  WELL, this is my story of Schoolmaster John, And how, single-handed, he slew A terrible monster, one May day, at dawn, When our staunch old Kentucky was new. Full rude was the cabin, o’ershadowed by trees, For the Lexington school-children made; For, Cadmus forbid that the shrewd A-B-C’s Be lost in the tanglewood shade! Alone sat the pedagogue, throned on a stool, Entranced by poetical lore; He waited and read, while the morning’s breath cool Floated in through the wide-open door. Bent over a magical page of the tome That Vergil—how long ago!—wrote, He mused of Æneas and Dido and Rome, When a tiger-cat sprang at his throat! Fight, fight! John McKinney, or perish! He fought! Forgot was the Queen and her woe! He uttered no cry; of the children he thought As he grappled his terrible foe! Now which shall be victor, the brute or the man? Hands battle against teeth and claws! Survive the dread struggle the nature that can! Savage might against letters and laws! The beast by the master was throttled and crushed On his desk, while its fangs stung his side; With the crimsoning rill from his pulses that gushed, The leaves of his Vergil were dyed. Who fly to the rescue? Who scream with alarm? Three scared little maidens! Then said The schoolmaster, smiling, “No harm, dears, no harm! I have caught you a wild-cat;—it’s dead. And this is the story of pedagogue John Of Kentucky, and how it befell That, in the heroic old days that are gone, He did what he had to do, well. God set him his task in the woods of the West To teach and to tame what was wild; To give his heart’s love and the blood of his breast For the good of the pioneer’s child. No story of Theseus or Hercules strong More beautiful is, nor so true; The meed of devotion to duty is song: Then pay John McKinney his due. |
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