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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 water —
He knew them all — wo for the Sachem's daughter!
Sick and aweary of her lonely life,
Down the white rapids like a sear leaf whirled,
Empty and broken, circled the canoe
In the vexed pool below — but, where was Weetamoo?
VIII. — SONG OF INDIAN WOMEN.
The Dark eye has left us, The Spring-bird has flown, , On the pathway of spirits
She wanders alone.
Oh, dark water Spirit!
We cast on thy wave
Of the strange land she walks in
No Powah has told:
The path she is treading
Shall soon be our own;
Oh mighty So wanna ! t
♦ "Mat wonck kunna-monee." We shall see thee or her no more.— Vide Roger Y/illiams's "Key to the Indian Language."
t" The Great South West God." — See Roger William's "Olaervations," &c.
So sang the Children of the Leaves beside