Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 53, No. 329, March, 1843. Various

      The Husband must enter

      The hostile life,

      With struggle and strife,

      To plant or to watch,

      To snare or to snatch,

      To pray and importune,

      Must wager and venture

      And hunt down his fortune!

      Then flows in a current the gear and the gain,

      And the garners are fill'd with the gold of the grain,

      Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre!

      Within sits Another,

      The thrifty Housewife;

      The mild one, the mother—

      Her home is her life.

      In its circle she rules,

      And the daughters she schools,

      And she cautions the boys,

      With a bustling command,

      And a diligent hand

      Employ'd she employs;

      Gives order to store,

      And the much makes the more;

      Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling,

      And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling;

      And she hoards in the presses, well polish'd and full,

      The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool;

      Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavour

      Rests never!

      Blithe the Master (where the while

      From his roof he sees them smile)

      Eyes the lands, and counts the gain;

      There, the beams projecting far,

      And the laden store-house are,

      And the granaries bow'd beneath

      The blessings of the golden grain;

      There, in undulating motion,

      Wave the corn-fields like an ocean.

      Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:—

      "My house is built upon a rock,

      And sees unmoved the stormy shock

      Of waves that fret below!"

      What chain so strong, what girth so great,

      To bind the giant form of Fate?—

      Swift are the steps of Woe.

      Now the casting may begin;

      See the breach indented there:

      Ere we run the fusion in,

      Halt—and speed the pious prayer!

      Pull the bung out—

      See around and about

      What vapour, what vapour—God help us!—has risen?—

      Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison!

      What, friend, is like the might of fire

      When man can watch and wield the ire?

      Whate'er we shape or work, we owe

      Still to that heaven-descended glow.

      But dread the heaven-descended glow,

      When from their chain its wild wings go,

      When, where it listeth, wide and wild

      Sweeps the free Nature's free-born Child!

      When the Frantic One fleets,

      While no force can withstand,

      Through the populous streets

      Whirling ghastly the brand;

      For the Element hates

      What Man's labour creates,

      And the work of his hand!

      Impartially out from the cloud,

      Or the curse or the blessing may fall!

      Benignantly out from the cloud

      Come the dews, the revivers of all!

      Avengingly our from the cloud

      Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball!

      Hark—a wail from the steeple!—aloud

      The bell shrills its voice to the crowd!

      Look—look—red as blood

      All on high!

      It is not the daylight that fills with its flood

      The sky!

      What a clamour awaking

      Roars up through the street,

      What a hell-vapour breaking

      Rolls on through the street,

      And higher and higher

      Aloft moves the Column of Fire!

      Through the vistas and rows

      Like a whirlwind it goes,

      And the air like the steam from a furnace glows.

      Beams are crackling—posts are shrinking—

      Walls are sinking—windows clinking—

      Children crying—

      Mothers flying—

      And the beast (the black ruin yet smouldering under)

      Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder!

      Hurry and skurry—away—away,

      And the face of the night is as clear as day!

      As the links in a chain,

      Again and again

      Flies the bucket from hand to hand;

      High in arches up rushing

      The engines are gushing,

      And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds,

      With a road on the breast of the element bounds.

      To the grain and the fruits,

      Through the rafters and beams,

      Through the barns and the garners it crackles and streams!

      As if they would rend up the earth from its roots,

      Rush the flames to the sky

      Giant-high;

      And