The weekly intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1891-1901, 1897-09-18
IVY Old Kentucky Home .

on foreign shores or still remain in
beloved America, there is no sound
that brings rp half so many sweet
memories or causes the well-springs of
the soul to overflow with such tears of
gratitude as the rendition of Stephen
Collins Fosters world famous song,
'iMy Old Kentucky Home'' 1t recalls
the scenes of his boyhood as nothing
else can; the far-away farm house,
with its cOmmodious Railways; the
! dark cellar beneath and the mirth
giving vintage; the spacious, aged
pantry overloaded with good things;
the dark, dusty garret and its barrel of
bourbon; the big front yard with its
primitive forestry; the deep, cool well
with its time-worn bucket; the weather
beaten barn, sheltering the blue-ribbon
horses; its big lot adjoining full of
cackling, fat fowls, and the close-by
orchard, laden with ripe, juicy apples.
Foster was not Kentuckian, but
his ancestry were southern. This put
him in touch with the plantation life
existing below the Mason and Dixon
line, and thus he gave to the world his
''Old Folks at Home, I" ssMassa's in the
Cold Ground" etc., but ''My Old
Kentucky Home,'' his most beautiful
composition, came from his musical
nature while he was on summer
sojourn at typical residence in Ken
tucky. The house which gave him the
thoughts embodied in the song still
stands, monument to the young
! genius. II is known rs s'Federal Hill, :"
the resting place of the Rowan family,
near Bardstown, for almost a century.
1t was there that Judge John Rowan,
a congressman, United States senator
and jurist, lived for many years. 1t
was late in the sos, only five or six
years before his death, that Foster,
then not in good health, came to Ken
tucky from his Pennsylvania home at
the earnest solicitation of the Rowans,
aisN PAiu 'r ouctii mn uu eAtcuucu
visit. His sister Eliza accompanied
him, and his stay in cid Kentucky, as
Foster often said, was one of the most
pleasant periods of his life. Sur
rounded by all that was beautiful, it
was easy for man who had given ex-
preston 10 so many soul-stirring
southern melodies to compose the
tribute TO the mansion of the Blne
Grass state that will endure so long as
Kentucky can produce voice capable
of humming its sweet notes.
Foster was inspired alike by the
beautiful sunshine of the mornings and
the yellow moonlight of the nights that
fell On sFederal IIill," by the waving
golden grain, the negroes performing
their duties, the lazy little darkies in
cabins, and finally by the warbling of
the mocklng bird, the thrush's mellow
song and the fife-like notes of the Ken
tucky cardinal, world-renowned by our
own James Lane Allen; and the
writing of the undying verse must have
been labor of love.
AS in many of his musical compost
tions after the death of his mother,
"My Old Kentucky Home'' is charac-
terized by melancholy. He seems TO
have had presentiment that the days
of slavery wers numbered, and although
a northerner by birth. regretted in his
song the coming of the day when the
darkies would s'sing no more by the
glimmering of the moon, on the bench
by the old cabin door,
The song complete is as follows:
The sun shines bright on my old Ken
lucky home;
'Tis summer-the darkies are all gay.
The corn tops ripe and the meadows in
While the birds are making music all
the day.
The young folks roll on the little cabin
floor,
All merry, all happy. all bright;
at the door
Then, my old Kentucky home, good
| night.
| CHORUS.
Weep no more, my lady; weep no more
| today;
| We'll sing you one song for the old
| Kentucky home
| For our old Kentucky home, far away.
They hunt no more for the possum and
| the coon,
On the meadow, the hill and the shore;
They sing no more by the gIimmer of the
moon,
| On the bench by the old cabin door.
The day goes by like a shadow DER the
| heart,
With sorrow where all was delights;
The time has come when the darkies have
to part
Then, my old Kentucky home, good
night.
The head must bow, and the back will
| have to bend,
| Wherever the darkies may go.
A few more days and the troubles all will
end,
In the field where the sngar canes
| grow.
A few days to bear the load
No matter, it will never be light;
A few more days till we totter on the
Then, my old Kentucky home, good
night.