Barbara Frietchie E-book

                                      1863 

                               BARBARA FRIETCHIE

                           by John Greenleaf Whittier








Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)



                     BARBARA FRIETCHIE
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              Up from the meadows rich with corn,
              Clear in the cool September morn,
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              The clustered spires of Frederick stand
              Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
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              Round about them orchards sweep,
              Apple and peach tree fruited deep,
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              Fair as the garden of the Lord
              To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
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              On that pleasant morn of the early fall
              When Lee marched over the mountain-wall;
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              Over the mountains winding down,
              Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
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              Forty flags with their silver stars,
              Forty flags with their crimson bars,
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              Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
              Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
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              Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
              Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
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              Bravest of all in Frederick town,
              She took up the flag the men hauled down,
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              In her attic window the staff she set,
              To show that one heart was loyal yet.
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              Up the street came the rebel tread,
              Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
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              Under his slouched hat left and right
              He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
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              "Halt!"- the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
              "Fire!"- out blazed the rifle-blast.
                                                                  
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              It shivered the window, pane and sash;
              It rent the banner with seam and gash.
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              Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
              Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.
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              She leaned far out on the window-sill,
              And shook it forth with a royal will.
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              "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
              But spare your country's flag," she said.
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              A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
              Over the face of the leader came;
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              The nobler nature within him stirred
              To life at that woman's deed and word;
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              "Who touches a hair of yon gray head
                                                                  
              Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.
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              All day long through Frederick street
              Sounded the tread of marching feet:
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              All day long that free flag tost
              Over the heads of the rebel host.
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              Ever its torn folds rose and fell
              On the loyal winds that loved it well;
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              And through the hill-gaps sunset light
              Shone over it with a warm good-night.
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              Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
              And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.
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              Peace and order and beauty draw
              Round thy symbol of light and law;
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              And ever the stars above look down
              On thy stars below in Frederick town!
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              Honor to her! and let a tear
              Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
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              Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
              Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!
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                               THE END