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Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
Honor to her! and let a tear
Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Peace and order and beauty draw
And ever the stars above look down
"WO armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Of battle's recent slaughters.
The summer clouds lay pitched like tents
In meads of heavenly azure;
Slept in its high embrasure.
The breeze so softly blew, it made
No forest leaf to quiver ;
And now where circling hills looked down
With cannon grimly planted,
The golden sunset slanted.
When on the fervid air there came
A strain, now rich, now tender; The music seemed itself aflame
With day's departing splendor.
A Federal band, which eve and morn
Played measures brave and nimble, Had just struck up with flute and horn
And lively clash of cymbal.
Down flocked the soldiers to the banks;
Till, margined by its pebbles, One wooded shore was blue with “ Yanks,”
And one was gray with “Rebels.”
Then all was still; and then the band,
With movement light and tricksy, Made stream and forest, hill and strand,
Reverberate with “ Dixie.”
The conscious stream, with burnished glow,
Went proudly o’er its pebbles,
With yelling of the Rebels.
Again a pause; and then again
The trumpet pealed sonorous,
To which the shore gave chorus.
Music in Camp
The laughing ripple shoreward flew
To kiss the shining pebbles ;
Defiance to the Rebels.
And yet once more the bugle sang
Above the stormy riot;
There reigned a holy quiet.
The sad, slow stream, its noiseless flood
Poured o'er the glistening pebbles; All silent now the Yankees stood,
All silent stood the Rebels.
No unresponsive soul had hearu
That plaintive note's appealing,
The hidden founts of feeling.
Or Blue, or Gray, the soldier sees,
As by the wand of fairy,
The cabin by the prairie.
Or cold, or warm, his native skies
Bend in their beauty o'er him;
His loved ones stand before him,
As fades the iris after rain
In April's tearful weather,
And daylight died together.
But Memory, waked by Music's art,
Expressed in simple numbers, Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart,
Made light the Rebel's slumbers.
And fair the form of Music shines
That bright celestial creatureWho still 'mid War's embattled lines
Gave this one touch of Nature.