Chapter Seventeen
_Oh, the pulses leap where the fall is steep,_ _And the rocks rise grim and dark,_ _With the swirl and sweep of the rapids deep,_ _And the joy of the racing bark._
_Oh, the pulses leap where the fall is steep,_ _And the rocks rise grim and dark,_ _With the swirl and sweep of the rapids deep,_ _And the joy of the racing bark._