THE RHYME OF THE DÉPÔT

              I.
Vanity of vanities,
    Climax of vexation,
Waiting for the cars
    At a rail-road station:
Thinking every moment
    That the train will go,
Worrying out an hour
    In a small dépôt![1]

              II.
Sultry summer day, 
    Hot Sahara weather,
Motley crowd of people
    Huddled up together;
Crowded in a room
    Filled with ‘loafers’ smoking,
Wits and politicians
    Arguing and joking.

             III.
Every class of people
    In this mighty nation, 
Fully represented
    In the rail-road station.
Restless, whistling Yankee,
    With impatient tread,
Wishes that the cars
    Would just ‘go ahead’!

              IV.
Funny little Frenchman,
    With ejaculations,
Shows his impatience
    In gesticulations.
Rowdy at the glass,
    With a fierce moustache,
Obviously thinks
    That he cuts a ‘dash.’

               V.
Corpulent old fellow,
    Looking very wise,
With a lazy yawn
    Closes up his eyes;
Waiting for the cars,
    It is no wise odd
That he takes a train
    To the land of Nod!

              VI.
Eager politician,
    Closing up his peepers,
Runs off in a train
    Laid on heavy sleepers;

  
Paper in his hand
    So the stranger teaches,
He was lulled to sleep
    By Kossuth’s[2] long speeches!
    
              VII.
Philosophical stranger
    Says the cars are late,
But we all must learn
    ‘To labor and to wait.’
Suddenly is heard 
    An unearthly scream;
‘T is the engineer 
    Letting off the steam!

             VIII.
Universal rush
    For the narrow door,
Half-a-dozen sprawling
    On the muddy floor: 
One would think the people,
    Crowding in so fast,
Thought that every moment
    Was to be their last.

               IX.
Every one impatient, 
    Every body grumbling,
Train at length comes in
    With tremendous rumbling:
Like a band of furies[3]
    From the realms below,
Wildly rush the inmates
    Of the small dépôt.

                X.
Elbowed, jammed, and crowded,
    We may thank our stars
If we find a seat
    In the rail-road cars:
Chuckling with delight,
    With congratulation,
That we have escaped 
    From that rail-road station.

               XI.
Worst of the little miseries
    That in life beset us,
Greatest of the troubles
    That for ever fret us,
Waiting one long hour
    For the cars to go,
Elbowed, jammed, and crowded
    In a small dépôt!