The loiterer upon the bridge
Which o’er the eddying river poises
Salutes the island’s sandy ridge
That reappears; the eye rejoices
In all the old familiar frills
And saucy spills of rippling rills.
The rod and reel the rapture feel
And from the boat take finny chances,
But less for luck than with the keel
To be a part of runic dances;