Up the street came the rebel tread, Under his slouch'd hat left and right "Halt!"—the dust-brown ranks stood fast; "Fire!"-out blazed the rifle-blast. It shiver'd the window-pane and sash, Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, She lean'd far out on the window-sill, "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said, A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, The nobler nature within him, stirr'd "Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!" he said. All day long through Frederick street All day long that free flag toss'd Ever its torn folds rose and fell And through the hill-gaps' sunset light 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 And ever the stars above look down PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend—“ If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North Church tower, as a signa-light One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, Then he said good-night and with muffled oar Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay The Somerset, British man-of-war: A phantom ship, with each mast and spar And a huge black hulk, that was magniñed Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street And the measured tread of the grenadiers Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead Of the place and the hour, the secret dread For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, |