_Barbara Frietchie_

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,

The cl.u.s.tered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord, To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain wall,--

Over the mountains, winding down, Horse and foot into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind; the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic-window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouch hat left and right He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

"Halt!"--the dust-brown ranks stood fast; "Fire!"--out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara s.n.a.t.c.hed the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will.

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;

The n.o.bler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word:

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet;

All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of freedom and union wave!

Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

_Two Veterans_

The last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finished Sabbath, On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking Down a new-made double grave.

Lo! the moon ascending, Up from the east the silvery round moon, Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon, Immense and silent moon.

I see a sad procession, And I hear the sound of coming full-keyed bugles, All the channels of the city streets they're flooding, As with voices and with tears.

I hear the great drums pounding, And the small drums steady whirring, And every blow of the great convulsive drums Strikes me through and through.

For the son is brought with the father, (In the foremost ranks of the fierce a.s.sault they fell, Two veterans, son and father, dropt together, And the double grave awaits them).

Now nearer blow the bugles, And the drums strike more convulsive, And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded, And the strong dead-march enwraps me.

In the eastern sky up-buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumined, ('Tis some mother's large transparent face In heaven brighter growing).

O strong dead-march you please me!

O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans pa.s.sing to burial!

What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.

WALT WHITMAN.

_Stand by the Flag!_

Stand by the Flag! Its stars, like meteors gleaming, Have lighted Arctic icebergs, southern seas, And shone responsive to the stormy beaming Of old Arcturus and the Pleiades.

Stand by the Flag! Its stripes have streamed in glory, To foes a fear, to friends a festal robe, And spread in rhythmic lines the sacred story Of Freedom's triumphs over all the globe.

Stand by the Flag! On land and ocean billow By it your fathers stood unmoved and true, Living, defended; dying, from their pillow, With their last blessing, pa.s.sed it on to you.