Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/337
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THE SONG OF STEAM.
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Was it that in his fervent soul A burning thirst aroseTo drink where troubled waters roll,And fill the intoxicating bowl With human joys and woes?
Yes. Thus he felt and thus he sung, For genius woke the fire.A warrior bard he proudly Sprung,While round his brows her wreaths she flung And tuned his virgin lyre.
But not alone the battle-field, With skilful touch, he drew;The waving plume, the glittering shield,Beauty in gentlest form concealed, And thus he painted, too.
And not alone the conqueror's cry Of triumph, wild and strong,Inspired his numbers bold and high,But loftier strains he dared to try— The Christian's faith he sung.
Wherefore? Ask not. There rolled above His youthful head that sky,These glorious heavens, so far aboveAll earthly change—the type of love And immortality.
The Song of Steam.
Harness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein,For I scorn the power of your puny hands, As the tempest scorns a chain.How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight For many a countless hour,At the childish boast of human might, And the pride of human power!
When I saw an army upon the land, A navy upon the seas,Creeping along, a snail-like band, Or waiting the wayward breeze;