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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, | 5 |
| 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; | 10 |
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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 | 15 |
| 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; | 20 |
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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 | 25 |
| 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. | 30 |
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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, | 35 |
| 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; | 40 |
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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 | 45 |
| 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. | 50 |
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| Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er, | |
| And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. | |
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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, | 55 |
| Flag of Freedom and Union, wave! | |
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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! | 60 |
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