To bust up friend J. B., Why talk so dreffle big, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess He's like the rest," sez he: "When all is done it's number one We give the critters back, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Ez wal ez you an' me!" We ain't so weak an' poor, John, With twenty million people, An' close to every door, John, A school-house an' a steeple. Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess It is a fact," sez he, Is, Think him so, J. B., Our folks believe in Law, John; They've left the axe an' saw, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, Ef 't warn't for law," sez he, "There'd be one shindy from here to Indy; An' thet don't suit J. B. (When 't ain't 'twixt you an' me!)" We know we've got a cause, John, We thought 't would win applause, John, Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess Ez wal ez you an' me!" The South says, "Poor folks down!" John, An' All men up! say we, White, yaller, black, an' brown, John: guess, Now which is your idee? Shall it be love, or hate, John? Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John, Like all the world's beside? Ole Uncle S., sez he, "I guess But not forget; an' some time yet Thet truth may strike J. B., God means to make this land, John, Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. BARBARA FRIETCHIE. Up from the meadows rich with corn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Round about them orchards sweep, Fair as the garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, On that pleasant morn of the early fall Over the mountains winding down, Forty flags with their silver stars, Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Up rose Barbara Frietchie then, Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic window the staff she set, Up the street came the rebel tread, Under his slouched hat left and right "Halt!" "Fire! The dust-brown ranks stood fast. It shivered the window, pane and sash; Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. She leaned 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 stirred 64 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 tost 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, Peace and order and beauty draw And ever the stars above look down |