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5 corrections, most recently by mgregory - Show corrections

POETRY.

THE IRON STEED.

Along we rush with a perilous speed,

And over the points we bound

Hurrah ! hurrah ! for our iron steed, As it flings the fire-sparks round ;

As it bravely pants and proudly breathes, And tosses about its vapour-wreaths.  

Onward it goes with a fearless sweep,

But strong are its whirling wheels ; Away, away, by the mountain steep,

Till its massive burden reels ;

A giant that will not flag or tire, With its breath of stem and lungs of fire.

Away it flies by village and moor,

By many a quiet town,

From every bridge, with a startling roar, How it hurls its thunder down ! By rivers and meadows, and placid streams, It flies, and into the tunnel screams.

Aloft it scatters its fiery trails, Like lightning its pulses beat ; In sweltering noons, through furious gales, We can hear its iron feet ;

Along the gorge, or wherever it be, Deep in the city, or fronting the sea.

Hurrah ! for our courser, fleet and strong,

In its daring race with time :

It thrills the blood as it leaps along,

With a mighty step sublime ;

And the world its power and service claims In return tor its ravenous feast of flames !

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