Should he now confess The whole--yes, tell me all your tale was true, I would not leave him to you, sorceress! I’d snatch him from the burning--I would sue His pardon down from heaven. I shall win Him yet, false woman, and his grievous sin Shall be forgiven. (_Bows her head upon her hands._) O God let him die Rather than live for one who doth belie All I have learned of Thee!
_Train stops suddenly._--_Enter_ CONDUCTOR.
The bridge is down, The train can go no farther. Morgan’s band Were here last night! There is a little town Off on the right, and there, I understand, You ladies can find horses. Benton’s Mill Is but a short drive from Waunona Hill.-- Can I assist you?
Yes; that my basket--that my shawl. O Fate! How burdened are we women! Sir, you are Most kind; and may I trouble you thus far? Find me the fleetest horses; I must reach Waunona Hill this night. I do beseech All haste; a thousand dollars will I give For this one ride. [_Exeunt._
Say, boys, I’d like to live Where I could see that woman! I could fight A regiment of rebels in her sight-- Couldn’t you?
O fair Kentucky! border-land of war, Thou rovest like a gypsy at thy will Between the angry South and stubborn North. Across thy boundaries many times from far Sweep Morgan’s men, the troopers bold who fill Ohio with alarm; then, marching forth In well-drilled ranks with flag, and fife, and drum, From camp and town the steady blue-coats come, March east, march west, march north, march south, and find No enemy except the lawless wind. No sooner gone--Lo! presto through the glen Is heard the midnight ride of Morgan’s men: They ford the rivers by the light of stars, The ringing hoofs sound through the mountain-pass; They draw not rein until their glad huzzas Are echoing through the land of the Blue Grass. --O lovely land, O swell of grassy billows far and near, O wild, free elms, whose swaying arms expand As if to clasp me, hold my love as dear As thine own son! I hasten to his side-- Ye roads, lie smooth; ye streams, make safe the ford; O chivalrous Kentucky, help the bride Though thou hast wounded with thy rebel sword The foeman bridegroom!
.... Can it be that girl Who rides in front? I thought her left behind In that small town. _Ciel!_ would I could hurl The slim thing down this bank! Would I could bind Those prim, long-fingered, proper hands of hers Behind her drooping, narrow-shouldered back, And send her home! A heart like that transfers Its measured, pale affections readily, If the small rules it calleth piety Step in between them. Otherwise, the crack Of doom would not avail to break the cord Which is not love so much as given word And fealty, that conscientiousness Which weigheth all things be they more or less, From fold of ribbon to a marriage-vow, With self-same scales of duty. Shall I now Ride on and pass her--for her horse will fail Before the hour is out? Of what avail Her journey? (_Speaks._) Driver, press forward.--Nay, stop-- (_Aside._) O what a child am I to waver thus! I know not how to be ungenerous, Though I may try--God knows I truly tried. What’s this upon my hand? Did a tear drop? (_Speaks._) By your side Behold me, maiden; will you ride with me? My horses fleet and strong.