  By a Provisional Committee of Contributors.Though the farmer's hope may perish, While in floods the harvest lies, Speculation let us cherish, Let the Railway market rise! Honest trader, whosoever, Sick with losses, sad with cares, Quit your burden now or never, Cut the shop and deal in shares. Spendthrift—short of drink and dinners, Half-pay captain, younger son, Boldly throw while all are winners, Laugh henceforth at debt and dun. Come, ye saints, whose skill in cavilling, Shock'd at skittles, cards, or dice, Thinks, except for Sunday travelling, Railway gaming is no vice. Hither haste, each black-leg fellow, Quit the turf or loaded bone; Like your brother-black Othello, Own your occupation's gone. Tribes that live by depredation— "Bulls" and "Bears," and birds of prey, See the coming spoliation, Scent the premiums far away. "Stags!" your rapid forms revealing, Show awhile your front so bright, Then from your pursuers stealing, Vanish sudden out of sight. Leave all meaner things, my St John, For the locomotive race; Post your tin upon the engine, Go ahead, and keep the pace. At a Railway Monarch's splendour Envious squires and nobles stare; Even the Hebrew gewgaw vender Turns sharebroker in despair. Now no more the Ragfair dealer Hints with horrid breath, "Old Clo';" Putting forth another feeler, "Any shares?" he whispers low. Every paper's a prospectus, Nostrums, news, are at an end; "Easy shaving" don't affect us, Silent even "The Silent Friend." Morison resigns his bubbling, Lazenby has lost his zest; Widow Welch has ceased from troubling, Weary Moses is at rest. Every station, age, and gender, Deep within the torrent dip; Even our children, young and tender, Play at games of nursery scrip. Over meadows, moors, and mosses, Quagmires black, and mountains grey, Careless where or how it crosses, Speculation finds the way. Every valley is exalted, Every mountain is made low; Where we once were roughly jolted, Light and lively now we go. Speed along with fire and fury! Hark! the whistle shrilly shrieks! Speed—but mark! we don't insure ye 'Gainst the boiler's frolic freaks. But before a trip is ventured, This precaution prudence begs: When you've seen your luggage enter'd, Also book your arms and legs. Ask not if yon luckless stoker, Blown into the air, survive— These are trifles, while the broker Quotes our shares at Ninety-five. Vainly points some bleeding spectre To his mangled remnants;—still Calmly answers each Director, "Charge the damage to the bill." All the perils which environ (As the poet now would sing) Him who meddles with hot iron, Seem to us a pleasant thing. Countless lines, from Lewes to Lerwick, Cross like nets the country soon; Soon a railway (Atmospheric,) Speeds our progress to the moon. Traversing yon space between us, Soon the rapid trains will bring Ores from Mars and fires from Venus, Lots of lead from Saturn's Ring; Belts from Jupiter's own factory, Mercury from Maia's Son; And when summers look refractory, Bottled sunbeams from the sun. If too soaring, too seraphic, Seems to some that heavenward track, T'other way there's much more traffic, Though not many travel back. What a gradient through Avernus! What a curve will Hades take! When with joy the Shades discern us, How Hell's terminus will shake! How the Pandemonium Junction, With the Central will combine, Rattling both without compunction Down the Tartarus incline! Phlegethon no more need fright us, For we've bridged its fiery way; And the steamer on Cocytus Long ago has ceased to pay. Charon—under sequestration— Does the Stygian bark resign, Glad to find a situation As policeman to the line. Thoughts of penance need not haunt us; Who remains our sins to snub? Pluto, Minos, Rhadamanthus, All have joined the "Railway Club." Fortune's gifts, then, catch and cherish; Follow where her currents flow; Sure to prosper—or to perish, Follow, though to Styx we go! |
|
