That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke,—
That was for spokes and floor and sills;
He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
The cross bars were ash, from the straightest trees,
The panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheese,
But lasts like iron for things like these.
The hubs of logs from the "Settler's Ellum,"—
Last of its timber,—they couldn't sell 'em.
Never an ax had seen their chips,
And the wedges flew from between their lips,