Barbara Frietchie 

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 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. 

(page 1)

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