The Night Express

With three great snorts of strength,
Stretching my mighty length,
Like some long dragon stirring in his sleep,
Out from the glare of gas
Into the night I pass,
And plunge alone into the silence deep.

Little I know or care
What be the load I bear,
Why thus compell'd, I seek not to divine;
At man's command I stir,
I, his stern messenger!
Does he his duty well as I do mine?

Straight on my silent road,
Flank'd by no man's abode,
No foe I parley with, no friend I greet;
On like a bolt I fly
Under the starry sky,
Scorning the current of the sluggish street.

Onward from South to North,
Onward from Thames to Forth,
On — like a comet — on, unceasingly;
Faster and faster yet
On — where far boughs of jet
Stretch their wild woof against the pearly sky.

Faster and faster still —
Dive I through rock and hill,
Starting the echoes with my shrill alarms;
Swiftly I curve and bend;
While, like an eager friend,
The distance runs to clasp me in its arms.

Ne'er from my path I swerve
Rattling around a curve
Not vainly trusting to my trusty bars;
On through the hollow night,
While, or to left or right,
A city glistens like a clump of stars.

On through the night I steer;
Never a sound I hear
Save the strong beating of my steady stroke —
Save when the circling owl
Hoots, or the screaming fowl
Rise from the marshes like a sudden smoke.

Now o'er a gulf I go:
Dark is the depth below,
Smites the slant beam the shoulder of the height —
Now through a lane of trees —
Past sleeping villages,
Their white walls whiter in the silver light.

Be the night foul or fair,
Little I reck or care,
Bandy with storms, and with the tempests jest;
Little I care or know
What winds may rage or blow,
But charge the whirlwind with a dauntless breast.

Now through the level plain,
While, like a mighty mane,
Stretches my endless breath in cloudy miles;
Now o'er a dull lagoon,
While the broad beamed moon
Lights up its sadness into sickly smiles.

O, 'tis a race sublime!
I, neck and neck with Time, —
I, with my thews of iron and heart of fire, —
Run without pause for breath,
While all the earth beneath
Shakes with the shocks of my tremendous ire!

On — till the race be won;
On — till the coming sun
Blinds moon and stars with his excessive light;
On — till the earth be green,
And the first lark be seen
Shaking away with songs the dews of night.

Sudden my speed I slack —
Sudden all force I lack —
Without a struggle yield I up my breath;
Numb'd are my thews of steel,
Wearily rolls each wheel,
My heart cools slowly to the sleep of death.

Why for so brief a length
Dower'd with such mighty strength?
Man is my God — I seek not to divine:
At his command I stir,
I, his stern messenger; —
Does he his duty well as I do mine?