Part 18 (1/2)

Quick as it fell from the broken staff, Dame Barbara s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 n.o.bler 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 tossed 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 at Frederick town!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

A st.u.r.dy cow-boy I would be And chase this buffalo out in the West.

An Indian pony I know I could ride, And ”round up” with all the rest.

SHERIDAN'S RIDE.

(Used by special arrangement with J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, publisher of Mr. Read's Poems.)

Up from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away.

And wilder still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar, And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, And Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down; And there through the flash of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pa.s.s as with eagle's flight-- As if he knew the terrible need, He stretched away with the utmost speed; Hills rose and fell--but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Still sprung from these swift hoofs, thundering South, The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,

Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster; The heart of the steed and the heart of the master, Were beating like prisoners a.s.saulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away.