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!

J. G. Whittier.

CCCx.x.xIII.

PRO PATRIA.

INSCRIBED TO THE SECOND NEW HAMPSHIRE REGIMENT.

The grand old earth shakes at the tread of the Nors.e.m.e.n, Who meet, as of old, in defence of the true; All hail to the stars that are set in their banner!

All hail to the red, and the white, and the blue!

As each column wheels by, Hear their hearts' battle-cry,-- It was Warren's,--'Tis sweet for our country to die!

Lancaster and Coos, Laconia and Concord, Old Portsmouth and Keene, send their stalwart young men; They come from the plough, and the loom, and the anvil, From the marge of the sea, from the hill-top and glen.

As each column wheels by, Hear their hearts' battle-cry,-- It was Warren's,--'Tis sweet for our country to die!

The prayers of fair women, like legions of angels, Watch over our soldiers by day and by night; And the King of all glory, the Chief of all armies, Shall love them and lead them who dare to do right!

As each column wheels by, Hear their hearts' battle-cry,-- 'T was Warren's,--'Tis sweet for our country to die!

T. B. Aldrich.

CCx.x.xIV.

THE CALVARY CHARGE.

With bray of the trumpet And roll of the drum, And keen ring of bugle, The cavalry come.

Sharp clank the steel scabbards, The bridle-chains ring, And foam from red nostrils The wild chargers fling.

Tramp! tramp! o'er the greensward That quivers below, Scarce held by the curb-bit The fierce horses go!

And the grim-visaged colonel, With ear-rending shout, Peals forth to the squadrons The order--"Trot out!"

One hand on the sabre, And one on the rein, The troopers move forward In line on the plain.

As rings the word "Gallop!"

The steel scabbards clank, And each rowel is pressed To a horse's hot flank: And swift is their rush As the wild torrent's flow, When it pours from the crag On the valley below.

"Charge!" thunders the leader: Like shaft from the bow Each mad horse is hurled On the wavering foe.

A thousand bright sabres Are gleaming in air; A thousand dark horses Are dashed on the square.

Resistless and reckless Of aught may betide, Like demons, not mortals, The wild troopers ride.

Cut right! and cut left!-- For the parry who needs?

The bayonets shiver Like wind-shattered reeds.

Vain--vain the red volley That bursts from the square,-- The random-shot bullets Are wasted in air.

Triumphant, remorseless, Unerring as death,-- No sabre that's stainless Returns to its sheath.

The wounds that are dealt By that murderous steel Will never yield case For the surgeon to heal.

Hurrah! they are broken-- Hurrah! boys, they fly-- None linger save those Who but linger to die.

Rein up your hot horses And call in your men,-- The trumpet sounds "Rally To color" again.

Some saddles are empty, Some comrades are slain, And some n.o.ble horses Like stark on the plain, But war's a chance game, boys, And weeping is vain.

F. A. Durivage.

CCCx.x.xV.

THE c.u.mBERLAND.

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, On board of the c.u.mberland sloop-of-war; And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past, Or a bugle-blast From the camp on the sh.o.r.e.

Then far away to the South uprose A little feather of snow-white smoke, And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs, Silent and sullen, the floating fort; Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death, With fiery breath, From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight Defiance back in a full broadside!

As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, Rebounds our heavier hail From each iron scale Of the monster's hide.

"Strike your flag!" the Rebel cries, In his arrogant old plantation strain.

"Never!" our gallant Morris replies; "It is better to sink than to yield!"

And the whole air pealed With the cheers of our men.

Then, like a kraken huge and black, She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!

Down went the c.u.mberland all a wrack, With a sudden shudder of death, And the cannon's breath For her dying gasp.

Next morn as the sun rose over the bay, Still floated our flag at the main mast-head, Lord, how beautiful was Thy day!

Every waft of the air Was a whisper of prayer, Or a dirge for the dead.

Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas!

Ye are at peace in the troubled stream.

Ho! brave land! with hearts like these, Thy flag, that is rent in twain, Shall be one again, And without a seam!

H. W. Longfellow.

CCCx.x.xVI.

UNITED STATES NATIONAL ANTHEM.

G.o.d of the Free! upon Thy breath Our Flag is for the Right unrolled, As broad and brave as when its stars First lit the hallowed time of old.