  All peacefully gliding, the waters dividing, The indolent bateau moved slowly along; The rowers, light-hearted, from sorrow long parted, Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song: “Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way; Soon we shall enter it, cheerily, cheerily, Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray.” More swiftly careering, the wild Rapid nearing, They dashed down the stream like a terrified steed; The surges delight them, no terrors affright them, Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed; “Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily Shivers its arrows against us in play; Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily, Our spirits as light as its feathery spray.” Fast downwards they’re dashing, each fearless eye flashing, Though danger awaits them on every side; Yon rock—see it frowning! they strike—they are drowning! But downwards they speed with the merciless tide. No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrily Shivers their bark in its maddening play; Gayly they entered it—heedlessly, recklessly, Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray! —Charles Sangster. |
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