The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1874-08-25

Straight over the hills by the route Of the
Now black as the bird, where the hemlOcks
Then through the dim pines, half as white as
Nv eataract;s track sunk away to the gulf
That yawned grim and dark as the mouth Oh
I'm bi1l and down dale like the trail of brave,
From the Mohawk's wet marge to Ontarlos
When the world was in forest, the hamlet in
Ran me stormy state road where old Benjamin
THE OLD STAGE.
The rude rugged bridges all grOwled at the
The rough rolling ridges all gave it lift;
Then dropped out of day into twilight ard
Through the sloughs of October it heavily
And lurched like ship that is mounting
Der rafting macadams of torrents untold,
Now in silence and sand midway up TO the
It visioned the night with its yellow-eyed
Like creatures that prowl out of gun-shot of
When plnnging along in the gloom of the
With halt, jolt and thump, and the drivers
II struck with bounce on the ribbed corduroy,
And from henllock to hemlock, log in and log
The coach jumped and jounced in a trip-ham-
mer bout
Through gothic old chasms that swallowed the
Out into the cI earrings all golden with light,
Where focks of white villages lay in the grass
And watched for the stage and It's cargo to pass.
JOHN BENJAMIN, DRIVER.
The boys and the girls all abroad in high
The heads OF the horses all tossing together,
Flinging flakes OF white foam like snow In wild
All swineing their silk like tasseIs of corn.
Twas Benjamin's time! And he whipped out
Twas the drone of king bees and myriad
Twas fanfare : fanfare. with bugle's prolong,
Chandelier! Chan-ti-cleer! am coming along
The smith in black crayon gave the anvil the
And leaned on his sledge in the cave of door;
The landlord in slippers cut away at the heel
Shuffied out on the stoop at the rattle OF wheel
CAcK, elick-went the gates, and like yarn from
reel
Smiling women wound out and looked down
The wide street
Where the driver swung plumb in his oriole
The mail, chained and padlocked, tramped
under his feet.
He tightens the reins, and whirls off with q
ming
The invisible fireworks rattle and ring,
TOrpedoes exploding in front and in rear,
A Fourth Of July every day in the year!
Now lightly he fiicks the "nigh" leaders lei
Gives the wheelers neighborly slap with the
stock;
They lay back their ears as the coach gives
And strike square trot in tick of a clockl
There's tumble, jar and gravelly trlll
In the craunch of the wheels on the slate-ston'
That grind up the miles like grist in mill.
He touches the bay and he talks to the brown,
10 the filly whose heels are too light TO sta!
Clouds OF lust roll behind with two urchins in
That tow by the straps as the Jolly boats ride.
From the boot rusty brown like an elephant'
With a sharp jingling halt he brings up at TIT
A surge to the coach like ship by the shore,
He casts of his lines and his journey is Ger.
IL kings were to barter, would Benjamin trade
His box for a knignthood, his whip for the blad
That should make him Sir John by some gran'
accolade?
JOHN BENJAMIN "CIPHERs."
All few whips alive in their cleverest mood
Can write with a coach as old Benjamin could.
And you ought to have seen the sixteen feet
When they waltzed around in the marrow
street
To time and a tune that were all their own,
Like the snort sharp click of the castanet
BY the moorish girls in a dancing set,
When, as free as the sweep OF a wizards wand
Twas craclSle of buckskin and sparkle of fire,
And never rasp of a grazing the,
AS he cut clean six and swept bold eight,
Like boy that is trying his brand-new slate!
JOHN BENJAMINs PICTURE.
see him to-day all equipped for the snow
In a wonderful great coat that falls to hi
With its ripple of capes on his shoulders a-fiov
And q plump-vizored cap that once was
Drawn snug to his eyebrows down over hi
In gloves of tough buckskin so wrinkled an
With muffier begirt ian equator of redD
A shawl round his neck like a turban slippe
A couple of cubs are his buffalo shoes l.f
Asleep on the mailbag that carries the news.
All through of size, In his EsQuimaux guise,
He read of the road and he breasted tn
No sign of the man but his hands and his eye
HIS heart below frost-ah, il always ker
'Afraids" If bright Phoebus had told him
His horses of fire down the steep of the sky.
With the motto Ich EN- faithfully serve
He would grasp the gold reins no falter of nerv
And, foot on the break, he would drive dow
the Blue
without breaking an axle or losing a shoei
A touch OF nOrtheasters had frosted his tones
He always must talk so his leaders csul
hear
All, men each from grand pulpits and sit upo
thrones,
Whose vision of duty was never so clearl
He loved the old route with its hemiock an
rock,
Its sprinkle of mayweed, the breath Of II
hills,
The girls trailing out In bare feet from the foe
That ran alongside when the horses would wal
Till they wore q small path like the travel {
rillsi
All, hero of boyhoodi Asleep in thy grave,
Last station Of all on humanity's route,
In measureless peace where the lombardi.
wave,
But time and its tempests have blotted IL out.
letter his name on the Way Bill of Death
To tell Who he was that Is waiting beneath: