A SPADE[The spade that was used to turn the first sod in theconstruction of the Central Pacific Railroad is to beexhibited at the New Orleans Exposition.—Press Telegram.]Precursor of our woes, historic spade,What dismal records burn upon thy blade!On thee I see the maculating stainsOf passengers' commingled blood and brains.In this red rust a widow's curse appears,And here an orphan tarnished thee with tears.Upon thy handle sanguinary bandsReveal the clutching of thine owner's handsWhen first he wielded thee with vigor braveTo cut a sod and dig a people's grave—(For they who are debauched are dead and ought,In God's name, to be hid from sight and thought.)Within thee, as within a magic glass,I seem to see a foul procession pass—Judges with ermine dragging in the mudAnd spotted here and there with guiltless blood;Gold-greedy legislators jingling bribes;Kept editors and sycophantic scribes;Liars in swarms and plunderers in tribes;They fade away before the night's advance,And fancy figures thee a devil's lanceGleaming portentous through the misty shade,While ghosts of murdered virtues shriek about my blade!
[The spade that was used to turn the first sod in theconstruction of the Central Pacific Railroad is to beexhibited at the New Orleans Exposition.—Press Telegram.]
Precursor of our woes, historic spade,What dismal records burn upon thy blade!On thee I see the maculating stainsOf passengers' commingled blood and brains.In this red rust a widow's curse appears,And here an orphan tarnished thee with tears.Upon thy handle sanguinary bandsReveal the clutching of thine owner's handsWhen first he wielded thee with vigor braveTo cut a sod and dig a people's grave—(For they who are debauched are dead and ought,In God's name, to be hid from sight and thought.)Within thee, as within a magic glass,I seem to see a foul procession pass—Judges with ermine dragging in the mudAnd spotted here and there with guiltless blood;Gold-greedy legislators jingling bribes;Kept editors and sycophantic scribes;Liars in swarms and plunderers in tribes;They fade away before the night's advance,And fancy figures thee a devil's lanceGleaming portentous through the misty shade,While ghosts of murdered virtues shriek about my blade!