Flotsam and Jetsam :: :: University of Virginia Library

Pale March, a silenced brawler, smiles:
Along the river-bank for miles
One stunted copsewood burnt and black—
Sight-seers, thick as they can pack
Or London can outpour them!
As thick and black as mussels glued,
A bristling crust o'er sea-reefs rude—
Green-spiralled mussels violet-dyed
That gape fresh-glossed as morning's tide
Comes hissing, sparkling o'er them.

II

What draws the countless crowds?—Two crews;
Contagious rage for rival ‘Blues’—
Calm modern phase of ancient scenes
When charioteering ‘Blues’ and ‘Greens’
Set Emperors, Bishops, crazing;

109

Swept nobles, beggars, Church and State,
Down two fierce floods of foaming hate,
Till half the East in blood was drenched,
And thirty thousand slaughters quenched
Byzantine flames far-blazing.

III

Hark! o'er the bank so copselike spread
A roar comes rolling overhead!
A still renewed re-plunging crash
As when with launching whirl and lash
Sea-surges swiftly creaming
Through shingles drive and scour; thus high
And hoarse it seems birdlike to fly
In air, no way allied or mixed
With that dense press beneath it fixed,
Still, dark and silent-seeming.

IV

So our aquatic athletes keen—
Each high-trained eight one smooth machine
All fire and sinew balanced on
A flying wedge scarce seen ere gone—
Their silver pathway splendid

110

With neatly desperate skill have skimmed;
Like some crustacean spindle-limbed
Sea-darters—sped with that long roar!—
The myriad-tempting glimpse is o'er,
The emulous spasm ended!

V

And now the moving masses break,
As slow as mists when sunbeams wake;
In bright deray, barge, steamer, boat
Weave crossing tracks: but one thing note!
Look how the tide has risen
Around a flat where loitering throngs
Better good cheer with cheery songs,
Jest much at winners, losers more,
Till crystal-barred from either shore,
Pent in an emerald prison.

VI

Crowd great, need urgent, wherries few!
Their glorious chance the boatmen knew;
A silver mine that soaking strand,
A small Potosi close at hand,
Ring-fenced by silver waters!

111

But there, in sweet reserved distress
Two dainty damsels, see! whose dress,
(Piquant simplicity's extreme)
Cool grace, and calm dark glances seem
To mark them France's daughters;

VII

No English coin, no change have they,
Yet must the trebled fare prepay;
One gold Napoleon all they boast;
The crowd too busy, self-engrossed,
Push by, their plaint neglecting:
At last, a rough-spun waterman
Makes out ‘what's up,’ as best he can;
Stops, lifts his low-crowned hat, as fain
To rub his brow and rouse his brain;
A moment stands reflecting,

VIII

Reflects, resolves, preluding low:
‘Well, dash my buttons! here's a go!
I'm blest if 'taint a chance to lose;—
But come! the pretty parley-vooz
(I beg the ladies' pardon,

112

—Mean no offence) shall never say
John Bull can't do, once in a way
The proper thing—leastways 'll try;
I'll pull the ladies over, I,
And charge 'em, not a farden!’

IX

So said—so done. A trifling act!
Of fine blunt gallantry compact
No less—heart-polish pure and bright!
And patriot-promptings there unite,
Clear even to cynic blindness,
With philanthropic feeling true;
Aye, there's the touch of Nature too,
Which spite of race, rank, speech or skin,
Can make the whole wide World akin
In world-acknowledged kindness!’