30G GEORGE W. CUTTER, [1810-50. And for further limits of the warrior-poet's heart, read " Love's E-emonstrance," " To ," " Fanny Lemoine," and " To Akhea." On the whole, it may be concluded, that Mr. Cutter has the sufhciency, but not the efficiency, of a great poet. The sufficiency is of nature, but the efficiency, of art ; and while the poet who, like Mr. Cutter, though instinct with the one, is impatient of the other, may, in fehcitous moments, write certain immortal verse, yet the name which outlasts the centuries — the name whose letters do not fall back into the alpha- bet for thousands of years — must have something more than a mere verse or two to sustain it, — must have magnified itself by patience, and apotheosized itself by the omnipotence of toil. SONG OF STEAM. Harness me down with your iron bands ; Be sure of your curb and rein : For I scorn the power of your puny hands. As the tempest scorns a chain. How I laughed as I lay conceai'd from sight For many a countless hour, At the childish boast of human might. And the pride of human powen When I saw an army upon the land, A navy upon the seas. Creeping along, a snail-like band. Or waiting the wayward breeze ; When I marked the peasant faintly reel With the toil which he daily bore. As he feebly turned the tardy wheel. Or tugged at the weary oar; When I measured the panting courser's speed. The flight of the carrier dove. As they bore the law a king decreed, Or the lines of impatient love, I could not but think how the world would feel. As these were outstripp'd afar, When I should be bound to the rushing keel, Or chaiu'd to the flying car. Ha ! ha ! ha ! they found me at last ; They invited me fortli at length ; And I rushed to my throne with a thunder- blast. And laughed in my iron strength. then ye saw a wondrous change On the earth and the ocean wide, Where now my fiery armies range, Nor wait for wind or tide. Hurra ! hurra ! the waters o'er The mountain's steep decline ; Time — space — have yielded to my power ; The world ! the world is mine ! The rivers the sun hath earliest blest, Or those where his beams decline ; The giant streams of the queenly west, Or the orient floods divine ! The ocean pales where'er I sweep — I hear my strength rejoice ; And the monsters of the briny deep Cower, trembling, at my voice. 1 carry the wealth and the lord of earth, The thoughts of his god-like mind ; The mind lags after my going forth, The lightning is left behind. In the darksome depths of the fothomlesa mine, My tireless arm doth play ;
