Laden with goods of Northern yield
For Mexican mine and town and field.
Rumbling in with failing speed
It came to rest like a. tired steed,
With the mogul engine's dusty flank
Close by the massive water-tank,
As if it longed, like a living thing,
To quench its thirst at the cooling spring
Of the thousand-foot artesian well,
Sunk through the desert's crusted shell.