"I'm sent to warn the neighbors. He isn't a mile behind; 
He sweeps up all the horses--every horse that he can find; 
Morgan, Morgan, the raider, and Morgan's terrible men, 
With bowie-knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen."

The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door; 
The baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor; 
Kentuck was out in the pasture; Conrad, my man, was gone; 
Nearer, nearer, Morgan's men were galloping, galloping on!

Sudden I picked up the baby, and ran to the pasture-bar; 
"Kentuck!" I called; "Kentucky!" She knew me ever so far! 
I led her down the gully that turns off there to the right, 
And tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight.

As I ran back to the log-house, at once there came a sound-- 
The ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground-- 
Coming into the turnpike out from the White Woman Glen--
Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men.

As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm! 
But still I stood in the doorway, with baby on my arm. 
They came; they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped along-- 
Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band six hundred strong.

Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through day; 
Pushing on east to the river, many long miles away, 
To the border-strip where Virginia runs up into the West, 
To ford the Upper Ohio before they could stop to rest.

On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance; 
Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways glance; 
And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain, 
When the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein.

Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face, 
As he asked for a drink of water, and glanced around the place: 
I gave him a cup, and he smiled--'twas only a boy, you see; 
Faint and worn; with dim blue eyes, and he'd sailed on the Tennessee.

Only sixteen he was, sir--a fond mother's only son-- 
Off and away with Morgan before his life had begun! 
The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish mouth; 
And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South!

O, pluck was he to the backbone; and clear grit through and through; 
Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't do; 
The boy was dying sir, dying, as plain as plain could be, 
Worn out by his ride with Morgan up from the Tennessee.

But, when I told the laddie that I too was from the South, 
Water came into his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth;
"Do you know the Blue-Grass country?" he wistfully began to say;
Then swayed like a willow sapling, and fainted dead away.

I had him into the log-house, and worked and brought him to; 
I fed him, and I coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do; 
And, when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone, 
Morgan's men were miles away, galloping, galloping on.

"O, I must go," he muttered; "I must be up and away! 
Morgan, Morgan is waiting for me! O, what will Morgan say?" 
But I heard the sound of tramping, and kept him back from the door-- 
The ringing sound of horses' hoofs that I had heard before.

And on, on came the soldiers--the Michigan cavalry--
And fast they rode, and back they looked, galloping rapidly; 
They had followed hard on Morgan's track; they had followed day and night; 
But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight.

And rich Ohio sat startled through all these summer days; 
For strange, wild men were galloping over her broad highways; 
Now here, now there, now seen, now gone, now north, now east, now west, 
Through river-valleys and corn-land farms, sweeping away her best.

A bold ride and a long ride! But they were taken at last; 
They had almost reached the river by galloping hard and fast; 
But the boys in blue were upon them ere ever they gained the ford, 
And Morgan, Morgan the raider, laid down his terrible sword.

Well, I kept the boy till evening--kept him against his will-- 
But he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still; 
When it was cool and dusky--you'll wonder to hear me tell-- 
But I stole down to the gully, and brought up Kentucky Belle.

I kissed the star on her forehead--my pretty, gentle lass--
But I knew that she'd be happy, back in the old Blue-Grass: 
A suit of clothes of Conrad's, with all the money I had, 
And Kentucky, pretty Kentucky, I gave to the worn-out lad.

I guided him to the southward, as well as I knew how:
The boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow; 
And then the glow it faded, and my heart began to swell; 
And down the glen away she went, my lost Kentucky Belle!

When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high, 
Baby and I were both crying--I couldn't tell him why-- 
But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall, 
And a thin old horse with drooping head stood in Kentucky's stall.

Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me, 
He knew I couldn't help it--'twas all for the Tennessee; 
But, after the war was over, just think what came to pass-- 
A letter, sir, and the two were safe back in the old Blue-Grass.

The lad got across the border, riding Kentucky Belle;
And Kentuck she was thriving, and fat, and hearty, and well; 
He cared for her, and kept her, nor touched her with whip or spur; 
Ah! we've had many horses, but never a horse like her!
 

 
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