Classic Poem

There was Edgar Alvin Abbott, who had never learned to swim;
All the science of natation was unconnable to him.
All his efforts went for nothing, and his comrades' japes and jeers
Were his portion every summer of his forty-seven years.

Patiently he bore the mockeries of the swimmers on the beach,
But the useful art of swimming ever stayed beyond his reach;
And whenever one would ask him, with a wish to scoff and mock,
“Do you swim?” he'd always answer, “Sure, I swim just like a rock.”

Philip Albert Aloysius Ebenezer Cabot Ridd
Started out to be a swimmer when he was a little kid—
(“Kid” is not a word I worship, but the lapse is rather slight.
If such usages offend you, do not read the things I write).

Philip Ridd could do the paddle and the trudgeon and the crawl;
He could float and do a jacknife—he was master of them all.
He had strength, he had endurance, he had speediness of stroke;
And he always thought of Edgar Alvin Abbott as a joke.

Once, as Philip Ridd and Edgar Abbott stood upon the shore,
They observed a maiden swimming out a hundred yards or more;
And they saw the waves were angry and inordinately high,
And they saw the maiden struggle, and they heard the maiden cry.

Braver hearts than Philip Ridd's and Edgar Abbott's might have quailed;
Braver souls than Phil's or Eddie's in that crisis might have failed.
“Save me! Save me!” cried the maiden, and our hero Philip Ridd,
Leaping bravely to her rescue, cried: “I'll save you!” And he did.