In his rude canoe, askance,

See him poise his flint-tipped lance,

Flashing in the ardent noon

O’er the sedgy broad lagoon,

When Thames reeds the river-horse

Crushed in his unconscious force.

Swinging on the pendent bough

Had he sweet content enow?

Basking in the primal sun

Recked he how his race should run?