George Powell Thomas

A HOWL, as of a demon, startles night,

A rushing horror hurtles through the air,

And thrust from home by terrible affright,

As at an earthquake, forth the people fare,

Staring and trembling!—What unwonted sight

Astounds them, where they shudder unaware?

Is it some new avátar of his might

To whom they offer their barbaric prayer?

An incarnation new of Mahadeo,

Whose coming so delighted earth of yore?

Or is it tigers? wolves? in pity say, oh!—

“Hands off!—don’t bother;—don’t be such a bore!

There ’s naught to shout and tremble at, I tell ’ee!

’T is only our first railway train to Delhi.”