For the words he scattered on kind soil fell, And Tacey had learned his maxim well In the stories he read. She remembered the art That concealed the fear in Esther's heart; How the words of the woman Abigail Appeased the king's wrath, the deed of Jael!
How Judith went from the city's gate Across the plain as the day grew late, To the tent of the great Assyrian; The leader exalted with horse and man, And brought back his head, said Tacey: "Of course, A more difficult feat than to bring back a horse."
In the English camp the reveille drum Told the sleeping troops that the dawn had come, And the shadows abroad that with night were blent At the drum's tap startled, crept under each tent As Tacey stole from the sheltering wood Across the wet grass where the horse pound stood.
Hark! was it the twitter of frightened bird, Or was it the challenge of sentry she heard? She entered unseen, but her footsteps she stayed When the old gray horse in the wood still, neighed, Half hid in the mist a shape loomed tall, A steed that answered her well-known call.
With freedom beyond for the recompense She sprang to his back, and leaped the fence; Too late the alarm; but Tacey heard As she sped away how the camp was stirred, The stamping of horses, the shouts of men And the bugle's impatient call again.
Loudly and fast on the Ridge Road beat The regular fall of Fearnaught's feet, On his broad, bare back his rider's seat Was as firm as the tread of the steed so fleet; Small need of saddle, or bridle rein, He answered as well her touch on his mane.
On down the hill by the river shore, Faster and faster she rode than before; Her bonnet fell back, her head was bare, And the river breeze that freed her hair Dispersed the fog, and she heard the shout Of the troopers behind when the sun came out.
The wheel at Van Deering's had dripped nearly dry, In Sabbath-like stillness the morning passed by; Then the clatter of hoofs came down the hill, And the white old miller ran out from the mill. But he only saw through the dust of the road The last red-coat that faintly showed.
To Tacey the sky, and the trees, and the wind Seemed all to rush toward her, and follow behind, Her lips were set firm, and pale was her cheek As she plunged down the hill and through the creek, The tortoise shell comb that she lost that day The Wissahickon carried away.
On the other side up the stony hill The feet of Fearnaught went faster still, But somewhat backward the troopers fell, For the hill, and the pace, began to tell On their horses worn with a long campaign O'er rugged mountains, and weary plain.