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;5Thy 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;10Thy 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;15By day, thy warning, ringing bell to sound its notes,By night, thy silent signal lamps to swing.

Fierce-throated beauty!Roll through my chant, with all thy lawless music! thy swinging lamps at night;Thy piercing, madly-whistled laughter! thy echoes, rumbling like an earthquake, rousing20all!Law of thyself complete, thine own track firmly holding;(No sweetness debonair of tearful harp or glib piano thine,)Thy trills of shrieks by rocks and hills return’d,Launch’d o’er the prairies wide⁠—across the lakes,25To the free skies, unpent, and glad, and strong.