Stone House

I am really intrigued with old houses and wish like crazy walls could talk. Or at least, answer  some of my questions. Otherwise, I suppose it's best they can't.  One old house that has captivated my imagination is the Old Stone House of Covington, Kentucky, built by the Kennedy family in 1795 but, as I said yesterday, not completed until 1802.   Mary Hannah Krout's poetic prowess showed up in "the box" with this poem about the house. Her words indicate to me the lure of the house to generations who knew the walls well, as she obviously did.

The Old Stone House
M.H. Krout

Back from the noise of busy Street

The bustle of traffic and passing feet

With quaint queer windows and blackened roof

It proudly stands from the world aloof.

While the years with their changes have come and gone

From germ to blossom, from night to dawn

The shadows have fallen across the eaves

Of nearly a hundred summer leaves.

When the busy city spreads far and wide

The fruits of her labor in haughty pride

Unbroken forests stretched dark and still

The wild deer drank from the limpid rill

The Fox and Panther. The Wolf and the Bear

Wandered unharmed and unhunted there.

Save when the Indian with light bow bent

And through the coverts his arrows spent.

I'm skipping some of the verses to continue with the last two:

There life first throbbed in the baby’s breast

There the young grew aged and dreamed of rest

The bride came in at the open door

Where the dead went out to return no more.

There is little of life, of its joys and grief.

Its many trials, its pleasure brief.

Of birth, of marriage, of shine and knell

If its walls might speak what they could not tell.

It keeps its councils dark and dumb

It waits for the day that will surely come

When we shall be gathered to those that sleep

And others will struggle and trial and weep

Unclaimed by honor unknown to fame

A broken stone with a moss grown name.

It’s all of our story the world will know

While the years will come and the years will go

These strangers and aliens will tear it down

And give its place to the growing town.

Oakland Farm, Dec. 26, 1881

Her poem is unpublished and as far as I know, "the box" held the only copy. Sadly, the original house of the poem was torn down in 1909 after being purchased by Dr. Louise Southgate, a relative of the Kennedy’s. She had offered the house to the City of Covington as an historic building, but apparently the city turned her down, and Dr. Southgate had it demolished. A plaque in the George Rogers Clark Park, which is in front of the location of the house, shows a picture of it. Another Kennedy home, the Southgate Kennedy house, built in the late 1800’s, still stands at 2nd and Garrard.

Now I  can return to a bit more on James Davis Porter in the upcoming post.