WATT'S HIS NAME. THE BOY WHO CAME.

“Wat-a-wat, wat-wat, wat-wat-wat!”
You’d think the teakettle laughed at the Pot,
For a sober kettle a world too hot;
Or a Something was hid there under the lid,
That called for a something it never got.

“Wat-a-wat, wat-wat, wat-a-wat-wat!”
It rattled & chuckled, & rose, & shot
Its blurting breath in the air, to blot
The dusky room with a mellower gloom,
As the genie rose in the Fisherman’s cot.

The Dame looked on in a quiet dream, 
And softly hummed to the humming steam,
“Well sun, well played, old Polyps house!
We shall snuff, ere long, our brave Souchoug,
When merry as yours our hearts shall seem.”

“But Jamie, lad, on what idle theme
Do you sit so dumbly there, & scheme?
In your stolid eye no thoughtful beam?
What lesson learned or penny earned
Can your last neglected hours redeem?”

But Jamie, the Lad, knew what was what!
For years, how many the world knows not,
The kettle had called for “Watt! Watt! Watt!”
And at last he came, young W’att’s his name,
To harness the demon & make him trot!

You see him puff, & you hear him scream,
In the dashing mill, on the rushing stream,
Or where with his dauntless ‘walking beam’
    He strides the seas with miraculous ease,
The King of the Genie, the Giant Steam!

And the clanking heat of his iron heart,
When his dragon train begins to start;
Loaded with treasures of field & mart,
Peals ever the same victorious name,
“Watt! Watt! Watt! Watt!” till he shoots like a dart!