end, all ye who wish to see the names
of each stout crew,
Who've come to town from cap and gown to
fight for their favourite blue.

OXFORD.

First TOTTENHAM comes, a well-known name, that
cattle driving Cox'en.
Who oft to victory has steer'd his gallant team of Oxon.

O'er Putney's course so well can he that team in safety goad,
That we ought to call old Father Thames the
Oxford-Tottenham Road.
Then comes the Stroke, a mariner of merit and renown;
Since dark blue are his colours, he can never be dun-brown.
Ye who would at your leisure his heroic deeds peruse,
Go, read _Tom Brown at Oxford_ by the other Tom--TOM HUGHES.
Next SENHOUSE, short for Senate-house, but long
enough for seven,
Shall to the _eight-oar'd_ ship impart a _sen-at-orial_ leaven.
Then Number Six (no truer word was ever said in joke)
In keeping with his name of WOOD, has heart and limbs of oak.
The voice of all aquatic men the praise of "Five" proclaims;
No finer sight can eye delight than "HENLEY-upon-Thames."
Then Number Four who is heaver far than a number of Macmillan,
Though WILLAN'S his name may well exclaim,
"Here I am, but I hain't a willan." [1]
Then FREEMAN rows at Number Three, in a freer and manly style;
No finer oar was e'er produced by the Tiber, Thames, or Nile.
Let politicians, if they please, rob freemen of their vote,
Provided they leave Oxford men a FREEMAN for their boat.
Among the crowd of oarsmen proud no name
will fame shout louder
Than his who sits at Number Two, the straight
and upright CROWDER.
Then RAIKES rows bow, and we must allow that
with all the weight that's aft
The bow-oar gives a rakish air to the bows o'
the dark-blue craft.
This is the crew, who've donned dark blue, and
no stouter team of Oxon
Has ploughed the waves of old Father Thames,
or owned a better Cox'en.

CAMBRIDGE.

Now, don't refuse, aquatic Muse, the glories to rehearse
Of the rival crew, who've donned light blue, to
row for better for worse.
They've lost their luck, but retain their pluck,
and whate'er their fate may be,
Light blue may meet one more defeat, but disgrace
they ne'er will see.
We've seen them row thro' sleet and snow till
they sank--"_merses profundo_"
(HORACE, forgive me!) "_pulchrior Cami evenit arundo_."
First little FORBES our praise absorbs, he