Railway Line

Oh ! we live in an age of improvement,
Old things are forgot like a dream,
And every new-fangled movement
Its origin traces to steam!
To excite our surprise wonders cease,
And charity sure is failing,
When the very promoters of peace
Have grown quite addicted to railing !

Fresh railroads are forming by dozens,
Predestined to bring, in their train,
Visitations of green country cousins,
To inflict purgatorial pain.
And this wonderful Intellect's march
Is making our journeys laconic,
For we travel through ways that are arch,
And the roads are all turning ironic !

The box-seat and ribands forsaking,
Our safety to guards we consign,
Who, in spite of teetotal pledge-taking.
Get frequently over ithe line !
Better ride with a " whip" that is " sewn-up,"
Than to-risks more alarming surrender,
And, like girls that are love-sick, be blown-up,
Because we're attached to the Tender !

And for towns scarcely five miles in distance,
Projectors plan railway designs,
Glad, like Dryden, to eke out existence
On the profit of twelve penny lines !
Speculation, like Juggernaut's car,
With frenzy infects every quarter,
And, that she may rise above par,
Wishes many a dutiful daughter !

Alas for the day ! when the bubbles
Exploding, respire their last breath,
When hundreds shall seek for their troubles
A terminus gloomy in death!
And of those who survive, what a view in
Prospective for their consolation
They have travelled the Railroad to Ruin,
And the Workhouse will be their last station !


Sydney Chronicle Wednesday 18 November 1846 p4.

Select Poetry


No comments: