But Water—and Shaw—are the things he must dread,
And at sight of an engine he shakes his red head,
And his teeth like a lunatic gnashes.
But his fire-gnomes he multiplies lately so fast
That the task of repressing them's trying;
The flare that they make and the heat that they cast
Are so great that the Fiend seems resolved in one blast
To set the Metropolis frying.
He blazes and blazes; Shaw gallops to snatch
His prey from its desperate danger;