| |
| WE have sent him seeds of the melon’s core, | |
| And nailed a warning upon his door; | |
| By the Ku Klux laws we can do no more. | |
| |
| Down in the hollow, mid crib and stack, | |
| The roof of his low-porched house looks black, | 5 |
| Not a line of light at the doorsill’s crack. | |
| |
| Yet arm and mount! and mask and ride! | |
| The hounds can sense though the fox may hide! | |
| And for a word too much men oft have died. | |
| |
| The clouds blow heavy towards the moon. | 10 |
| The edge of the storm will reach it soon. | |
| The killdee cries and the lonesome loon. | |
| |
| The clouds shall flush with a wilder glare | |
| Than the lightning makes with its angled flare, | |
| When the Ku Klux verdict is given there. | 15 |
| |
| In the pause of the thunder rolling low, | |
| A rifle’s answer—who shall know | |
| From the wind’s fierce hurl and the rain’s black blow? | |
| |
| Only the signature written grim | |
| At the end of the message brought to him,— | 20 |
| A hempen rope and a twisted limb. | |
| |
| So arm and mount! and mask and ride! | |
| The hounds can sense though the fox may hide! | |
| And for a word too much men oft have died. | |
| |
