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.
V
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.