Shifts the thin oar, the fluttering canvas drops;
Then with closed eyes, clenched hands, and quick-drawn breath,
Darts at the central arch, nor heeds the gulf beneath.
Full ’gainst the pier the unsteady timbers knock,
The loose planks, starting, own the impetuous shock;
The shifted oar, dropp’d sail, and steadied helm,
With angry surge the closing waters whelm—
Laughs the glad Thames, and clasps each fair one’s charms,
That screams and scrambles in his oozy arms.
Drench’d each smart garb, and clogged each straggling limb,