In bridle-path days, when steam was unknown,
A horseman rode into a forest alone.
Through the wonderful Land of the Sky rode he,
From North Carolina to Tennessee.
He bestrode a strong horse, and he went withal
Well armed with pistols and powder and ball,
For bloody highwaymen were none too few
In the laurel dells of the mountains blue.
Through the gloom of the forest this traveler rode
Each day from the dawn till the sunset glowed,
When, seeking for rest from his journey sore,
He drank from the gourd at some cabin door.
Again he would travel far into the night
In vain keeping watch for some settler's light,
And doubly alert, though weary and cold,
For he rode with his saddle-bags full of gold.
And day after day his journey he kept,
And night after night he uneasily slept,
For his treasure was great, and the charge that lay
Upon him he honored in ancient way—
The charge he honored, though not from a sense
Of punishment or of recompense
By One who watches, for heaven and hell
Were myths to this honest Infidel.
It was autumn. Who knows what a splendid domain is
The realm of the Blue Ridge and great Alleghanies—
How wildly romantic—what lights and what shades
Play over the scene—how the green summer fades
Like a veil blown aside to reveal magic things
Unspeakably grand—how the water-fall sings
To the cliff, and the cliff to the far sky of blue—
He may know what enchantment this horseman rode through.
In the morning the valleys were lakelets of mist;
The tree-tops were isles in a haze amethyst;
At noon the bright woodpecker shot like a flash
To the green of the pine from the crimson red ash;
In the afternoon sunshine the bronze lizard played
On the vine of the moonseed; the bear unafraid
Loped over the trail; and as evening drew nigh
The horseman heard often the panther's sharp cry.
One evening at sunset, just when the last gleam
Was gliding the mountain-tops, at a swift stream
His horse with an eagerly impatient lip
Was flirting the brink, when all suddenly—zip!
A bullet half parted the rein. At a leap
The streamlet was cleared, for the spur was sunk deep.
And fast over pebbles that clattering rolled
The horseman went flying for life with his gold.
He rode till his beast made a staggering pace,
When he paused, with no hope of discerning a place
Of refuge—no sign of man's home was in sight,
And cold grew the north wind and black grew the night.
Then slowly ascended a great gibbous moon
Up the east, like a luminous wind-blown balloon,
Which was caught in an ocean of cloud, and whose glow
Was drowned in the deepening turbulent flow.
He hopelessly peered in the fathomless dark
Below him. His eyes caught a scintillant spark,
And he gazed and it shone, and he gazed and he knew
That a cabin was there; and he gave a halloo,
Which was answered in time, but so faintly, he feared
'Twas reverberant echo. The horse, surer-eared,
Loudly whickered, and soon—through what peril Heaven knows—
They stood at a door where a tall figure rose
And returned his salute; but the welcome was rough.
'Twas permission to rest though, and that was enough;
So by light of a torch the poor beast was made snug.
“You are kind, very kind.” The reply was a shrug.
A grim old colossus, with shadow gigantic
That leaped here and there like a great specter frantic,
The traveler followed. On entering the cabin
He shudderingly thought—what a fit place to stab in!
An old hag of ninety was crouched by a fire,
Resenting encroachment with evident ire
Till her eyes, with that furtive glint solely a hag's,
Grew agleam at the sight of the guest's saddle-bags!
The man, with shock hair and piratical beard,
Had but one eye, a fierce one that fiendishly leered,
And that eye seemed to glare with the gleam of the hag's
When he covertly glanced at the full saddle-bags.
“We was 'bout eatin' supper,” the host grumly said,
And with this invitation to table he led.
A tallow-dip dripping the crone brought and sat
With tremulous fingers, and mumbled thereat.
“Why this,” said the guest, feigning ease, “is good cheer.”
“Yes, if you can eat 'possum and drink 'simmon beer,”
The cyclops replied as he kicked at a hound—
One dog of a score that went skulking around.
That night, having talked till the fire had burned low,
The stranger, all weary, was anxious to go
To the bed which the crone in a corner had spread,
But he felt of his dubious companions a dread.—
Many a throat had been slit for a fortune of gold.
Should these know what was his, would that giant withhold?
He cautiously felt of his weapons, and thought
If his life were at stake it should dearly be bought.
Deep silence ensued, and the owl's cry was heard,
He felt strangely thrilled by the ominous bird.
A dog howled. He wondered if ever indeed
Wise men had to such simple things given heed.
And he doubtless had sat there till morning light shone,
But the grim giant, speaking in most solemn tone,
Said: “ Stranger, me'n mother afore gwine to bed
Has prar. Will ye jine us? ” The stranger's fear fled.
He knelt in confusion. When called on to lead,
He stammered—“too weary, too tired, indeed”—
And he secretly smiled at his ludicrous care
When he heard that old Methodist wrestling with prayer.
He slept e'en to snoring that night, and next day
Through the falling leaves peacefully went on his way.
But he questioned philosophy vainly to say
Why it was he felt safe with a man that would pray.
A horseman rode into a forest alone.
Through the wonderful Land of the Sky rode he,
From North Carolina to Tennessee.
He bestrode a strong horse, and he went withal
Well armed with pistols and powder and ball,
For bloody highwaymen were none too few
In the laurel dells of the mountains blue.
Through the gloom of the forest this traveler rode
Each day from the dawn till the sunset glowed,
When, seeking for rest from his journey sore,
He drank from the gourd at some cabin door.
Again he would travel far into the night
In vain keeping watch for some settler's light,
And doubly alert, though weary and cold,
For he rode with his saddle-bags full of gold.
And day after day his journey he kept,
And night after night he uneasily slept,
For his treasure was great, and the charge that lay
Upon him he honored in ancient way—
The charge he honored, though not from a sense
Of punishment or of recompense
By One who watches, for heaven and hell
Were myths to this honest Infidel.
It was autumn. Who knows what a splendid domain is
The realm of the Blue Ridge and great Alleghanies—
How wildly romantic—what lights and what shades
Play over the scene—how the green summer fades
Like a veil blown aside to reveal magic things
Unspeakably grand—how the water-fall sings
To the cliff, and the cliff to the far sky of blue—
He may know what enchantment this horseman rode through.
In the morning the valleys were lakelets of mist;
The tree-tops were isles in a haze amethyst;
At noon the bright woodpecker shot like a flash
To the green of the pine from the crimson red ash;
In the afternoon sunshine the bronze lizard played
On the vine of the moonseed; the bear unafraid
Loped over the trail; and as evening drew nigh
The horseman heard often the panther's sharp cry.
One evening at sunset, just when the last gleam
Was gliding the mountain-tops, at a swift stream
His horse with an eagerly impatient lip
Was flirting the brink, when all suddenly—zip!
A bullet half parted the rein. At a leap
The streamlet was cleared, for the spur was sunk deep.
And fast over pebbles that clattering rolled
The horseman went flying for life with his gold.
He rode till his beast made a staggering pace,
When he paused, with no hope of discerning a place
Of refuge—no sign of man's home was in sight,
And cold grew the north wind and black grew the night.
Then slowly ascended a great gibbous moon
Up the east, like a luminous wind-blown balloon,
Which was caught in an ocean of cloud, and whose glow
Was drowned in the deepening turbulent flow.
He hopelessly peered in the fathomless dark
Below him. His eyes caught a scintillant spark,
And he gazed and it shone, and he gazed and he knew
That a cabin was there; and he gave a halloo,
Which was answered in time, but so faintly, he feared
'Twas reverberant echo. The horse, surer-eared,
Loudly whickered, and soon—through what peril Heaven knows—
They stood at a door where a tall figure rose
And returned his salute; but the welcome was rough.
'Twas permission to rest though, and that was enough;
So by light of a torch the poor beast was made snug.
“You are kind, very kind.” The reply was a shrug.
A grim old colossus, with shadow gigantic
That leaped here and there like a great specter frantic,
The traveler followed. On entering the cabin
He shudderingly thought—what a fit place to stab in!
An old hag of ninety was crouched by a fire,
Resenting encroachment with evident ire
Till her eyes, with that furtive glint solely a hag's,
Grew agleam at the sight of the guest's saddle-bags!
The man, with shock hair and piratical beard,
Had but one eye, a fierce one that fiendishly leered,
And that eye seemed to glare with the gleam of the hag's
When he covertly glanced at the full saddle-bags.
“We was 'bout eatin' supper,” the host grumly said,
And with this invitation to table he led.
A tallow-dip dripping the crone brought and sat
With tremulous fingers, and mumbled thereat.
“Why this,” said the guest, feigning ease, “is good cheer.”
“Yes, if you can eat 'possum and drink 'simmon beer,”
The cyclops replied as he kicked at a hound—
One dog of a score that went skulking around.
That night, having talked till the fire had burned low,
The stranger, all weary, was anxious to go
To the bed which the crone in a corner had spread,
But he felt of his dubious companions a dread.—
Many a throat had been slit for a fortune of gold.
Should these know what was his, would that giant withhold?
He cautiously felt of his weapons, and thought
If his life were at stake it should dearly be bought.
Deep silence ensued, and the owl's cry was heard,
He felt strangely thrilled by the ominous bird.
A dog howled. He wondered if ever indeed
Wise men had to such simple things given heed.
And he doubtless had sat there till morning light shone,
But the grim giant, speaking in most solemn tone,
Said: “ Stranger, me'n mother afore gwine to bed
Has prar. Will ye jine us? ” The stranger's fear fled.
He knelt in confusion. When called on to lead,
He stammered—“too weary, too tired, indeed”—
And he secretly smiled at his ludicrous care
When he heard that old Methodist wrestling with prayer.
He slept e'en to snoring that night, and next day
Through the falling leaves peacefully went on his way.
But he questioned philosophy vainly to say
Why it was he felt safe with a man that would pray.