Unto the Great Sea Ruler, With Bacchus, is this feast. Swift, swift, the Great Sea Ruler Ran till the race had ceased, He came from depths Atlantic, Where tossing waves abound, With countless laughter rippling, And music in their sound, He came to see his well-loved, Our Thames, where glory rings, He came to lordly London, The city of our kings[109]; To where by far-famed Lake Mort, Now Mortlake long time hight―― All in the Thames’ fair waters, Was fought the glorious fight. III. Now on the place of battle Are boats and barges seen, And rows of tugs, and lines of ships, And boatmen far from clean; The screws of the big steamers Crush the small waves beneath, And others with their paddles Make all the waters seethe; The fisher baits his angle, The mudlark goes his round, Little they think on those strong limbs That battled near that ground; Little they think how sternly That day the coxwains cried, How boat and boatmen felt the rush, Of that dark eddying tide; How some men came with rumours Which others called a hoax; How some laid bets on captains, And others named the strokes; How thick the crowd was gathered Upon the bridges height; How all along the towing path Swayed the wild stream of flight; And how the far-famed Lake Mort Bubbled with unclean foam, What time the ancient Isis Against the Cam did come. X. Up rose the golden morning Over the Pauline[110] height. The Kalends of Aprilis, Marked evermore with white. Not without secret trouble Our bravest saw the foes, For held by sixteen manly hands The eight good oars arose. From each picked beating college That boasts the Oxford name Fore doomed to be defeated That gallant army came. * * * * * And in the Cantab army Were men of wondrous might, Who came from Johnian portals, And girt them for the fight, From Trinity came others, As part of that array; From Sidney and from Jesus―― Athletic men were they. XV. Now to each boat the starter Gave signal for the charge; And in each boat the oarsmen Rowed on past tub and barge; And in each boat the oarsman Struck the water with his oar; And near each boat the steamers Steamed on with mighty roar, And under that great turmoil The waves with mud were dark, And like the London fog at morn The steam hung o’er each bark. And louder still and louder Rose from the crowded bank The cheering and the war cries,[111] With hopes that rose and sank. And onward rowed the rivals And neither seemed to wane, They scudded o’er the waters Like whirlwinds o’er the plain. XVII.