And bumped them soundly at the barges.
That night on Oxenford there burst
A sound of strong men at their revels,
And stroke, in vinous lore unversed,
Retired, if you must know the worst,
On feet that swam at different levels,
Nor knew till morning brought its cares
That, while the cup was freely flowing,
He'd scaled a flight of moving stairs
And commandeered his tutor's chairs
To keep the college bonfire going.
Immortal youth it was that bound
Us twain together, beauteous river;
And, though these limbs just crawl around
That once would scarcely touch the ground,
And alcohol upsets my liver,
Still, in a punt or lithe canoe
I can revive my vernal heyday,
Pretend the sky's ethereal blue,
The golden kingcups' cheery hue,
Spell my, as well as Nature's, Mayday.
The evening glows, the swallow skims
Between the water and the willows;
The blackbirds pipe their evening hymns,
A punt awaits at Mr. Tims'
With generous tea and lots of pillows,
And of all girls the first, the best
To play at youth with this old fossil;
Then Isis, as we glide to rest
Upon thy shadow-dappled breast,
We'll pledge thee in a generous wassail.
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