One hundred years ago a queer-shaped creature,
Uncouth and strange in every line and feature,
At Penydarren, on a tramway laid,
A tedious trip mid noisy jointings made.
Nine miles the queer machine contrived to run ;
Four hours the time in which the deed was done.
Of iron ten tons, of mortals seven times ten.
O what a contrast 'twixt our time and then,
That pigmy is to-day a thing of wonder.
Hurtling along upon its path of thunder,
Linking our islands with a chain of steel,
That would have set old Homfray's brain a-reel.
For how could Homfray or could Crawshay dream
Of all the marvels of the Age of Steam -
Of Flying Dutchman or of Scotch Express
At sixty miles within the hour or less?
And, lo! to-day another vision rises -
We live within the epoch of surprises.
That though the Iron Steed outstrip the bind
Yet e'en his haughtiness be left behind
For man will call the lightning to his side,
Making the steam-urged monster seem as slow
As Trevithick's a hundred years ago.
O, mind of man, when wilt thou be content?
When will thou cease to ponder and invent?
Onward and forward, higher yet and higher
It is thy heaven-wrought mission to aspire.
But still whatever in future lies
Be not too proud to backward turn thine eyes
Where Penydarren stared to see the power
That groaned along at two poor miles an hour.
IDRIS.
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