That we could miss a chance like this
To take them head and head, men.
There's that old sog, he's like a log.
Spring, lads, and show your mettle;
Strain every oar; let's strike before
He's- gallied, mill-, or-settle-."
And so it is, the chance is his.
The others peak their oars now.
From his strained eyes the lightning flies,
And lion-like he roars now.