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(THE GOLDEN DEVIL.)
He built him a toy of the strongest steel
That lurks in lever or whirls in wheel;
He tricked it off with the finest gold
That clouds can flutter or caves can hold:
He gathered the lightning's magic juice,
To push it on to its fleetest use;
And then with a thought to grimly praise
This chariot-child of the modern days,
He called it the “Golden Devil.”
That lurks in lever or whirls in wheel;
He tricked it off with the finest gold
That clouds can flutter or caves can hold:
He gathered the lightning's magic juice,
To push it on to its fleetest use;
And then with a thought to grimly praise
This chariot-child of the modern days,
He called it the “Golden Devil.”
And through the city by night and day,
The prince of Juggernauts sped its way;
As if it were some demonic shape
Immersed in the process of escape.
'Twixt humblest hovels and loftiest roofs
The whispered tread of its rubber hoofs
Was drowned by the horn's loud tocsin tones,
And creak of its massive metal bones,
Which held the tidings of pain and dread,
But could not carry them far ahead.
'Twere best for the humbler human clay,
To mind its manners and clear the way!
What room for the poor plebeian feet,
When Wealth was frolicking down the street?
A boy was hurt—diminutive fact,
With several million boys intact!
An old man killed—he had years four-score,
And what did he need of any more?
A wife was crushed to the blood-stained ground—
But wives are many and easy-found;
Grim Justice—hurried along the track—
Was met by Money and motioned back;
And—skies a-sunny or skies a-fair—
The son of the son of a millionaire
Pursued his giddy revel.
The prince of Juggernauts sped its way;
As if it were some demonic shape
Immersed in the process of escape.
'Twixt humblest hovels and loftiest roofs
The whispered tread of its rubber hoofs
Was drowned by the horn's loud tocsin tones,
And creak of its massive metal bones,
Which held the tidings of pain and dread,
But could not carry them far ahead.
'Twere best for the humbler human clay,
To mind its manners and clear the way!
What room for the poor plebeian feet,
When Wealth was frolicking down the street?
A boy was hurt—diminutive fact,
With several million boys intact!
An old man killed—he had years four-score,
And what did he need of any more?
A wife was crushed to the blood-stained ground—
But wives are many and easy-found;
Grim Justice—hurried along the track—
Was met by Money and motioned back;
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The son of the son of a millionaire
Pursued his giddy revel.
Away to the country roads and lanes!
Where consternation rewards the pains
Of wealthy donkeys who, it appears,
Use surplus money to hide their ears,
And raise a public clatter and din
Their natural parts could never win.
On paths that seldom had heard the tread
Of modern traffic, the monster sped—
Through lengths of the dreamy village street,
Through country avenues, quickly cool;
It grazes the arching elm-tree's feet,
It pictures its length in the clear wide pool,
It greets the homes of the forest-elves,
Of nature's gardens that train themselves,
It skirts wide acres thrifty and trim,
And yonder the mountain's jagged rim,
And farther, above the peaks and fells,
The high cloud-domes with their thunder-bells;
But what is the blue and green and gold,
By Nature's liberal hand unrolled,
To him who, jealous of show and speed,
Is holding the rein of this rushing steed,
If miles will dwindle and people stare?
The son of the son of a millionaire
Is “running” the Golden Devil.
Where consternation rewards the pains
Of wealthy donkeys who, it appears,
Use surplus money to hide their ears,
And raise a public clatter and din
Their natural parts could never win.
On paths that seldom had heard the tread
Of modern traffic, the monster sped—
Through lengths of the dreamy village street,
Through country avenues, quickly cool;
It grazes the arching elm-tree's feet,
It pictures its length in the clear wide pool,
It greets the homes of the forest-elves,
Of nature's gardens that train themselves,
It skirts wide acres thrifty and trim,
And yonder the mountain's jagged rim,
And farther, above the peaks and fells,
The high cloud-domes with their thunder-bells;
But what is the blue and green and gold,
By Nature's liberal hand unrolled,
To him who, jealous of show and speed,
Is holding the rein of this rushing steed,
If miles will dwindle and people stare?
The son of the son of a millionaire
Is “running” the Golden Devil.
A girl with tresses of fine-spun gold,
Not more than three bright summers old,
A pattern of every guiltless wile,
A winsome bit of a toddling smile,
Is coming—a host of unconscious charms—
From her grandame's house to her mother's arms,
And bearing along, through sunny hours,
Herself, and another bouquet of flowers.
How little that sweet one could suppose
There was needed the place wherein she put
The faint impress of her tiny foot;
That her breath, as sweet as the freshest rose,
Her dainty form and her loving face—
Had not in God's wide-spread world a place
Each moment, wherein to live!—but no!
A flash and a yell and a scream—and lo,
A mangled form and a cold blank face
Are all that wait for a father's embrace,
Or a mother's kiss! Comes a backward cry—
“Bad accident—Sorry—Send bill—Good-bye!
“The chief of the Golden Devil.”
Not more than three bright summers old,
A pattern of every guiltless wile,
A winsome bit of a toddling smile,
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From her grandame's house to her mother's arms,
And bearing along, through sunny hours,
Herself, and another bouquet of flowers.
How little that sweet one could suppose
There was needed the place wherein she put
The faint impress of her tiny foot;
That her breath, as sweet as the freshest rose,
Her dainty form and her loving face—
Had not in God's wide-spread world a place
Each moment, wherein to live!—but no!
A flash and a yell and a scream—and lo,
A mangled form and a cold blank face
Are all that wait for a father's embrace,
Or a mother's kiss! Comes a backward cry—
“Bad accident—Sorry—Send bill—Good-bye!
“The chief of the Golden Devil.”
Now Satan, greedy of every word
From off this globe, of his namesake heard;
And followed the car of golden sheen,
And rode along by its side unseen.
Scant need to voice an evident truth—
He fell in love with the gilded youth;
And vowed, ere many a moon had flown,
He would have his soul for his very own.
So, shrewdly guessing that he could pay
A better homage outside the clay,
He deemed he should be a gilded wreck,
And took due measures to break his neck,
And give him his proper level.
From off this globe, of his namesake heard;
And followed the car of golden sheen,
And rode along by its side unseen.
Scant need to voice an evident truth—
He fell in love with the gilded youth;
And vowed, ere many a moon had flown,
He would have his soul for his very own.
So, shrewdly guessing that he could pay
A better homage outside the clay,
He deemed he should be a gilded wreck,
And took due measures to break his neck,
And give him his proper level.
Now when, in her dreary cradle of clay,
The little maiden was wept away,
The mother turned with a shattered brain
And vowed her vengeance: and not in vain
The devil whispered to her his plan
To speed his scheming and catch his man.
With maniac cunning and new-found knack,
She learned his comings and traced his track:
And, one dark night of a stormy day,
Unbridged a precipice in his way.
On rushed the toy to the breach!—whereat
It reared—and tumbled—and plunged: and that
Was the last of the Golden Devil.
The little maiden was wept away,
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And vowed her vengeance: and not in vain
The devil whispered to her his plan
To speed his scheming and catch his man.
With maniac cunning and new-found knack,
She learned his comings and traced his track:
And, one dark night of a stormy day,
Unbridged a precipice in his way.
On rushed the toy to the breach!—whereat
It reared—and tumbled—and plunged: and that
Was the last of the Golden Devil.
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