Part 8 (1/2)

While some of the thrusters grew unnerved, And looked and longed for an open gate, And one crashed down and another swerved, She went for it always true and straight: She pounded the lot, for she made it good With never a touch of splintered wood.

Full many a year has come and gone Since last she gathered her spring for me, And lifted me up, and so flew on Unchecked in a country fair and free.

I've ridden a score since then, but ne'er Crossed one that could live with the old grey mare.

AT PUTNEY

When eight strong fellows are out to row, With a slip of a lad to guide them, I warrant they'll make the light s.h.i.+p go, Though the coach on the launch may chide them, With his ”Six, get on to it! Five, you're late!

Don't hurry the slides, and use your weight!

You're bucketing, Bow; and, as to Four, The sight of his shoulders makes me sore!”

But Stroke has steadied his fiery men, And the lift on the boat gets stronger; And the c.o.xswain suddenly shouts for ”Ten!

Reach out to it, longer, longer!”

While the wind and the tide raced hand in hand The swing of the crew and the pace were grand; But now that the two meet face to face It's buffet and slam and a tortoise-pace.

For Hammersmith Bridge has rattled past, And, oh, but the storm is humming.

The turbulent white steeds gallop fast; They're tossing their crests and coming.

It's a downright rackety, gusty day, And the backs of the crew are drenched in spray; But it's ”Swing, boys, swing till you're deaf and blind, And you'll beat and baffle the raging wind.”

They have slipped through Barnes; they are round thebend; And the chests of the eight are tightening.

”Now spend your strength, if you've strength to spend, And away with your hands like lightning!

Well rowed!”--and the coach is forced to cheer-- ”Now stick to it, all, for the post is near!”

And, lo, they stop at the c.o.xswain's call, With its message of comfort, ”Easy all!”

So here's to the st.u.r.dy undismayed Eight men who are bound together By the faith of the slide and the flas.h.i.+ng blade And the swing and the level feather; To the deeds they do and the toil they bear; To the dauntless mind and the will to dare; And the joyous spirit that makes them one Till the last fierce stroke of the race is done.

”A LITTLE BIT OF BLUE”

When the waves rise high and higher as they toss about together, And the March-winds, loosed and angry, cut your chilly heart in two, Here are eighteen gallant gentlemen who come to face the weather All for valour and for honour and a little bit of blue!

_Chorus._ Oh get hold of it and shove it!

It is labour, but you love it; Let your stroke be long and mighty; keep your body on the swing; While your pulses dance a measure Full of pride and full of pleasure.

And the boat flies free and joyous like a swallow on the wing.

Isis blessed her n.o.ble youngsters as they left her; Father Camus Sped his youths to fame and Putney from his grey and ancient Courts:-- ”Keep,” they said, ”the old traditions, and we know you will not shame us When you try the stormy tideway in your zephyrs and your shorts.

”For it's toil and tribulation till your roughnesses are polished, And it's bitterness and sorrow till the work of oars is done; But it's high delight and triumph when your faults are all abolished, With yourself and seven brothers firmly welded into one.”

So they stood the weary trial and the people poured to greet them, Filled a cup with praise and welcome--it was theirs to take and quaff; And they ranged their s.h.i.+ps alongside, and the umpire came to meet them, And they stripped themselves and waited till his pistol sent them off.

With a dash and spurt and rally; with a swing and drive and rattle, Both the boats went flas.h.i.+ng faster as they cleft the swelling stream; And the old familiar places, scenes of many a sacred battle, Just were seen for half a moment and went by them in a dream.