THE SONG OF THE SPURT.
WITH hands all blistered and worn,
With eyes excited and red,
A boating man sat, in jersey and bags,
Awaiting the signal with dread.
Tug! tug! tug!
Every bone in his body is hurt;
And still, with a sigh and a dolorous shrug,
He sang the "Song of the Spurt!"
"Work! work! work!
Till I shiver in every limb;
Work! work! work!
Till the eyes begin to swim
Steam, bucket, and pant,
Pant, bucket, and steam,
Till over the oar I almost faint,
And row along in a dream."
"O, men, with sisters dear,
O, men, with pretty cousins,
I must mind and keep my form for the end—
They'll be there on the barge by dozens!
Pull! pull! pull!
What is poverty, hunger, or dirt,
Compared with the more than double dread
Of catching a crab in the spurt!"
With eyes excited and red,
With good hope of victory fired,
He was rowing along in his jersey and bags,
But feeling uncommonly tired!
Pull! pull! pull!
He began his full powers to exert;
Soon his boat would have been at the head of the river,
But when just at the barge—an unfortunate shiver
Made him catch a crab in the spurt!
REMEX MORIBUNDUS.
College Rhymes (T. and G. Shrimpton), Oxford, 1865.