The roaring camp-fire, with rude humour, painted The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth; Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure A hoarded volume drew, And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure To hear the tale anew; And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, And as the fire-light fell, He read aloud the book wherein the Master Had writ of "Little Nell." Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy-for the reader But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar A silence seemed to fall; The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, Listened in every spray, While the whole camp, with "Nell" on English meadows Wandered and lost their way. And so in mountain solitudes-o'ertaken As by some spell divine— Their cares dropped from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine. DICKENS IN CAMP. Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire; And he who wrought that spell ?— Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire, Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant story With hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory That fills the Kentish hills. And on that grave where English oak, and holly, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly— This spray of Western pine! JULY, 1870. 131 WHAT THE ENGINES SAID. OPENING OF THE PACIFIC RAILROAD. WHAT was it the Engines said, 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! With a prefatory screech, 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.” WHAT THE ENGINES SAID. 133 Said the Engine from the EAST : Be a different kind of greeting. Let these folks with champagne stuffing, "Listen! Where Atlantic beats Shores of snow and summer heats; Where the Indian autumn skies Paint the woods with wampum dyes, 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." |