Cold, crafty, proud, of woman's weak distress, VII. -THE DEPARTURE. The wild March rains had fallen fast and long Gnawed by the sunbeams, softened by the rain, On that strong turbid water, a small boat Down the vexed centre of that rushing tide, The trapper moistening his moose's meat On the wet bank by Uncanoonuc's feet, Saw the swift boat flash down the troubled stream Slept he, or waked he? was it truth or dream? The straining eye bent fearfully before, The small hand clenching on the useless oar, The bead-wrought blanket trailing o'er the waterHe knew them all wo for the Sachem's daughter! Sick and aweary of her lonely life, Had left her mother's grave, her father's door, Down the white rapids like a sear leaf whirled, |