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...FOURTH BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION THE COASTERS by THOMAS FLEMING DAY SONNET: 14. ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF CATHERINE THOMASON by JOHN MILTON SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: SPRING by THOMAS NASHE THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE: BOOK 1. CANTO 2. PRELUDE: LOVE AT LARGE by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 7. SUPREME SURRENDER by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |