German he is, you know—
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The house stood in broad cornfields, stretching on, row after row.
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The old folks made me welcome; they were kind as kind could be;
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But I kept longing, longing, for the hills of the Tennessee.
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Oh, for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill!
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Clouds that hang on the summit, a wind that never is still!
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But the level land went stretching away to meet the sky—
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Never a rise, from north to south, to rest the weary eye!
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From east to west, no river to shine out under the moon,
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Nothing to make a shadow in the yellow afternoon:
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Only the breathless sunshine, as I looked out, all forlorn;
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Only the rustle, rustle, as I walked among the corn.
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When I fell sick with pining, we didn't wait any more,
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But moved away from the cornlands, out to this river shore—
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The Tuscarawas it's called, sir—off there's a hill, you see—
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And now I've grown to like it next best to the Tennessee.
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I was at work that morning. Some one came riding like mad
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Over the bridge and up the road—Farmer Rouf's little lad.
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Bareback he rode; he had no hat; he hardly stopped to say,
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"Morgan's men are coming, Frau; they're galloping on this way.
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"I'm sent to warn the neighbors. He isn't a mile behind;
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He sweeps up all the horses—every horse that he can find.
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Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men,
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With bowie knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen!"
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The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door;
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The baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor;
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Kentuck was out in the pasture; Conrad, my man, was gone.
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Nearer, nearer, Morgan's men were galloping, galloping on!
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Sudden I picked up baby, and ran to the pasture bar.
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"Kentuck!" I called—"Kentucky!" She knew me ever so far!
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I led her down the gully that turns off there to the right,
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And tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight.
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As I ran back to the log house, at once there came a sound—
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The ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground—
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Coming into the turnpike out from the White Woman Glen—
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Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men.
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As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm;
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But still I stood in the doorway with baby on my arm.
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They came, they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped along—
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Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band, six hundred strong.
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Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through day;
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Pushing on east to the river, many long miles away,
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To the border strip where Virginia runs up into the West,
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And fording the Upper Ohio before they could stop to rest.
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On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance;
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Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways glance.
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And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain,
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When the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein.
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Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face,
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As he asked for a drink of water, and glanced around the place.
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I gave him a cup, and he smiled—'twas only a boy, you see;
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Faint and worn, with dim blue eyes; and he'd sailed on the Tennessee.
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Only sixteen he was, sir—a fond mother's only son—
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Off and away with Morgan before his life had begun!
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The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish mouth;
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And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South.
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Oh! pluck was he to the backbone, and clear grit through and through;
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Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't do;—
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The boy was dying, sir, dying as plain as plain could be,
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Worn out by his ride with Morgan up from the Tennessee.
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But when I told the laddie that I too was from the South,
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Water came in his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth.
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"Do you know the Blue-Grass country?" he wistful began to say;
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German he is, you know—
