| Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922. |
| |
| Men of Harlan |
| | | William Aspinwall Bradley |
| |
| |
| HERE in the level country, where the creeks run straight and wide, | |
| Six men upon their pacing nags may travel side by side. | |
| But the mountain men of Harlan, you may tell them all the while, | |
| When they pass through our village, for they ride in single file. | |
| And the children, when they see them, stop their play and stand and cry, | 5 |
| “Here come the men of Harlan, men of Harlan, riding by!” | |
| |
| O the mountain men of Harlan, when they come down to the plain, | |
| With dangling stirrup, jangling spur, and loosely hanging rein, | |
| They do not ride, like our folks here, in twos and threes abreast, | |
| With merry laughter, talk and song, and lightly spoken jest; | 10 |
| But silently and solemnly, in long and straggling line, | |
| As you may see them in the hills, beyond Big Black and Pine. | |
| |
| For, in that far strange country, where the men of Harlan dwell, | |
| There are no roads at all, like ours, as we’ve heard travelers tell. | |
| But only narrow trails that wind along each shallow creek, | 15 |
| Where the silence hangs so heavy, you can hear the leathers squeak. | |
| And there no two can ride abreast, but each alone must go, | |
| Picking his way as best he may, with careful steps and slow, | |
| |
| Down many a shelving ledge of shale, skirting the trembling sands, | |
| Through many a pool and many a pass, where the mountain laurel stands | 20 |
| So thick and close to left and right, with holly bushes, too, | |
| The clinging branches meet midway to bar the passage through,— | |
| O’er many a steep and stony ridge, o’er many a high divide, | |
| And so it is the Harlan men thus one by one do ride. | |
| |
| Yet it is strange to see them pass in line through our wide street, | 25 |
| When they come down to sell their sang, and buy their stores of meat, | |
| These silent men, in sombre black, all clad from foot to head, | |
| Though they have left their lonely hills and the narrow creek’s rough bed. | |
| And ’t is no wonder children stop their play and stand and cry: | |
| “Here come the men of Harlan, men of Harlan, riding by.” | 30 |
| |
|
|
|
