[The spade that was used to turn the first sod in the
      construction of the Central Pacific Railroad is to be
      exhibited at the New Orleans Exposition.—Press Telegram.]

  Precursor of our woes, historic spade,
  What dismal records burn upon thy blade!
  On thee I see the maculating stains
  Of passengers' commingled blood and brains.
  In this red rust a widow's curse appears,
  And here an orphan tarnished thee with tears.
  Upon thy handle sanguinary bands
  Reveal the clutching of thine owner's hands
  When first he wielded thee with vigor brave
  To cut a sod and dig a people's grave—
  (For they who are debauched are dead and ought,
  In God's name, to be hid from sight and thought.)
  Within thee, as within a magic glass,
  I seem to see a foul procession pass—
  Judges with ermine dragging in the mud
  And spotted here and there with guiltless blood;
  Gold-greedy legislators jingling bribes;
  Kept editors and sycophantic scribes;
  Liars in swarms and plunderers in tribes;
  They fade away before the night's advance,
  And fancy figures thee a devil's lance
  Gleaming portentous through the misty shade,
  While ghosts of murdered virtues shriek about my blade!