The foam-white rocks of Amoskeag in view,
With arrowy swiftness sped that light canoe.
"Sick and aweary of her lonely life,
Heedless of peril, the still faithful wife
Had left her mother's grave, her father's door,
To seek the wigwam of her chief once more!
"Down the white rapids, like a sere leaf whirled,
On the sharp rocks and piled-up ices hurled,
Empty and broken, circled the canoe,
In the vexed pool below—but where was Weetamoo?"