Sunbury American

SELECT POETRY.

[From the Phila. Bulletin.]

THE LOCOMOTIVE.

BY GUESS WHO.

A song, a song of the wondrous steed,

That careereth along so fast,

With his tireless joints and his furious speed

And his breath like a fiery blast;

With his burning entrails, and iron bones,

And voice like a demon's yell,

As swift as light, and as black as night-

He looks like an imp from Hell.

No baby diet of manger food

Sufficeth his ravenous zeal,

But stones from the mountain and trees from the wood,

Scarce furnish his giant meal.

He hath eaten his fill-he pants to be off--

His dragon-like hiss is sounding,

Half frantic with ire he belcheth out fire,

And see! away he is bounding

Away, away with a shriek of delight

And a puff and a snort and a yell

Away, away with the speed of light,

How flieth this imp of Hell!

Still faster! still faster! hurrah! hurrah!

No matter how heavily loaded.

And the folks as he passes gaze at him with awe

For he seems by the Evil One goaded.

He scoureth the valley with thundering tread,

Ho—ho! how his blood is boiling!

By homes of the living, by homes of the dead

Regardless of all he is toiling.

He burroweth the mountain, he stemmeth the tide

And we cry sure the mischief is in it!

As river and main, hill, valley, and plain,

Are seen and are gone in a minute.

No matter how hot! no matter how cold!

He heedeth not wind or weather:

He never grows weary, he never grows old,

He will travel for age together:

And woe unto those that come in his way,

Be they friends, or be they his foes;

One thrust they will feel of his iron heel

As remorselessly o'er them he goes.

Then a screech of delight as his goal comes in sight,

Ha—ha! I've done it! -I've done it?

Here we come! here we come! la-ha! Ho-ho!

Good devil I've won it! I've won it!

Then a heavier blast, and a swifter rush,

And I say as I hear his yell

In pain or in pleasure, in haste or in leisure,

Still give me this imp from Hell.