Sam Adamson Poem by Alexander Anderson

Sam Adamson, the driver, he
Flung a bunch of waste to me.


'That's to keep your hands,' he said,
Then he turned and looked ahead.


What a night it was! The rain
Dashed against the cabin pane,


While the winds in frenzy flew—
Tore the very clouds in two.


'Stand well in,' said Sam, 'I fear
You will find it stormy here.


'Now, then, Jim, the brake,' and he
Drew the levers back, and we


With a rush, and roar, and grind,
Plunged into the rain and wind.


Then I stood well in. Ahead
Naught but lights—green, white, and red.


Changing as we came in view,
When the shrieking whistle blew.


Over all the sweep and dash
Of the storm I heard the crash


Of the great wheels that, with a clang,
Struck the rails until they rang—


Rang and clicked, as if to beat
Time to the huge demon's feet.


The red spirit hid in steam
From footplate to buffer beam


Bound him till, in very ire,
This swart god of steel and fire,


Each huge muscle, white with strength,
Shook through all his mighty length,


Till his deep breath growing red
Made it crimson overhead.


And at times as on we swung,
Back the furnace doors were flung.


Then the stoker bent and fed
Coiling flames of molten red,


Licking tongues, with hiss and glare,
Like a knot of pythons there.


I, who sang the engine long
Years before in many a song,


Felt the old desire to sing
As I saw him rush and swing;


Felt the grinding of each wheel
Answer piston-strokes of steel;


Felt his molten bosom beat
Till it shook my very feet;


Knew that all this mass of might
By a fellow on my right


Could be led at his command
Like an infant by the hand.


How this miracle of man,
With a brain to shape and plan,


How he works till everywhere
Genii of the earth and air


Come. He rubs the lamp, and, lo!
Mightier than Prospero,


Bends them with his potent mind
To knee-service of his kind.


Whush—the brake—a shriek or two
From the whistle; we are due,


And at last we stand within
The wild city's restless din.


While the engine, back again,
All his black girth drenched with rain,


Glad to see his journey through,
Gives a weary sigh or two.


Said Sam Adamson, as he
Took the bunch of waste from me,


'Hope you feel yourself all right;
We have had a dirty night;'


Adding, as he wiped his brow,
'Seems a little better now.'