Chapter II: Canto II

1769-1796.
PIONEERS.

In the days my Muse is singing,
In the days of early settlers
On the "dark and bloody ground," there
Came a pioneer so famous
For his greatness and his goodness,
For his sterling sense of honor,
For his frame of strength and vigor,
For his nature, bold and hardy,
And his spirit, firm and steady,
That the annals of the nation,
The proud archives of the country,
Shout his name in stirring paeans,
Blazon forth his fame and glory,
From the rising to the setting
Of the sun he loved to follow.
Many days and nights he wandered
O'er the turf of good old Garrard,
Now in sight, perchance in hearing,
Of the birds and beasts and reptiles,
Roaming wild and roaming lonely,
In the groves of fair Lancaster.
Now in sight, perchance in hearing
Of the melancholy plover,
Of the bluebird's thrilling whistle,
Of the redbird's gentle chirping,
Of the blackbird's noisy chatter,
Of the whippoorwill's soft pleading,
And the ringdove's tender cooing.
All these sounds, I trow, were welcome,
To the pioneer hunter,
Daniel Boone, the practiced hunter.
On the plains and hills I'm singing,
He has pitched his tent at nightfall,
And has laid him down to slumber,
With his deerskin wrapped about him,
With his household gathered 'round him.
And the creatures of the woodland,
The dumb creatures of the forest,
At the noisy crack and flashing
Of his trusty, timeworn rifle,
Fell, the prey of man's dominion,
Formed his frugal fare and feasting.
All about the plains and hilltops,
Are his faded, sacred landmarks.
Let them linger, ever linger,
Faithful witnesses of honor;
For the hunter sleeps forever,
Daniel Boone, the sturdy hunter,
Daniel Boone, the early settler,
Sleeps beneath the waving bluegrass,
Sleeps among the hills of Benson,
On the river side at Frankfort.

Other pioneers came hither,
Other white men sought the woodland,
When the red man fled to westward,
From the scenes so fierce and gory,
Where the tomahawk uplifted
Wrought such strife and havoc deadly.
And once more the axe is lifted,
And the monarchs of the forest,
Of the forest bought with bloodshed,
Fell with echoes loud and startling,
'Mid the lonely hills and valleys.
And the white man built a city,
In the woodland once so peaceful,
In the woodland once so warlike,
Built a fair and goodly city,
'Twas the city of Lancaster,
Yes, a stranger travelled westward,
From the land of trade and commerce,
Of William Penn and "loving brothers,"
And the stranger's name was Paulding.
With his compass, chain, and log-book,
He marked out this modest city,
On the pattern of his birthplace,
And they christened it Lancaster.
And the county was called Garrard,
For the governor and statesman,
For James Garrard of Kentucky.
Seventeen hundred six and ninety
Saw the corner-stone implanted.

And the cycle brought its changes,
As the moons were waxing, waning.
Paved streets and handsome houses,
Busy shops and tradesmen's houses,
Office, inn, and people's houses,
Cottage white and mansion costly,
Structures high and structures lowly,
Marked the once secluded valley,
Graced the once sequestered hillside.
By and by the streets were fashioned
From the model of McAdam,
And adorned the youthful city.
Richmond, Mulberry, and Paulding,
Danville, Lexington, and Water,
Stanford, Campbell, and Crab Orchard,
Were the windings of the city.
And the noisy hum of traffic,
And the roll of cart and carriage,
Told of barter and of bargain,
Told of human gains and losses,
Scared away the beasts and birdlings,
Locked and dammed and bridged the rivers,
Chained the rolling streams and rivers.
Schools were opened, where the people
Learned to read and write and cipher.
Coaches linked the growing city
With the busy world around it.
Youths and maidens joined in wedlock,
Parents knelt at family altars,
Children gamboled in the playgrounds,
Cats and dogs and cows and horses,
Swine and animals of burden,
Followed man, the master spirit,
And supplied domestic comfort.
Lawyers, doctors, merchants, traders,
Preachers, artisans, and idlers,
From afar and near flocked hither;
And the "continental coppers"
Were in speedy circulation.
Spinning, weaving, sewing, knitting,
Filled the women's dextrous fingers,
And the homespun and the linsey
Were the choice and boasted fabrics,
Furnished strong and useful garments,
In the day of early settlers.
Social gatherings were frequent,
'Round log fires and tallow candles,
And the quaint old invitations
To some public house or "tavern,"
Call a smile to faces modern;
"Come and join a square cotillon
At the hour of four precisely,"--
Was the custom of the city,
Of the sensible young city.
Sights and sounds all strange and novel,
Filled the wood with unknown echoes;
Man, the civilized, wrought changes,
And the olden landmarks vanished.