To a Locomotive in Winter

THEE for my recitative!

Thee in the driving storm, even as now—the snow—the winter-day declining;

Thee in thy panoply, thy measured dual throbbing, and thy beat convulsive;

Thy black cylindric body, golden brass, and silvery steel;

Thy ponderous side-bars, parallel and connecting rods, gyrating, shuttling at thy sides;

Thy metrical, now swelling pant and roar—now tapering in the distance;

Thy great protruding head-light, fix’d in front;

Thy long, pale, floating vapor-pennants, tinged with delicate purple;

The dense and murky clouds out-belching from thy smoke-stack;

Thy knitted frame—thy springs and valves—the tremulous twinkle of thy wheels;

Thy train of cars behind, obedient, merrily-following,

Through gale or calm, now swift, now slack, yet steadily careering:

Type of the modern! emblem of motion and power! pulse of the continent!

For once, come serve the Muse, and merge in verse, even as here I see thee,

With storm, and buffeting gusts of wind, and falling snow;

By day, thy warning, ringing bell to sound its notes,

By night, thy silent signal lamps to swing.