"My foes are piqued, I must suppose,
But cannot see their way to a 'Cry.'"
(So mused the man with the Semite nose,
As up the backwater he swept.)
"What I like" (said he) "in this nook so shy,
Is that I am quiet, and free as a swallow,
Squaring accounts at my own sweet will.
With never a fear of the Big Swan's Bill!
The Swan's as quiet as though he slept.
I fancy I've funked the fierce old fellow!"