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22
CHARON
Charon, thy craft more slowly wends
On peaceful Cam from shore to shore,
And in thy locks the silver blends
With larger freedom than of yore.
On peaceful Cam from shore to shore,
And in thy locks the silver blends
With larger freedom than of yore.
Thy bended form has little grace
(Nimble thou wert in earlier days),
And Time has sadly marred a face
That few may love and none can praise.
(Nimble thou wert in earlier days),
And Time has sadly marred a face
That few may love and none can praise.
We quail before thy searching glance;
Nay, bold boat-captains fear thine eye,
And tremble, Charon, if perchance
They have no little ‘trifle’ by.
Nay, bold boat-captains fear thine eye,
And tremble, Charon, if perchance
They have no little ‘trifle’ by.
Thou hast a son, a stalwart lad,
Some sixty summers he or more,
Who, when thy rheumatism's bad,
Deftly manœuvreth the oar.
Some sixty summers he or more,
Who, when thy rheumatism's bad,
Deftly manœuvreth the oar.
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And thou art yet but ninety-six—
Talk not of leaving us till he
(Thy namesake, Charon, on the Styx)
Bequeaths his pole to thee.
Talk not of leaving us till he
(Thy namesake, Charon, on the Styx)
Bequeaths his pole to thee.
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