I

The Delaware above the Rift
Each bank is fast o'erflowing,
And sweeping onward dark and swift,
Wild and still wilder growing
It hurls a heavy raft along
Upon its rocking way,
While the Captain's call the hills prolong
At dawning of the day:
Pull, lads, pull!—to Jersey side,
The Rift is near!
Pull, lads, pull!—for the high floods hide
The ragged rocks like an ocean tide,
And the river's rush I hear.

II

Safely the Rift is left behind,
A careful stearsman stearing;
Swiftly we speed, only to find
A dizzy eddy nearing,
Where rolling in the river-lake,
And whirling round and round
A dozen rafts the circle make,
And warning cries resound:
Pull, lads, pull!—Sylvania's shore!
The Eddy's near!
Pull, lads, pull!—till the sweeping oar
Bends like a bow and you hear the roar
Of the river in the rear.

III

The luring eddy lies behind
Where the dizzy rafts are whirling,
And we speed along with the cutting wind,
The foam like suds up-curling,
When ahead a sharp curve comes in sight
And we hear the Captain call
As the raft swerves sudden to the right
And the ridges tower tall:
Pull, lads, pull!—to Jersey side!
The Bend I fear!
Pull, lads, pull!—and soon we'll ride
On the rolling wave to Trenton's tide
With river calm and clear.

IV

The Bend is past, but the Water-gap
Of the Delaware up-rearing,
Looms far ahead like a narrow trap
As fast our raft is nearing,
And calm and deep the waters grow,
And scarcely comes a sound
Till the Captain's calling, to and fro
Re-echoes far around:
Rest, lads, rest!—a little while!
Be of good cheer!
Rest, lads, rest! till yonder isle
We safely pass—a few more mile
And all our course is clear.

V

Along the wave we smoothly glide
Until the island clearing,
When down we speed as with the tide,
Now here, now there a veering,
Until a great bridge lifts its form
Against the evening sky,
When like the rolling of a storm
The crew repeats the cry:
Pull, lads, pull!—Sylvania's shore!
The Bridge is near!
Pull, lads, pull!—the for'ard oar,
And soon our dangerous task is o'er,
And little need we fear.

VI

So on we speed; now fast, now slow;
By isle and rift and eddy
Until at length along we flow
With movement firm and steady;
And low and lower lie the hills,
And wider spreads the vale,
And soft the Captain's calling trills
Upon the evening gale:
Rest, lads, rest!—our work is done—
The danger's o'er!
Rest, lads, rest!—another sun
Will see a haven safely won
By Trenton's friendly shore.

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