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Oh, swiftly glides the bonnie boat. Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note, Soft moves the dipping oar!

Like the watermen that row one way and look another.

On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.

We lie and listen to the hissing waves, Wherein our boat seems sharpening its keel, Which on the sea's face all unthankful graves An arrowed scratch as with a tool of steel.

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat.

And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.

Like the watermen who advance forward while they look backward.

Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time, Soon as the woods on shore dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn; Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.

Gracefully, gracefully glides our bark On the bosom of Father Thames, And before her bows the wavelets dark Break into a thousand gems.

Like watermen who look astern while they row the boat ahead.

Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.

The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.