Classic Poem

The old horse ferry is a democratic boat,
For she mixes up the classes more than any craft afloat;
And the cart of Bill the Bottlo, and the sulky of his boss,
Might stand each side the motor car of Mrs Buster-Cross.

O the old horse ferry is a parliament of man,
Where everything is settled, or left just where it began;
But the old horse ferry is a very peaceful scow,
For you seldom hear a swear-word, and you never hear a row.

It's a rest for weary horses from the hot hard roads and steep;
And the young ones shake their winkers, and old “Geddup” goes to sleep,
Just to wake up short and sudden when she bumps the landing stage,
Like a slamming door might wake you when you nod in your old age.

The old horse ferry is a private way between
For the down-and-out and shabby who care not to be seen,
And the man who shakes and suffers from the reckless night before
And shuns the eyes of passengers who know him on the Shore.

He'll mostly find his dodging and repentance is in vain—
He'll get outside a drink or two, and do the same again;
But, same again, or not again, you'll have to go to town,
And the old horse ferry will never turn you down.