With fairy pictures from my fairy years,
I have a phantom pencil that can make
Shadows of moons, far back and faint, to rise
On dewier grass and in diviner skies,

Over in Kentucky.

For yonder river, wider than the sea,

Seems sometimes in the dusk a visible moan

Between two worlds,

- one fair, one dear to me.

The fair has forms of ever-glimmering stone, Weird-whispering ruin, graves where legends hide, And lies in mist upon the charmèd side,

Over in Kentucky.

The dear has restless, dimpled, pretty hands, Yearning toward unshaped steel, unfancied wars, Unbuilded cities, and unbroken lands,

With something sweeter than the faded stars And dim, dead dews of my lost romance, found In beauty that has vanished from the ground

Over in Kentucky.

Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt.

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME.

HE sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home;

THE

'Tis summer, the darkeys are gay;

The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day;

The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy, all bright;

By'm by hard times comes a knockin' at the door, Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!

CHORUS.

Weep no more, my lady; oh, weep no more to-day!
We'll sing one song for my 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 glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by the old cabin door;

The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow where all was delight;

The time has come, when the darkeys have to part,
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!
Weep no more, my lady, etc.

The head must bow, and the back will have to bend, Wherever the darkey may go;

A few more days, and the troubles all will end,

In the field where the sugar-cane grow;

A few more days to tote the weary load,
No matter it will never be light;

A few more days till we totter on the road,
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!
Weep no more, my lady, etc.

Stephen C. Foster.

[Written for Mrs. W. Barrow.]

HE sunset flings upon the sea

Its golden gush of life and light;

The waves with pleasant melody

On the white sands are sparkling bright;
Old Ocean, round his many isles,
Like fair infant sleeping, smiles:

So would I sleep, and dream of thee,
My own, my native land, my Tennessee!

Tall mountains with their snowy cones,
Far inland, bathed in sunshine, blaze;
Like gray-haired giants on their thrones,
Crowned with the young dawn's golden rays.
Toward them I lean, and fain would lie
At the feet of those that pierce thy sky,
Thou dearest land on earth to me,
My own, my native land, my Tennessee!

Landward and swift the sea-bird flies,

Dipping his strong and nervous wings
In the blue wave, as home he hies,
A truant, from his wanderings.
He goes to seek his gentle mate,
His young, with longing eyes that wait:
So would I fain haste home to thee,
My own, my native land, my Tennessee!

"We cross the prairie as of old." See page 29.