The Rime of the Raftmen

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.