The vogue of leaving off your hat,
I with a crust that loathes the wind's caresses—
I should revolt at that.
But for the rest there's little strange;
Still Cam pursues his torpid way;
'Tis we alone who suffer change
(I could not stick the course to-day);
New generations lash the same old river,
Spurt up the Long Reach, bump and sup;
What if we pass, through weight of years or liver?