Song of the Locomotive.Beware! beware! for I come in my might,With a scream and a scowl of scorn;With a speed like the mountain eagle’s flight,When he rides the breeze of morn.Avaunt! avaunt! for I heed you not,Nor pause for the cry of pain;I rejoice o’er the slaughter my wheels have wrought,And I laugh at the mangled slain.Away—away—o’er valley; plain—I sweep by with a voice of wrath;In a fleecy cloud I wrap my train,As I tread my iron path.My bowels are fire, and my arm is steel,My breath is a rolling cloud:And my voice peels out as I onward wheel,Like the thunder rolling loud.All day, all day, do my sinews play,When the sun’s bright rays are cast;At the midnight hour I fly on my way,Like a death-fiend howling past.I bear the wealth of a thousand climes,The spoils of a briny sea,The produce of lands where the church-bells chime,And the gold of the dark Caffree.I roar on the beach of the roaring deep,Where the sea-shells touch my wheels;Through the desert land with a howl I sweep,And the yellow harvest fields.I speed through the city’s busy streets,Where the thronging crowds are found.Who fly at the sound of my iron feet,Like the hare at the baying hound.I traverse the regions of burning heat,The Equator hears my scream;And I breathe the silence of winter’s retreat,Where the glittering snow-fields gleam.The wild beasts fly when my voice they hearThrough the sounding forest ring,And the sons of men stand mute with fear,Of earth I am the king.—
Song of the Locomotive.Beware! beware! for I come in my might,With a scream and a scowl of scorn;With a speed like the mountain eagle’s flight,When he rides the breeze of morn.Avaunt! avaunt! for I heed you not,Nor pause for the cry of pain;I rejoice o’er the slaughter my wheels have wrought,And I laugh at the mangled slain.Away—away—o’er valley; plain—I sweep by with a voice of wrath;In a fleecy cloud I wrap my train,As I tread my iron path.My bowels are fire, and my arm is steel,My breath is a rolling cloud:And my voice peels out as I onward wheel,Like the thunder rolling loud.All day, all day, do my sinews play,When the sun’s bright rays are cast;At the midnight hour I fly on my way,Like a death-fiend howling past.I bear the wealth of a thousand climes,The spoils of a briny sea,The produce of lands where the church-bells chime,And the gold of the dark Caffree.I roar on the beach of the roaring deep,Where the sea-shells touch my wheels;Through the desert land with a howl I sweep,And the yellow harvest fields.I speed through the city’s busy streets,Where the thronging crowds are found.Who fly at the sound of my iron feet,Like the hare at the baying hound.I traverse the regions of burning heat,The Equator hears my scream;And I breathe the silence of winter’s retreat,Where the glittering snow-fields gleam.The wild beasts fly when my voice they hearThrough the sounding forest ring,And the sons of men stand mute with fear,Of earth I am the king.—
Song of the Locomotive.Beware! beware! for I come in my might,With a scream and a scowl of scorn;With a speed like the mountain eagle’s flight,When he rides the breeze of morn.Avaunt! avaunt! for I heed you not,Nor pause for the cry of pain;I rejoice o’er the slaughter my wheels have wrought,And I laugh at the mangled slain.Away—away—o’er valley; plain—I sweep by with a voice of wrath;In a fleecy cloud I wrap my train,As I tread my iron path.My bowels are fire, and my arm is steel,My breath is a rolling cloud:And my voice peels out as I onward wheel,Like the thunder rolling loud.All day, all day, do my sinews play,When the sun’s bright rays are cast;At the midnight hour I fly on my way,Like a death-fiend howling past.I bear the wealth of a thousand climes,The spoils of a briny sea,The produce of lands where the church-bells chime,And the gold of the dark Caffree.I roar on the beach of the roaring deep,Where the sea-shells touch my wheels;Through the desert land with a howl I sweep,And the yellow harvest fields.I speed through the city’s busy streets,Where the thronging crowds are found.Who fly at the sound of my iron feet,Like the hare at the baying hound.I traverse the regions of burning heat,The Equator hears my scream;And I breathe the silence of winter’s retreat,Where the glittering snow-fields gleam.The wild beasts fly when my voice they hearThrough the sounding forest ring,And the sons of men stand mute with fear,Of earth I am the king.—
Beware! beware! for I come in my might,With a scream and a scowl of scorn;With a speed like the mountain eagle’s flight,When he rides the breeze of morn.
Beware! beware! for I come in my might,
With a scream and a scowl of scorn;
With a speed like the mountain eagle’s flight,
When he rides the breeze of morn.
Avaunt! avaunt! for I heed you not,Nor pause for the cry of pain;I rejoice o’er the slaughter my wheels have wrought,And I laugh at the mangled slain.
Avaunt! avaunt! for I heed you not,
Nor pause for the cry of pain;
I rejoice o’er the slaughter my wheels have wrought,
And I laugh at the mangled slain.
Away—away—o’er valley; plain—I sweep by with a voice of wrath;In a fleecy cloud I wrap my train,As I tread my iron path.
Away—away—o’er valley; plain—
I sweep by with a voice of wrath;
In a fleecy cloud I wrap my train,
As I tread my iron path.
My bowels are fire, and my arm is steel,My breath is a rolling cloud:And my voice peels out as I onward wheel,Like the thunder rolling loud.
My bowels are fire, and my arm is steel,
My breath is a rolling cloud:
And my voice peels out as I onward wheel,
Like the thunder rolling loud.
All day, all day, do my sinews play,When the sun’s bright rays are cast;At the midnight hour I fly on my way,Like a death-fiend howling past.
All day, all day, do my sinews play,
When the sun’s bright rays are cast;
At the midnight hour I fly on my way,
Like a death-fiend howling past.
I bear the wealth of a thousand climes,The spoils of a briny sea,The produce of lands where the church-bells chime,And the gold of the dark Caffree.
I bear the wealth of a thousand climes,
The spoils of a briny sea,
The produce of lands where the church-bells chime,
And the gold of the dark Caffree.
I roar on the beach of the roaring deep,Where the sea-shells touch my wheels;Through the desert land with a howl I sweep,And the yellow harvest fields.
I roar on the beach of the roaring deep,
Where the sea-shells touch my wheels;
Through the desert land with a howl I sweep,
And the yellow harvest fields.
I speed through the city’s busy streets,Where the thronging crowds are found.Who fly at the sound of my iron feet,Like the hare at the baying hound.
I speed through the city’s busy streets,
Where the thronging crowds are found.
Who fly at the sound of my iron feet,
Like the hare at the baying hound.
I traverse the regions of burning heat,The Equator hears my scream;And I breathe the silence of winter’s retreat,Where the glittering snow-fields gleam.
I traverse the regions of burning heat,
The Equator hears my scream;
And I breathe the silence of winter’s retreat,
Where the glittering snow-fields gleam.
The wild beasts fly when my voice they hearThrough the sounding forest ring,And the sons of men stand mute with fear,Of earth I am the king.—
The wild beasts fly when my voice they hear
Through the sounding forest ring,
And the sons of men stand mute with fear,
Of earth I am the king.—