I saw the steamboats ere the cars,
And pleasant in my fancy
The old Balloon, the Pioneer,
The Whilldin and Cohansy!
Those were the years when books were dear
And therefore life-long treasured,
We read the long voyage with no care
And naps the chapters measured.

Down the companion-way bright feet
Above the page we took in,
Like illustrations painted meet
The beautiful new book in.
Sometimes a miss would with us speak,
Both timid, in old fashion;
We wondered at her blooming cheek,
The first sweet taste of passion.

The open engine door us thrilled,
She shuddering my wrist on;
The walking beam, the furnace grilled,
The axle and the piston;
She bought the candy whilst we sat
The negro fiddlers jigging;
Her father was a Democrat,
And mine was slyly Whigging.

The pilot grinding of his wheel
We saw up there a'chewing;
The deckhand ever coiling rope,
The plank his mates were clewing;
And when some passenger was left
The long wharf hardly halfing,
And looked of every hope bereft,
We almost died of laughing.

Baskets of cherries made the freight
And chickens chilled in feathers,
Some lambs a'bleating in a crate
Accusing their bellwethers;
At Marcus Hook we took in shad,
At Pennsgrove peaches yellowed,
And at old Chester calves so bad
They pulled back and they bellowed.

O, how the coming city smoked!
Its shot tower and its steeples!
Its final pier by cabmen folked,
And nothing grew but peoples:
“Your tickets ready; step ashore!”
Where is my girl, that beamer?
She's got already beaux galore.
O, how I loved that steamer!