Hall'?
'Twas a spectacle to see him in his gig-lamps row along,
And the good ship speeding onward swift as
Poet's gushing song.
Where is Paley? Where is Fairbairn, from
whose lips the Naiads dank
Snatched and gave their sweetest kisses when
our Eight at Chiswick sank?
What avails it to remember brilliant days now lost in night?
What avails it Putney's annals, and past glories to recite?
"Lost is Granta, lost our glory, lost our former pride of place,
Gone are all my blushing honours, nought is
left me but disgrace.
For regardless of all science, every oarsman now obeys
Wild, new fangled laws and notions, never
dream'd of in old days.
But do you, my gentle Freshmen, who have youth in every vein,
Labour by your manly valour our lost laurels to regain!
When you hear the Cox'n's 'row on all,' then
keep erect your head;
Then be your arms and bodies with one motion for'ard sped:
Sit firm upon your cushions all; and, when the oar is in,
With one harmonious action let your work at once begin:
Press your feet against the stretcher, and your
legs with vigour ply,
Till the ship, as swift as lightning, thro' the
yielding water fly.
"He who 'misses the beginning' makes his comrades
all to suffer,
Spoils the swing, and is a nuisance; turn him
out, for he's a duffer!
Having made a good beginning you must carry on the work,
And until the stroke is finished not an atom must you shirk.
I have seen--no names I mention--certain oarsmen with a dash
Plunge their oars into the water, and produce
a sudden splash!
But the middle and the finish are all wasted in the air,
And no human constitution can such toil incessant bear;
For although the ship at starting may at once
its distance clear,
And victory seem certain, when the winning post is near,
The crew worn out and breathless have nothing in them left,
And though pluck may ne'er desert them, of
their vigour are bereft.

"And do you, my Palinuris, steering straight the gallant bark,
By voice and exhortation keep your heroes to the mark.
Cheer the plucky, chide the cowards who to do
their work are loth,
And forbid them to grow torpid by indulging selfish sloth.
Fool! I know my words are idle! yet if any love remain;
If my honour be your glory, my discredit be your pain;
If a spark of old affection in your hearts be still a