Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 62, Number 361, November, 1845.

At a Railway Monarch's splendour
Envious squires and nobles stare;
Even the Hebrew gewgaw vender
Turns sharebroker in despair.

Now no more the Ragfair dealer
Hints with horrid breath, "Old Clo';"
Putting forth another feeler,
"Any shares?" he whispers low.

Every paper's a prospectus,
Nostrums, news, are at an end;
"Easy shaving" don't affect us,
Silent even "The Silent Friend."

Morison resigns his bubbling,
Lazenby has lost his zest;
Widow Welch has ceased from troubling,
Weary Moses is at rest.

Every station, age, and gender,
Deep within the torrent dip;
Even our children, young and tender,
Play at games of nursery scrip.

Over meadows, moors, and mosses,
Quagmires black, and mountains grey,
Careless where or how it crosses,
Speculation finds the way.

Every valley is exalted,
Every mountain is made low;
Where we once were roughly jolted,
Light and lively now we go.

Speed along with fire and fury!
Hark! the whistle shrilly shrieks!
Speed – but mark! we don't insure ye
'Gainst the boiler's frolic freaks.

But before a trip is ventured,
This precaution prudence begs:
When you've seen your luggage enter'd,
Also book your arms and legs.

Ask not if yon luckless stoker,
Blown into the air, survive —
These are trifles, while the broker
Quotes our shares at Ninety-five.

Vainly points some bleeding spectre
To his mangled remnants; – still
Calmly answers each Director,
"Charge the damage to the bill."

All the perils which environ
(As the poet now would sing)
Him who meddles with hot iron,
Seem to us a pleasant thing.

Countless lines, from Lewes to Lerwick,
Cross like nets the country soon;
Soon a railway (Atmospheric,)
Speeds our progress to the moon.

Traversing yon space between us,
Soon the rapid trains will bring
Ores from Mars and fires from Venus,
Lots of lead from Saturn's Ring;

Belts from Jupiter's own factory,
Mercury from Maia's Son;
And when summers look refractory,
Bottled sunbeams from the sun.

If too soaring, too seraphic,
Seems to some that heavenward track,
T'other way there's much more traffic,
Though not many travel back.

What a gradient through Avernus!
What a curve will Hades take!
When with joy the Shades discern us,
How Hell's terminus will shake!

How the Pandemonium Junction,
With the Central will combine,
Rattling both without compunction
Down the Tartarus incline!

Phlegethon no more need fright us,
For we've bridged its fiery way;
And the steamer on Cocytus
Long ago has ceased to pay.

Charon – under sequestration —
Does the Stygian bark resign,
Glad to find a situation
As policeman to the line.