The Railroad Engineer’s Song.
I love—oh, how I love to ride
The Iron Horse in his fiery pride!
All other joys seem dull and vain,
When I lay my hand on his misty mane.
Fear him not! with his ribs of steel,
His flaming throat, and his brushing wheel;
And his smoky crest, so black and tall,
Like a pillar cover’d with a funeral pall.
Though his stamping shakes the solid ground,
And he scatters fire-flakes all around,
He’s gentle as jennet in lady’s rein
When he feels my hand on his misty mane.
Set me astride of the Iron Horse!
Full of fierce fury, speed, and force;
And hark how he pants, and blows, and snorts,
While my skill his eager bounding thwarts.
But when I’m mounted on his back,
And you see him coming—clear the track!
Nothing can check him on his course,
As he thunders along—my Iron Horse!
Then huzza! the Iron Horse for me!
The eagle scarce flies as fast as he;
He skims the valley and scours the plain,
And shakes, like a cloud, his misty mane.
He tracks the prairie, climbs the hill,
The wild woods echo his neighing shrill;
And when the fierce tempest lashes the shores,
Louder than ever the storm he roars.