Barbara Frietchie





This poem was written in strict conformity to the account of the

incident as I had it from respectable and trustworthy sources. It has

since been the subject of a good deal of conflicting testimony, and the

story was probably incorrect in some of its details. It is admitted by

all that Barbara Frietchie was no myth, but a worthy and highly esteemed

gentlewoman, intensely loyal and a hater of the Slavery Rebellion,

holding her Union flag sacred and keeping it with her Bible; that when

the Confederates halted before her house, and entered her dooryard, she

denounced them in vigorous language, shook her cane in their faces, and

drove them out; and when General Burnside's troops followed close upon

Jackson's, she waved her flag and cheered them. It is stated that May

Qnantrell, a brave and loyal lady in another part of the city, did wave

her flag in sight of the Confederates. It is possible that there has

been a blending of the two incidents.



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 the 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!

1863.





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