66 'My mariners, never fear! The Lord whose breath has filled her sail May well our vessel steer!" So on through storm and darkness And lo! the third gray morning shone And on the walls the watchers And the bells in all the streples To welcome home to Christian soil So runs the ancient legend With rudder fouly broken, Before her, nameless terror; The hope of all who suffer, The dread of all who wrong, But courage, O my mariners! While up to God the freedman's prayers Is not your sail the banner Which God hath blest anew, The mantle that de Matha wore, The red, the white, the blue? Its hues are all of heaven,- The whiteness of the moonlit cloud, Wait cheerily, then, O mariners, Sail on, sail on, deep freighted Up from the South at break of day, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, And wider still these billows of war But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down; And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed, as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass with eagle flight As if he knew the terrible need, He stretched away with his utmost speed; Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, Under his spurning feet, the road And the landscape fled away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind; And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire — He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, The first that the General saw were the groups -- Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye and his red nostrils' play He seemed to the whole great army to say: "I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down to save the day." Hurrah! hurrah! for Sheridan! Hurrah! hurrah! for horse and man! By carrying Sheridan into the fight, BARBARA FRIETCHIE. Up from the meadows rich with corn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Round about them orchards sweep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished Rebel horde, John G. Whittier. On that pleasant morn of the early fall Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bravest of all in Frederick town, In her attic-window the staff she set, Up the street came the Rebel tread, Under his slouched hat left and right It shivered the window, pane and sash; Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff, |