Every thing before him crushing—
While the smoke goes upward curling,
Spark-bespangled in unfurling,
And the iron-wheels go whirling,
Like two mighty mill-stones grinding,
When no miller is them minding—
All the eye with grit-dust blinding—
And the cars begin to rattle,
And the springs go tittle-tattle—
Driving off the grazing cattle—