The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1901-08-15
IN OLD KENTUCK.
The Blue Grass Region and
Southern Home in Summer.
BY GEORGE DALLAS MosaRovK.

BY GEORGE DALLAS MosGRovR.
"The sun shines bright in the old Ken.
tuck homo,
1t is Summer, the darkies are gay,
The corn tops ripe and the meadows are
in bloom,
And the birds make music all the day"
In the low green valley on the old
Kentucky shore" Of what the Frenchmsn
called La Belle Rivisre. l have hung my
war bugle on the willow, and, being at
peace with all mankind, am having what
Mark Twain calls ian awful good tins"-
time propitious for side thoughts Of an
idle fellow" Dreamily viewing the
Sweet rural scene
OF focks Of green"
Ny mind reyerts to unforgotten comrades
now sleeping in the valley" Wherever
their moldering bodies may be, green In
my heart is the memory of the boy SOL
diers" of the long ago. Touch them not.
Let them quietly sleep until the bugls
sounds the assembly" on the farther
shore. A sunny sky smiles on them by
day, and sentinel stars keep watch By
night. Fragrant flowers, types Of ths
resurrection, bloom above them. The
weeping willow extends its protecting
branches. and the dews of Heaven sparkle
in tears on the flowers and waving grasses
over the soldiers sepulcher. Soft and
low the Summer zephyr sings a requiem
among tho roses on the grave Of the Blue
and in mournful cadence stirs the lilies
above the Gray. For more than the third
of century the heroes have been rest
ing there
"Under the laurel the Blus,
Under the willow the Gray"
Their warfare Is Ger. In their ancestral
homes are "lutes unswept and harps with
out strings"
But little they'll reck, if they'll let them
sleep on
In the graves where their comrades have
laid them"
AIock-a-day! Life is not all sunshine.
There is merry music, and then the
funeral dirge-thorns among the roses,
light and shadow. In this Summer idyl,
however, l am determined to look upon
the golden tints of the picture, rather than
linger amid the somber shadows. l re-
peat, l am having IAN awful good time"
tucky-and all the Colonies are not dead:
There's ice saved DER from Winter,
And there's mint beside the stream,
To inspire a ColonePs dream.
"The lowing herd winding slowly Ger
the lea" suggests fresh milk and butter
and berries swimming in cream; and 1
must not forget the spring under the old
elm tree,
Pure as the fountain in rocky cavo,
Where never sunbeam kissed the wave"
The hills, Indiana and Kentucky, that
border the beautiful river, the meadow,
the golden harvest field, the orchard,
the deep-tangled wildwood, and the bloom
airy parterre, make landscape to charm
the poets fancy and inspire the painters
brush. Instead of bugle notes, I hear the
woodland MINISTRIES, the singing angels
of mans nearest heaven"
Sing their songs in matin hour,
Vesper praise in leafy bower.
However, when twilight shadows are soft
ly falling over lee and woodland, l hear
discordant note, the monotonous song
Of the whippoOrwill, sounding wars alarm
on the hill:
The noisy jay
Has hushed his lay
Birds of woodland all are still,
Except the owl
On nightly prowl,
And the wakeful whippoorwill.
When evening shade
Steals Ger the glade,
There's war alarm on the hill,
And all night long
Is heard that song
Whip poor-Will! Whip-poor-W
He'll fghs it out
There is no doubt,
Along that line on the hill,
And every night,
With all his might,
He'll whip poor-Will, whip-poor-W
The town girl in shirt-waist and trim
mings, fresh and alluring, albeit amusing
ly ignorant of rustic manners and Gus
toms, is here to conquer if it takes her
all Summer. l saw her yesterday:
l saw her but a moment
Just saw her long enough
To know she was town girl
A diamond in the rough.
I saw her but a moment,
And yet | see her still
That outing" Summer girl
A-cycling down the hill.
That Summer girl of fashion
That pretty city belle
Was in the rustic country
IL ITeety cut swell
Her clothes were light and airy,
And seemed to be in style
l saw her but a moment,
4 very little while.
l saw her but moment,
And yet her face so fair
Lures me from the country girl
Of rustic, woodland air.
l can't forget the maiden
| saw go down the hill
l saw her but moment,
l think | see her still.
l saw her by the roadside.
l will not tell the place.
1 saw her but a moment
L saw pretty face.
I would like to see her more
That girl so debonair,
Fond memory fingers still
The vision was so fair.
l saw her but a moment,
And always shall regret
That she didn't tarry longer
The only tire we met.
A-cyciing in the country,
She braved the Summer sun
To show the rural cousins
Just how the thing is done.
That girl on a wheel OPPORTUNITY di-
verted my mind from a tendency to
mournfuliy moralize on the passing of the
1. Il.