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Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn’d in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wonderd:
Plung'd in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,

Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not-
Not the six hundred.

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When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!

All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

A. Tennyson. BARBARA FRITCHIE,

189

BARBARA FRITCHIE.

(AMERICAN CIVIL WAR; 1861--5.) Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear from 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 a 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 silver bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Fritchie 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;

190

BARBARA FRITCHIE.

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 grey 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 noble nature within him stirred
To life, at that woman's deed and word.

“Who touches a hair of yon grey head,
Dies like a dog. March on!” he said.
All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet;

All day long the 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 Fritchie's work is o’er,
And the rebel rides on his raid no more.

Honour to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier!

WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME.

191

Over Barbara Fritchie'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!

7. Greenleaf Whittier.

WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME.

(AMERICAN CIVIL WAR; 1861–5.)
THERE's a happy time coming,

When the boys come home.
There's a glorious day coming,

When the boys come home.
We will end the dreadful story
Of this treason dark and gory
In a sunburst of glory,

When the boys come home.

The day will seem brighter

When the boys come home,
For our hearts will be lighter

When the boys come home.
Wives and sweethearts will press them
In their arms, and caress them,
And pray God to bless them

When the boys come home.

The thinned ranks will be proudest,

When the boys come home;
And their cheer will ring the loudest

When the boys come home.

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