The Old Stage Coach
Drums the rain and sears the sun.
Now its hardy course is run,
And the vines and meadow grasses
Draw it to oblivion.
Rusts its iron, rots its leather,
Parts its hickory, peels its paint,
And the steeds that swung together
Gallop far and faint.U.S. Mail and brave Wells Fargo!
Dancing harness, screeching brakes,
Reinsman bold, superb, loquacious,
sawed-off shotgun disputatious,
Miners, gamblers, dames flirtatious,
Dusters, pokes and wide-awakes
On by winding purple canyons
Over granite crests you rolled,
Storm and battle your companions,
Glitter in your hold.
Where is now that gallant cargo
Of the days of old
When the West, to jingling traces,
Bounced and skimmed on thorough-braces
Rocked and banged through sun and shadow
Up the trails of El Dorado?Veteran of the craggy passes,
From their oat bins in the sky
Call your vanished six. Prince, Beauty,
Lady, Star, Nell, Lightning! Ay,
Back, you wheelers, swing-span, leaders!
Now, by foothill oaks and cedars,
Spring for pine-clad heights and rutty,
Sinks of sage and alkali.
Box aclink and stout defended,
Roll, O coach refreshed and splendid!Nay. The odyssey is ended,
Charge delivered, waybill filed,
Passengers and whip descended,
Concord long outstyled,
And the grand old rubbish yields
To the fingers of the fields.From Treasure Express by Neil Wilson
Macmilan 1938
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