| Summer of 'sixty-three, sir, and Conrad was gone away— |
| Gone to the county-town, sir, to sell our first load of hay— |
| We lived in the log house yonder, poor as ever you've seen; |
| Roschen there was a baby, and I was only nineteen. |
| |
| Conrad, he took the oxen, but he left Kentucky Belle. |
| How much we thought of Kentuck, I couldn't begin to tell— |
| Came from the Blue-Grass country; my father gave her to me |
| When I rode north with Conrad, away from the Tennessee. |
| |
| Conrad lived in Ohio—a German he is, you know— |
| The house stood in broad cornfields, stretching on, row after row. |
| The old folks made me welcome; they were kind as kind could be; |
| But I kept longing, longing, for the hills of the Tennessee. |
| |
| Oh, for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill! |
| Clouds that hang on the summit, a wind that never is still! |
| But the level land went stretching away to meet the sky— |
| Never a rise, from north to south, to rest the weary eye! |
| |
| From east to west, no river to shine out under the moon, |
| Nothing to make a shadow in the yellow afternoon: |
| Only the breathless sunshine, as I looked out, all forlorn; |
| Only the rustle, rustle, as I walked among the corn. |
| |
| When I fell sick with pining, we didn't wait any more, |
| But moved away from the cornlands, out to this river shore— |
| The Tuscarawas it's called, sir—off there's a hill, you see— |
| And now I've grown to like it next best to the Tennessee. |
| |
| I was at work that morning. Some one came riding like mad |
| Over the bridge and up the road—Farmer Rouf's little lad. |
| Bareback he rode; he had no hat; he hardly stopped to say, |
| "Morgan's men are coming, Frau; they're galloping on this way. |
| |
| "I'm sent to warn the neighbors. He isn't a mile behind; |
| He sweeps up all the horses—every horse that he can find. |
| Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men, |
| With bowie knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen!" |
| |
| The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door; |
| The baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor; |
| Kentuck was out in the pasture; Conrad, my man, was gone. |
| Nearer, nearer, Morgan's men were galloping, galloping on! |
| |
| Sudden I picked up baby, and ran to the pasture bar. |
| "Kentuck!" I called—"Kentucky!" She knew me ever so far! |
| I led her down the gully that turns off there to the right, |
| And tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight. |
| |
| As I ran back to the log house, at once there came a sound— |
| The ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground— |
| Coming into the turnpike out from the White Woman Glen— |
| Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men. |
| |
| As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm; |
| But still I stood in the doorway with baby on my arm. |
| They came, they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped along— |
| Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band, six hundred strong. |
| |
| Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through day; |
| Pushing on east to the river, many long miles away, |
| To the border strip where Virginia runs up into the West, |
| And fording the Upper Ohio before they could stop to rest. |
| |
| On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance; |
| Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways glance. |
| And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain, |
| When the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein. |
| |
| Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face, |
| As he asked for a drink of water, and glanced around the place. |
| I gave him a cup, and he smiled—'twas only a boy, you see; |
| Faint and worn, with dim blue eyes; and he'd sailed on the Tennessee. |
| |
| Only sixteen he was, sir—a fond mother's only son— |
| Off and away with Morgan before his life had begun! |
| The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish mouth; |
| And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South. |
| |
| Oh! pluck was he to the backbone, and clear grit through and through; |
| Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't do;— |
| The boy was dying, sir, dying as plain as plain could be, |
| Worn out by his ride with Morgan up from the Tennessee. |
| |
| But when I told the laddie that I too was from the South, |
| Water came in his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth. |
| "Do you know the Blue-Grass country?" he wistful began to say; |
| Then swayed like a willow sapling, and fainted dead away. |
| |
| I had him into the log house, and worked and brought him to; |
| I fed him, and I coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do; |
| And when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone, |
| Morgan's men—were miles; away, galloping, galloping on. |
| |
| "Oh, I must go," he muttered; "I must be up and away! |
| Morgan—Morgan is waiting for me; Oh, what will Morgan say?" |
| But I heard a sound of tramping and kept him back from the door— |
| The ringing sound of horses' hoofs that I had heard before. |
| |
| And on, on, came the soldiers—the Michigan cavalry— |
| And fast they rode, and black they looked, galloping rapidly— |
| They had followed hard on Morgan's track; they had followed day and night; |
| But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight. |
| |
| And rich Ohio sat startled through all those summer days; |
| For strange, wild men were galloping over her broad highways— |
| Now here, now there, now seen, now gone, now north, now east, now west, |
| Through river-valleys and cornland farms, sweeping away her best. |
| |
| A bold ride and a long ride; but they were taken at last. |
| They almost reached the river by galloping hard and fast; |
| But the boys in blue were upon them ere ever they gained the ford, |
| And Morgan, Morgan the raider, laid down his terrible sword. |
| |
| Well, I kept the boy till evening—kept him against his will— |
| But he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still. |
| When it was cool and dusky—you'll wonder to hear me tell— |
| But I stole down to that gully, and brought up Kentucky Belle. |
| |
| I kissed the star on her forehead—my pretty gentle lass— |
| But I knew that she'd be happy back in the old Blue-Grass. |
| A suit of clothes of Conrad's, with all the money I had, |
| And Kentuck, pretty Kentuck, I gave to the worn-out lad. |
| |
| I guided him to the southward as well as I know how; |
| The boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow; |
| And then the glow it faded, and my heart began to swell, |
| As down the glen away she went, my lost Kentucky Belle! |
| |
| When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high; |
| Baby and I were both crying—I couldn't tell him why— |
| But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall, |
| And a thin old horse, with drooping head, stood in Kentucky's stall. |
| |
| Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me; |
| He knew I couldn't help it—'twas all for the Tennessee, |
| But, after the war was over, just think what came to pass— |
| A letter, sir; and the two were safe back in the old Blue-Grass. |
| |
| The lad had got across the border, riding Kentucky Belle; |
| And Kentuck, she was thriving, and fat, and hearty, and well; |
| He cared for her, and kept her, nor touched her with whip or spur. |
| Ah! we've had many horses since, but never a horse like her! |
| |
| Constance F. Woolson. |
