Now then, take your seats! for Glasgow and the North; Chester! -- Carlisle! -- Holyhead, -- and the wild Firth of Forth, 'Clap on the steam and sharp's the word, You men in scarlet cloth: - 'Are there any more pas .. sengers, For the Night .. Mail .. to the North!' Are there any more passengers? Yes three -- but they can't get in, -- Too late, too late! - How they bellow and knock, They might as well try to soften a rock As the heart of that fellow in green. For the Night Mail North? what ho -- No use to struggle, you can't get through, My young and lusty one -- Whither away from the gorgeous town? -- 'For the lake and the stream and the heather brown, And the double-barrelled gun!' For the Night Mail North, I say? -- You, with the eager eyes -- You with the haggard face and pale? -- 'From a ruined hearth and a starving brood, A Crime and a felon's gaol! For the Night Mail North, old man? Old statue of despair -- Why tug and strain at the iron gate? My Daughter!!' Ha! too late, too late, She is gone, you may safely swear; She has given you the slip, d' you hear? She has left you alone in your wrath, -- And she's off and away, with a glorious start, To the home of her choice, with the man of her heart, By the Night Mail North! Wh----ish, R----ush, Wh----ish, R----ush . . . 'What's all that hullabaloo? Keep fast the gates there - who is this? That insists on bursting through?' A desperate man whom none may withstand, For look, there is something clenched in his hand -- Though the bearer is ready to drop -- He waves it wildly to and fro, And hark! how the crowd are shouting below -- 'Back!' -- And back the opposing barriers go, 'A reprieve for the Canongate murderer, Ho! In the Queen's name -- STOP.' 'Another has confessed the crime.' Whish -- rush -- whish -- rush . . . The Guard has caught the fluttering sheet, Now forward and northward! fierce and fleet, Through the mist and the dark were in it; 'Tis a splendid race! a race against Time, -- And a thousand to one we win it: Look at those flitting ghosts -- The white-armed finger-posts -- If we're moving the eighth of an inch, I say, We're going a mile a minute! A mile a minute - for life or death -- Away, away! though it catches one's breath, The man shall not die in his wrath: The quivering carriages rock and reel -- Hurrah! for the rush of the grinding steel! The thundering crank, and the mighty wheel! Are there any more pass . . sengers For the Night .. Mail .. to the North? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PITY OF IT by THOMAS HARDY TO ELECTRA (1) by ROBERT HERRICK TO HIS DEAD BODY by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE TWO VOICES by ALFRED TENNYSON CONFLICT AND PEACE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE HISTORY OF ARCADIUS AND SEPHA: BOOK 2 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |