The boatman made, 'twixt shoal and sandbank, yesterday,
As, at dead slack of tide, he chose to push his way,
With oar and pole, across the creek, and reach the isle
After a world of pains—my word provoked your smile,
Yet none the less deserved reply: ''T were wiser wait
The turn o' the tide, and find conveyance for his freight—
How easily—within the ship to purpose moored,
Managed by sails, not oars! But no,—the man 's allured
By liking for the new and hard in his exploit!
First come shall serve! He makes—courageous and adroit—