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 a 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 |