At the height of the house-tops the cloud-rack spins by.
Old Boreas may bluster, but gaily we’ll muster,
And crowd every nook on bridge, steamboat, and shore,
With cheering to greet Cam and Isis, who meet
For the Derby of boating, our fête of the oar.
“Off jackets!”—each oarsman springs light to his seat,
And we veterans, while ever more fierce beats the rain,
Scan well the light form of each hardy athlete,
And live the bright days of our youth once again.
A fig for the weather! they’re off! swing together!