 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
THE STEAM-SPIRIT.
ON SEEING A STEAM-ENGINE OF COLORED GLASSES.
We have read, with delight and wonder,
In the old Arabian tale,
How the Genie of smoke and vapor,
When freed from his copper jail,
In the old Arabian tale,
How the Genie of smoke and vapor,
When freed from his copper jail,
To show his cunning and mettle,
Crept into the pot again;
But they clapped the lid on his kettle,
And made him a slave to men.
Crept into the pot again;
But they clapped the lid on his kettle,
And made him a slave to men.
Still, in flue and in boiler,
The Sprite is condemned to lurk—
To swelter, puffing and blowing—
For still we keep him at work;
The Sprite is condemned to lurk—
To swelter, puffing and blowing—
For still we keep him at work;
'Mid the Armory's angry clamors,
Forging sabre and gun—
Lifting his huge tilt-hammers
Steadily, one by one;
Forging sabre and gun—
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Steadily, one by one;
Where the mountain of cotton dwindles,
Playing his endless parts,
'Mid the roar of reels and windles,
And shuttles flying like darts—
Whirling a thousand spindles,
Wasting a thousand hearts;
Playing his endless parts,
'Mid the roar of reels and windles,
And shuttles flying like darts—
Whirling a thousand spindles,
Wasting a thousand hearts;
Where winds and waves run frantic,
Toiling with tireless clank,
Afar, on the wild Atlantic—
One arm, bony and lank,
Pumping calm and pedantic—
T'other turning his crank.
Toiling with tireless clank,
Afar, on the wild Atlantic—
One arm, bony and lank,
Pumping calm and pedantic—
T'other turning his crank.
But he is not to weld the anchor,
Nor grind in the mill to-day—
The fettered and blinded giant
Is shown for our sport and play.
Nor grind in the mill to-day—
The fettered and blinded giant
Is shown for our sport and play.
The Steam-King's prison?—between us,
'Tis rather some wondrous toy,
Tinkered by Vulcan for Venus,
When they were girl and boy;
'Tis rather some wondrous toy,
Tinkered by Vulcan for Venus,
When they were girl and boy;
Or an engine built by the fairies
For good little folks' delight—
Of amber, ruby, and crystal,
To run of a Christmas night.
For good little folks' delight—
Of amber, ruby, and crystal,
To run of a Christmas night.
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Pearl, and candy, and coral,
Like a Baby-Inventor's dream—
Oberon trying the whistle,
(Saucy, elfin-like scream!)
Puck, with down of the thistle,
Busy, getting up steam.
Like a Baby-Inventor's dream—
Oberon trying the whistle,
(Saucy, elfin-like scream!)
Puck, with down of the thistle,
Busy, getting up steam.
Elves, by the dozen, clinging
On piston and beam, pell-mell—
Tiny Titania ringing
Hard at the ruby bell.
On piston and beam, pell-mell—
Tiny Titania ringing
Hard at the ruby bell.
Some at guage and eccentric—
Others, all in a string,
Perched upon shaft and fly-wheel,
Whirl in a rainbow ring.
Others, all in a string,
Perched upon shaft and fly-wheel,
Whirl in a rainbow ring.
Prettiest plaything of Science!
Fitter, methinks, to stand
(Safe from rude, mortal fingers,)
Spinning in Fairy-Land;
Fitter, methinks, to stand
(Safe from rude, mortal fingers,)
Spinning in Fairy-Land;
'Mid the fruits of beryl and topaz,
With emerald leaves enrolled,
That grew in Aladdin's garden,
In the wonderful days of old—
The grapes of opal and amber,
And the apples of garnet and gold.
With emerald leaves enrolled,
That grew in Aladdin's garden,
In the wonderful days of old—
The grapes of opal and amber,
And the apples of garnet and gold.
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