In her attic-window the staff she set, Up the street came the rebel tread, Under his slouched hat left and right "Halt!"—the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire!"-out blazed the rifle-blast. It shivered the window, pane and sash; Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff She leaned far out on the window-sill, "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, The nobler nature within him stirred "Who touches a hair of yon gray head All day long through Frederick street All day long that free flag tost Ever its torn folds rose and fell And through the hill-gaps sunset light Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave Peace and order and beauty draw And ever the stars above look down HOME BALLADS. COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION.43 THE beaver cut his timber The minks were fish-wards, and the crows When Keezar sat on the hill-side With a pan of coals on either hand And there, in the golden weather, Well knew the tough old Teuton The songs they still are singing Woodsy and wild and lonesome, |