LEGEND OF FUNKSTOWN.


I.

Nick Hammer sat in Funkstown
Before his tavern door--
The same old blue-stone tavern
The wagoners knew of yore,
When the Conestoga schooners
Came staggering under their load,
And the lines of slow pack-horses
Stamped over the National Road.

Nick Hammer and son together,
Both blowing pipe-smoke there,
Like a pair of stolid limekilns,
In the blue South Mountain air;
And the mills of the Antietam,
Grinding the Dunker's wheat
So oldly and so slowly,
Groaned up the deserted street.

"What think'st thou, Nick, my father?"
Said Nick, the old man's twin.
"This whole year thou art silent.