Then swayed like a willow sapling, and fainted dead away.
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I had him into the log house, and worked and brought him to;
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I fed him, and I coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do;
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And when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone,
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Morgan's men—were miles; away, galloping, galloping on.
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"Oh, I must go," he muttered; "I must be up and away!
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Morgan—Morgan is waiting for me; Oh, what will Morgan say?"
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But I heard a sound of tramping and kept him back from the door—
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The ringing sound of horses' hoofs that I had heard before.
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And on, on, came the soldiers—the Michigan cavalry—
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And fast they rode, and black they looked, galloping rapidly—
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They had followed hard on Morgan's track; they had followed day and night;
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But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight.
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And rich Ohio sat startled through all those summer days;
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For strange, wild men were galloping over her broad highways—
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Now here, now there, now seen, now gone, now north, now east, now west,
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Through river-valleys and cornland farms, sweeping away her best.
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A bold ride and a long ride; but they were taken at last.
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They almost reached the river by galloping hard and fast;
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But the boys in blue were upon them ere ever they gained the ford,
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And Morgan, Morgan the raider, laid down his terrible sword.
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Well, I kept the boy till evening—kept him against his will—
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But he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still.
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When it was cool and dusky—you'll wonder to hear me tell—
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But I stole down to that gully, and brought up Kentucky Belle.
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I kissed the star on her forehead—my pretty gentle lass—
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But I knew that she'd be happy back in the old Blue-Grass.
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A suit of clothes of Conrad's, with all the money I had,
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And Kentuck, pretty Kentuck, I gave to the worn-out lad.
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I guided him to the southward as well as I know how;
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The boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow;
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And then the glow it faded, and my heart began to swell,
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As down the glen away she went, my lost Kentucky Belle!
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When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high;
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Baby and I were both crying—I couldn't tell him why—
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But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall,
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And a thin old horse, with drooping head, stood in Kentucky's stall.
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Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me;
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He knew I couldn't help it—'twas all for the Tennessee,
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But, after the war was over, just think what came to pass—
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A letter, sir; and the two were safe back in the old Blue-Grass.
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The lad had got across the border, riding Kentucky Belle;
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And Kentuck, she was thriving, and fat, and hearty, and well;
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He cared for her, and kept her, nor touched her with whip or spur.
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Ah! we've had many horses since, but never a horse like her!
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Constance F. Woolson.
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An Inventor's Wife
Table of Contents
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I remember it all so very well, the first of my married life,
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That I can't believe it was years ago—it doesn't seem true at all;
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Why, I just can see the little church where they made us man and wife,
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And the merry glow of the first wood-fire that danced on our cottage wall.
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We were happy? Yes; and we prospered, too; the house belonged to Joe,
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And then, he worked in the planing mill, and drew the best of pay;
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And our cup was full when Joey came—our baby-boy, you know;
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So, all went well till that mill burned down and the owner moved away.
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It wasn't long till Joe found work, but 'twas never quite the same—
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Never steady, with smaller pay; so to make the two ends meet
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He fell to inventin' some machine—I don't recall the name,
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But he'd sit for hours in his little shop that opens toward the street—
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Sit for hours, bent over his work, his tools all strewn about.
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