-
sion of the commemoration of the Bi-Centennial Settlement of the
State of New-Hampshire, by the New-Hampshire Historical Society, a
the State Capitol, Concord, May 22, 1873.]