“Ride fast!” shrieked the Night Riders’ chief, looking back,
“A thousand giants from Hopkinsville press on our track!
The Mayor has mustered all Company D,
In humanity’s name can such outrages be?
Now is your time to do Latham up brown
And fire him and his followers out of the town!
Damn his turnpikes, on which thirty thousand he spent!
Damn the churches he aided—Hotel, Monument—
(How grandly it towers o’er Confederate graves—
Shall the sons of such heroes be Night Riders’ slaves?)
Damn all such aristocrats, they shall know by the powers,
That after they’ve made it their money is ours!”
Hoboes, loafers and robbers, ride for your lives,
On your crimes the Raven of Glen Raven thrives,
And its horrible croak strikes fear to the land
When it calls to the raid the Night Riders’ band.
But who would have thought that the dogs would shoot back
Real Krag-Jorgensen bullets? Alas and alack!
His words were cut short by a volley of lead—
There were loud shrieks of pain, in all quarters they fled;
The shots of the bandits flew wide of their mark,
As they galloped in terror away in the dark.
Nor halted the maskers in their blood-sprinkled path
To look back on three comrades writhing in death.
Then Bassett assembled his God-fearing squad
And bowing their heads devoutly thanked God
That when Christian men band to battle for Right
One Christian can put a thousand outlaws to flight.
Honest men will always walk off with the cake,
And that is where Moses made no mistake;
And to the Last Judgment all honest men
Will bow to the Decalogue traced by his pen;
For God Himself writes in Mount Sinai’s brief
By Moses His penman, Humanity’s chief,
The Night Rider is coward, assassin, and thief.
Hold fast to Moses! A squad of eleven
Who join hands with Truth, are posted for Heaven,
And the outlaws who ’gainst truth and honor rebel
Must go to their place with the outlaws in Hell.
So we’ll all shout huzza for Bassett and band,
Till they banish the Night Riders out of the land.
Forever shall God’s honest ministers preach
Paul’s heaven-taught doctrine of order and law,
As bold as John Baptist they shall stand in the breach
To battle for Truth and keep villains in awe.
THE TEN BROTHERS.
[On the last day of the Christian County Fair, many years since, the ten sons of Mrs. Rebecca Brown, all excellent horsemen, entered the amphitheater mounted on iron-gray horses. After a fine exercise of horsemanship by the brothers the judges presented their aged mother with a silver cup, amid the loud applause of the vast crowd of spectators.]
’Tis the last afternoon of the old County Fair
The amphitheatre’s thronged for a spectacle rare.
Ten sons of one mother contend for the prize
And a whirlwind of cheering ascends to the skies
’Tis surely a pity that horses and sheep,
Mules, poultry and swine the blue ribbon should keep,
O’er a highly bred strain of true women and men—
If degenerate men rule the State, pray what then?
On ten iron-gray horses they enter the ring,
Ten brothers as graceful as swallows on wing.
The crowd shouts and claps, for county and town
Loved their silver-haired mother, Rebecca Brown.
Let others for cattle and horses seek the prize
The boys she had nursed were more dear in her eyes,
Her sons were her jewels like Cornelia of old,
More precious than Solomon’s rubies and gold,
Each son a true citizen honored of men,
Master workmen are all with plow, anvil or pen.
In pairs and platoons they join and divide,
Ever changing the figure in column they ride,
Firm in the stirrup, with regular motion,
Like flights of wild geese or the billows of ocean,
O Mother! far better than rank, fashion, or wealth
Is the toast all spectators now drink to your health.
“Here’s a health to good mothers, the Angels of home,
Write their names in the Temple of Fame—on the dome!”
Smiling through tears gazed the mother that day,
Her eyes followed each son on his fleet iron-gray,
Thrifty, frugal, and upright was each dutiful one,
In the whole decade not a prodigal son
Precious memories ran back o’er the long vista of years,
Faith’s brilliant rainbow arched her fountain of tears,
Love and hope all commingled with doubts and with fears.
O hour mysterious of omnipotent prayer!
When the fireflies’ carnival flashes in air,
When the Evening Star shines and the meteors glide
She counselled them thus as they knelt by her side:—
“Let no plausible white lie, for gain, soil your lips;
Let the dear sun of Truth be undimmed by eclipse.
God’s commandments be yours, for their number is Ten,
Obey them and be honored of God and of Men,
For ’tis better by far to be honest than rich,
And the King who is false finds his grave in a ditch;
His manhood’s secure in the armour of Truth
Who remembers his Creator in the days of his youth.”