We are daily vanishing under the thunder
Of some huge engine or iron wonder—
That iron—oh, it has entered our souls!”
“Your souls? O Goles!
You queer little drolls!
Do you mean——?” “Good Gaffer, do aid us with speed,
For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!
And a very long way we have to go,
Eight or ten thousand miles or so,
Hither and thither, and to and fro,