  There it stands, as it has stood— Theme for bards, and theme for seers— Mute to sun and tempests rude, To the swift express of years; Stretched across from bank to bank Where the rabbits flash and go, Where the fir-trees, rank by rank, Gaze upon the track below As the train, at man’s behest, In the calm or tempest’s teeth, Speeds with lightning in its breast, And the thunder underneath. There in many a rift and rent, Many a bird finds friendly cover; And the toiler, homeward bent, Whistles as he passes over; And the children from the town Climb its parapets and strain Half a hundred throats to drown With a cheer the passing train. Yet how many children, toilers, List’ to what that arch would say To the thousands of earth’s moilers?— Dull of ear and listless they! Ah! adown the track of time, In the world’s great sidings lying, Many a theme for many a rhyme Is unmarked by thousands, flying After all the fen-fires, darting In the damps and swamps of life; Fires of meeting and of parting, Hate and love, and strain and strife! There it stands—O! how I love it; For it speaks of weal, and woe, For the thousands pass above it; For the thousands rush below; And, attune to whirr and clatter, Wide and wider does it span, High o’er time and sense and matter, High o’er life and death and man, Stretched from age to age unborn; And above it in a stream Pass, unceasing, night and morn, Shapes like those in Jacob’s dream All the souls of all the ages, All the ghosts of all the years, Priests and prophets, saints and sages, Sweet-breathed bards and broad-browed seers, Who from many a cloudy station List’ the whirring of the wheels Bounding on without cessation, Dragging progress at their heels; Who, as children from the town, Throng the parapets, and strain Form and voice in flashing down Warning signals to the train Speeding on, at man’s behest, In the calm, or tempest’s teeth, With the lightning in its breast, And the thunder underneath! |
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