So long as the rivers flow,
So long as the mountains rise,
May the foliage drink of the skies
And shelter the flowers below;
Hurrah! for the beautiful trees!
Hurrah! for the forest grand,
The pride of His centuries,
The Garden of God’s own hand.
A BALLAD OF OLD KENTUCKY.
WELL, this is my story of Schoolmaster John,
And how, single-handed, he slew
A terrible monster, one May day, at dawn,
When our staunch old Kentucky was new.
Full rude was the cabin, o’ershadowed by trees,
For the Lexington school-children made;
For, Cadmus forbid that the shrewd A-B-C’s
Be lost in the tanglewood shade!
Alone sat the pedagogue, throned on a stool,
Entranced by poetical lore;
He waited and read, while the morning’s breath cool
Floated in through the wide-open door.
Bent over a magical page of the tome
That Vergil—how long ago!—wrote,
He mused of Æneas and Dido and Rome,
When a tiger-cat sprang at his throat!
Fight, fight! John McKinney, or perish! He fought!
Forgot was the Queen and her woe!
He uttered no cry; of the children he thought
As he grappled his terrible foe!
Now which shall be victor, the brute or the man?
Hands battle against teeth and claws!
Survive the dread struggle the nature that can!
Savage might against letters and laws!
The beast by the master was throttled and crushed
On his desk, while its fangs stung his side;
With the crimsoning rill from his pulses that gushed,
The leaves of his Vergil were dyed.
Who fly to the rescue? Who scream with alarm?
Three scared little maidens! Then said
The schoolmaster, smiling, “No harm, dears, no harm!
I have caught you a wild-cat;—it’s dead.”