(As when a party-procession rejoice
With drums, and trumpets, and with banners of gold),
Until the Canoeist's blood ran cold,
And over his paddle he crouched and rolled;
And he wished himself from that nook afar
(If it were but reading the evening star):
And the Swan he ruffled his plumes and hissed,
And with sounding buffets, which seldom missed,
He walloped into that paddler gay
(Bent on enjoying his holiday).