And with the last old porter went
The last old postilli-ón.
'Now steam runs wild, wind burns in haste,
All time has burst its bonds;
The sun paints pictures; lightning fast
The long wire corresponds.
'Oh, armour new!--Oh, same old fight!
Where is there peace to-day?
Oh, gas, phosphorus, steam, and light!
Away, my horse,--away!'