In a trance of enjoyment and pride;
For were they not reaping the cherished reward
Which to labour is never denied?

Far happier than kings, as light-hearted as birds
Who warbled spring carols on high,
Each guided his skiff o'er the freshening wave,
'Neath a cloudless, sun-glorified sky.

They had chatted together while making their boats,
Half in serious mood, half in fun,
Of parting their hair in the middle to aid
Fair balance in the risk they might run.

And thus, in increasing and joyful delight,
They paddled a full hour and more,
And were gaily returning triumphantly, when,
Within about ten yards from shore,

Young Ithill, the eldest, a youth of sixteen,
His seat unaccountably lost,
And out of the frail skiff, the promising boy,
In a twinkling was ruthlessly tost.

His nearest companion, young Whittaker, sprang,
His canoe prompt assistance to lend,
But the noble young Ithill refused to lay hold,
For fear of endangering his friend.

Young Girling was some distance off, but at once