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 !