Classic Poem

Speed on in thine impetuous course,
Speed on in thy resistless force,
Speed on o'er river, lake, and fen,
Speed on through valley, brake, and glen,
O'er fertile plain, o'er sterile hill,
Speed, speed, my soul flies fleeter still;
Time, space, alike are nought to thee,
And distant scenes are dear to me.

What though around on every side
Rich verdant fields stretch far and wide,
Though blending with the smiling sky,
Skiddaw's blue peak looms towering high,
Though far beneath in glist'ning gold,
Those lakes a double earth unfold,
Still wayward fancy wanders free,
And wafts dear Scotland's hills to me.

Come, stoker, come, more steam, more steam,
With smelting heat make furnace gleam;
That blazing mass come stoke and poke,
Send up vast sheets of flame and smoke,
Urge on with treble speed the train
That wafts me to my home again,
When wife and children, wild with glee,
Shall fondly bound to welcome me.

No drawing rein, no slacking pace,
No pausing in this matchless race,
No ceasing of that rushing song,
No wearing of those lungs so strong;
But ha! that whistle shrill and clear,
Chills every heart, strains every ear,
One stroke, one bound, ah! there may be
Sad hearts at home bereft of me.

Does sight, does reason hold their sway?
Proud London did I leave to-day!
We stop, — what next? groups gather thick;
We're home! we're home! — come, guard, be quick!
I'm answer'd by a counter claim,
" Papa, what hae ye brought us hame? "
And clustering round my neck and knee,
My wife and bairnies welcome me.