HORACE GREELEY'S DRIVE.
Joaquin Miller
he old stage-drivers of the brave old days! - The old stage-drivers with their dash and trust!
- These old stage-drivers they have gone their ways
- But their deeds live on, though their bones are dust;
- Of these daring men in the days of old:
- Of honest Hank Monk and his Tally-Ho,
- When he took good Horace in his stage to climb
- The high Sierras with their peaks of snow
- And cross to Nevada, "and come in on time;"
- But the canyon below was so deep—oh! so deep—
- And the summit above was so steep—oh! so steep!
- The horses were foaming. The summit ahead
- Seemed as far as the stars on a still, clear night.
- And steeper and steeper the narrow route led
- Till up to the peaks of perpetual white;
- But faithful Hank Monk, with his face to the snow,
- Sat silent and stern on his Tally-Ho!
- Sat steady and still, sat faithful and true
- To the great, good man in his charge that day;
- Sat vowing the man and the mail should "go through
- On time" though he bursted both brace and stay;
- Sat silently vowing, in face of the snow,
- He'd "get in on time" with his Tally- Ho!
- But the way was so steep and so slow—oh! so slow!
- 'T was silver below, and the bright silver peak
- Was silver above in its beauty and glow.
- An eagle swooped by, Hank saw its hooked beak;
- When, sudden out-popping a head snowy white—
- "Mr. Monk, I must lecture in Nevada to night!"
- With just one thought that the mail must go through;
- With just one word to the great, good man—
- But weary—so weary—the creaking stage drew
- As only a weary old creaking stage can—
- When again shot the head; came shrieking outright:
- "Mr. Monk, I MUST lecture in Nevada to night!"
- Just then came the summit! And the far world below,
- It was Hank Monk's world. But he no word spake;
- He pushed back his hat to that fierce peak of snow!
- He threw out his foot to the eagle and break!
- He threw out his silk! He threw out his reins!
- And the great wheels reeled as if reeling snow skeins!
- The eagle was lost in his crag up above!
- The horses flew swift as the swift light of morn!
- The mail must go through with its message of love,
- The miners were waiting his bright bugle horn.
- The man must go through! And Monk made a vow
- As he never had failed, why, he wouldn't fail now!
- How his stage spun the pines like a far spider s web!
- It was spider and fly in the heavens up there!
- And the clanging of hoofs made the blood flow and ebb,
- For 'twas death in the breadth of a wheel or a hair.
- Once more popped the head, and the piping voice cried:
- "Mr. Monk! Mr. Monk!" But no Monk replied!
- Then the great stage it swung, as if swung from the sky;
- Then it dipped like a ship in the deep jaws of death;
- Then the good man he gasped as men gasping for breath,
- When they deem it is coming their hour to die.
- And again shot the head, like a battering ram,
- And the face it was red, and the words they were hot:
- "Mr. Monk! Mr. Monk! I don't care a (mill?) dam.
- Whether I lecture in Nevada or not!"