Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
Opening of the Pacific RailroadFrancis Bret Harte 18361902
Francis Bret Harte204 What the Engines Said
W
Pilots touching,—head to head
Facing on the single track,
Half a world behind each back?
This is what the Engines said,
Unreported and unread.
In a florid Western speech, Said the engine from the West, “I am from Sierra’s crest; And, if altitude ’s a test, Why, I reckon, it ’s confessed, That I ’ve done my level best.” “They who work best talk the least. S’pose you whistle down your brakes; What you ’ve done is no great shakes,— Pretty fair,—but let our meeting Be a different kind of greeting. Let these folks with champagne stuffing, Not their Engines, do the puffing. Shores of snow and summer heats; Where the Indian autumn skies Paint the woods with wampum dies,— I have chased the flying sun, Seeing all he looked upon, Blessing all that he has blest, Nursing in my iron breast All his vivifying heat, All his clouds about my crest; And before my flying feet Every shadow must retreat.” And a long, low whistle blew. “Come, now, really that ’s the oddest Talk for one so very modest. You brag of your East. You do? Why, I bring the East to you! All the Orient, all Cathay, Find through me the shortest way; And the sun you follow here Rises in my hemisphere. Really,—if one must be rude,— Length, my friend, ain’t longitude.” Said the Union: “Don’t reflect, or I ’ll run over some Director.” Said the Central: “I ’m Pacific; But, when riled, I ’m quite terrific. Yet to-day we shall not quarrel, Just to show these folks this moral, How two Engines—in their vision— Once have met without collision.” Unreported and unread; Spoken slightly through the nose, With a whistle at the close.