BARBARA FRIETCHIE. UP from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The cluster'd spires of Frederick stand Green-wall'd by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, He passes the fountain, the blasted pine Apple and peach tree fruited deep, tree, The footstep is lagging and weary; of light, the forest so Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? THE CUMBERLAND. MAGNIFICENT thy fate, Once Mistress of the Seas! No braver vessel ever flung A pennon to the breeze; No bark e'er died a death so grand; Such heroes never vessel manned; Your parting broadside broke the wave That surged above your patriot grave; Your flag, the gamest of the game, Sank proudly with you-not in shame, But in its ancient glory; The memory of its parting gleam Will never fade while poets dream; The echo of your dying gun Will last till man his race has run, Then live in Angel Story. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. Fair as the garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famish'd rebel horde, Over the mountains winding down, Forty flags with their silver stars, Flapp'd in the morning wind: the sun Of noon look'd down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bow'd with her fourscore years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men haul'd 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'd 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 shiver'd the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff She lean'd far out on the window-sill, A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, The nobler nature within him stirr'd All day long that free flag tost 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 Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, And ever the stars above look down JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. SHERIDAN'S RIDE. But there is a road from Winchester town, A steed as black as the steeds of night Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south, The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth, Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; Every nerve of the charger was strain'd to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. Under his spurning feet, the road Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. With Sheridan only five miles away. Up from the south, at break of day, groups The terrible grumble, and rumble, and Of stragglers, and then the retreating roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war Thunder'd along the horizon's bar; And louder yet into Winchester roll'd The roar of that red sea uncontroll'd, Making the blood of the listener cold, troops; What was done? what to do? a glance told him both. Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, He dash'd down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat check'd its course there, because As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, The sight of the master compell'd it to With foam and with dust the black charger Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY. COME, stack arms, men; pile on the rails; Stir up the camp-fire bright! No growling if the canteen fails: We'll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah brawls along, There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, To swell the Brigade's rousing song Of Stonewall Jackson's Way. We see him now-the queer slouched hat, Cocked o'er his eye askew; The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat, So calm, so blunt, so true. The "Blue Light Elder" knows 'em well: Says he, "That's Banks; he's fond of shell. Lord save his soul! we'll give him-;" Well! That's Stonewall Jackson's Way. Ah, Maiden! wait, and watch, and yearn, For news of Stonewall's band. Ah, Widow! read, with eyes that burn, That ring upon thy hand. JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER. was still there; A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph. doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ? stand And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave Now it catches the gleam of the morning's O'er the land of the free, and the home of first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner; oh, long may it wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! the brave. FRANCIS SCOTT KEY. THE AMERICAN FLAG. WHEN Freedom from her mountain-height And where are the foes who so vauntingly She mingled with its gorgeous dyes swore The milky baldric of the skies, That the havoc of war and the battle's And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light: confusica 353 |