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Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouch'd 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 shiver'd the window-pane and sash,
It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick, as it fell from the broken staff,
Dame Barbara snatch'd the silken scarf.

She lean'd 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, stirr'd
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 toss'd
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.

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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.
JOHN G. WH.TTER.

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.

Listen, my children, and you shall hear

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive

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,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm."

Then he said good-night and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,

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
Across the moon like a prison-bar,

And a huge black hulk, that was magniñed
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager cars,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack-door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,

And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore

Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the somber rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade—
Up the light ladder, slender and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
moment on the roofs of the quiet town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is we!!!
A moment only he feels the spell

Of the place and the hour, the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent

On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay-
A line of black, that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

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