THE SONG OF STEAM

    Harness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb¹ and rein², For I scorn the strength of your puny³ hands As a tempest scorns a chain. How I laughed as I lay concealed⁴ from sight, For many a countless⁵ hour, At the childish boasts 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； When I saw the peasant faintly reel, With the toil⁶ which he faintly bore, As constant he turned at the tardy⁷ wheel, Or tugged⁸ at the weary oar⁹；

    When I measured the panting courser's speed, The flight of the carrier dove, As they bore a law a king decreed, Or the lines of impatient love； I could not but think how the world would feel, As these were outstripped¹⁰ far, When I should be bound to the rushing keel, Or chained to the flying car.

    Ha ha！ ha ha！ they found me at last, They invited me forth¹¹ at length； And I rushed to my throne with a thunder-blast, And laughed in my iron strength. Oh then you saw a wonderous change On earth and ocean wide, Where now my fiery¹² armies range, Nor wait for wind nor tide.

    Hurrah¹³！ hurrah！ the waters o'er The mountain's steep declines Time, space, have yielded to my power, The world, the world is mine！ The rivers the sun has earliest blessed, And those where his beams decline, The giant streams of the queenly West, And the Orient floods divine.

    In the darksome depths of the fathomless¹⁴ mine My tireless arm doth play； Where the rocks ne'er saw the sun's decline, Or the dawn of the glorious day. I bring earth's glittering jewels up From the hidden cave below； And I make the fountain's granite¹⁵ cup With a crystal gush¹⁶ o'erflow.

    I blow the bellows¹⁷, I forge the steel, In all the shops of trade； I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel Where my arms of strength are made； I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint； I carry, I spin, I weave； And all my doings I put into print, On every Saturday eve.

    I've no muscle to weary, no frame to decay, No bones to be laid on the shelf； And soon I intend you shall go and play, While I manage the world myself. But harness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein, For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, As the tempest scorns a chain.