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.