Barbara Frietchie
BY
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
1807–1892
John Greenleaf Whittier
Up from the meadows rich with corn, | |
Clear in the cool September morn, |
The clustered 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 slouched 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 snatched 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 nobler 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! |