Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

Barbara Frietchie - Is it real or a nice story?

Expand Messages
  • 128thpa@comcast.net
    This topic comes up from time to time on various lists that I belong to. I think part of the myth has been fueled by this poem by Whittier(and of course I
    Message 1 of 57 , Jan 28, 2008
    • 0 Attachment
      This topic comes up from time to time on various lists that I belong to. I think part of the myth has been fueled by this poem by Whittier(and of course I am going to post it here to add even more fuel to the fire! <g>)
      Paula

      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.
      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 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 stirred
      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 tost
      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 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!

      [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
    • G E Mayers
      Dear Paula, Blame it on Yahell............... Yr. Obt. Svt. G E Gerry Mayers To Be A Virginian, either by birth, marriage, adoption, or even on one s
      Message 57 of 57 , Feb 5, 2008
      • 0 Attachment
        Dear Paula,

        Blame it on Yahell...............

        Yr. Obt. Svt.
        G E "Gerry" Mayers

        To Be A Virginian, either by birth, marriage, adoption, or even
        on one's mother's side, is an introduction to any state in the
        Union, a passport to any foreign country, and a benediction from
        the Almighty God. --Anonymous
        ----- Original Message -----
        From: <128thpa@...>
        To: <TalkAntietam@yahoogroups.com>
        Sent: Tuesday, February 05, 2008 4:07 PM
        Subject: Re: [TalkAntietam] Barbara Frietchie - Is it real or a
        nice story?


        Ok, where was this?? I mailed this out DAYS
        AGO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

        Just so you guys don't think I am losing this - if you recall
        when this posted originally, I stated it was a duplicate. So
        this is the original - so where has it been?

        That is a rhetorical question BTW.

        Paula

        -------------- Original message --------------
        From: 128thpa@...

        > This topic comes up from time to time on various lists that I
        > belong to. I
        > think part of the myth has been fueled by this poem by
        > Whittier(and of course I
        > am going to post it here to add even more fuel to the fire! )
        > Paula
        >
        > 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.
        > 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 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 stirred
        > 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 tost
        > 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 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!
        >
        > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
        >
        >
        >
        >
        >
        > Yahoo! Groups Links
        >
        >
        >

        [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]





        Yahoo! Groups Links
      Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.