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 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE LOCOMOTIVE.
They call me a mass of iron and brass; they say that a spirit I lack;
That my real soul is the grimy man in the wooden pen on my back;
That the flame I devour and the steam I breathe are from wood and from water alone,
And I have no mind but what men bestow, those beings of flesh and bone.
That my real soul is the grimy man in the wooden pen on my back;
That the flame I devour and the steam I breathe are from wood and from water alone,
And I have no mind but what men bestow, those beings of flesh and bone.
Let them say if they will whatever they will, though had they observed me when
I was scurrying over the iron rails, the wonder and pride of men—
Had they watched as they might, they had seen a will, as I sped on my iron path,
And a purpose of terror when once I awoke, and aroused to a terrible wrath.
I was scurrying over the iron rails, the wonder and pride of men—
Had they watched as they might, they had seen a will, as I sped on my iron path,
And a purpose of terror when once I awoke, and aroused to a terrible wrath.
I have borne their yoke in a patient way for many a weary hour—
The pity that filled my massive breast forbade me to use my power;
But I am not always a passive thing, nor forever with joy I scream,
As I rumble and clatter and speed me along, with my nostrils breathing steam.
The pity that filled my massive breast forbade me to use my power;
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As I rumble and clatter and speed me along, with my nostrils breathing steam.
For when they believe me their thrall and drudge, my patience a moment fails,
And then, with a thousand wretches behind, I leap the limiting rails,
Over the lofty embankment spring, and plunge to the depths below,
While the careless laugh of the people I drag is changed to a shriek of woe.
And then, with a thousand wretches behind, I leap the limiting rails,
Over the lofty embankment spring, and plunge to the depths below,
While the careless laugh of the people I drag is changed to a shriek of woe.
And so to-night on the stroke of twelve with my burning eye I peer
Into the darkness that gathers before, and I startle the engineer;
For I whirl from side to side, and I pant, and I struggle and scream with delight—
Down brakes! there's a tree on the track ahead, and Death rides aboard to-night.
Into the darkness that gathers before, and I startle the engineer;
For I whirl from side to side, and I pant, and I struggle and scream with delight—
Down brakes! there's a tree on the track ahead, and Death rides aboard to-night.
Some are asleep in their seats, and dream; and others, in accents gay,
Are telling light stories of what they have seen, or discussing the news of the day;
And some are thinking of things long past; and others again there be
Who are longing to meet their children and wives in the homes they never may see.
Are telling light stories of what they have seen, or discussing the news of the day;
And some are thinking of things long past; and others again there be
Who are longing to meet their children and wives in the homes they never may see.
A jar and a crash! I yell as I leap, and feel my stout ribs bend,
While the cars they crush like houses of card, and their strong beams splinter and rend;
And here is a head, and there is a limb; and mark, when the lights are brought,
The mangled mass that once was alive, and walked and talked and thought.
While the cars they crush like houses of card, and their strong beams splinter and rend;
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The mangled mass that once was alive, and walked and talked and thought.
You say that I am an inanimate thing; that I neither know nor feel;
That merely steam with an iron bar is moving my driving-wheel.
Why, I planned this thing, and brooded alone, and thought of it day by day,
And waited my chance, and bided my time, as I sped on my tiresome way.
That merely steam with an iron bar is moving my driving-wheel.
Why, I planned this thing, and brooded alone, and thought of it day by day,
And waited my chance, and bided my time, as I sped on my tiresome way.
You builded a monster of iron and brass, and fed it with water and flame,
And you thought it a creature your finger-touch, whenever you would, could tame;
Had you known its temper, or studied its mood, you never had felt its might,
And the mangled dead on the cold earth spread were living and merry to-night.
And you thought it a creature your finger-touch, whenever you would, could tame;
Had you known its temper, or studied its mood, you never had felt its might,
And the mangled dead on the cold earth spread were living and merry to-night.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |