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 Kentucky, 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 Tennessee.
Conrad lived in Ohio--a German he is, you know--The house stood in broad corn-fields, 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 Tennessee.
O, for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill!
Clouds that hang on the summit, a wind that is never 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 corn-lands 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 the 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, To ford 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:
