440 APPENDIX. 



THE OLD TURNPIKE. 



" We hear no more the clanging hoof, 



And the stage-coach rattling by, 

 For the steam-king rules the travel world, 



And the old pike's left to die. 

 The grape creeps o'er the flinty path, 



And the stealthy daisies steal 

 Where once the stage horse, day by day, 



Lifted his iron heel. 



" No more the weary stager dreads 



The toil of the coming morn ; 

 No more the bustling landlord runs 



At the sound of the echoing horn ; 

 For the dust lies still upon the road, 



And the bright-eyed children play 

 Where once the clattering hoof and wheel 



Rattled along the way. 



" No more we hear the cracking whip, 



And the strong wheel's rumbling sound ; 

 And ah ! the water drives us on, 



And the iron horse is found ! 

 The coach stands rusting in the yard, 



And the horse has sought the plow ; 

 We have spanned the world with an iron rail, 



And the steam-king rules us now. 



" The old turnpike is a pike no more ; 



Wide open stands the gate ; 

 We have made us a road for our horse to stride. 



And we ride at a flying rate ; 

 We have filled the valleys and leveled the hills, 



And tunneled the mountain side, 

 And round the rough crag's dizzy verge, 



Fearlessly now we ride. 



" On — on — on, with a, haughty front, 

 A puff, a shriek, and a bound ; 

 While the tardy echoes wake too late 

 To echo back the sound ; 



