“And, by the way, one little thing more,” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, “You’re to refund the cost of the war,” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. “Lero, lero, just what I fear O, just what I fear,” Says old Uncle Sam, “Lero, lero, fillibustero, just what I fear,” Says old Uncle Sam. “Next, you must own our cavalier blood!” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, “And that your Puritans sprang from the mud!” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. “Lero, lero, that mud is clear O, that mud is clear,” Says old Uncle Sam, “Lero, lero, fillibustero, that mud is clear,” Says old Uncle Sam. “Slavery’s of course the chief corner-stone,” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, “Of our NEW CIV-IL-I-ZA-TION!” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. “Lero, lero, that’s quite sincere O, that’s quite sincere,” Says old Uncle Sam, “Lero, lero, fillibustero, that’s quite sincere,” Says old Uncle Sam. “You’ll understand, my recreant tool,” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, “You’re to submit, and we are to rule,” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. “Lero, lero, aren’t you a hero! aren’t you a hero!” Says old Uncle Sam, “Lero, lero, fillibustero, aren’t you a hero!” Says old Uncle Sam. “If to these terms you fully consent,” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam, “I’ll be perpetual King-President,” Lillibulero, old Uncle Sam. “Lero, lero, take your sombrero, off to your swamps!” Says old Uncle Sam, “Lero, lero, fillibustero, cut, double-quick!” Says old Uncle Sam. [Illustration] [Illustration] BARBARA FRIETCHIE. BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The cluster’d spires of Frederick stand Green-wall’d by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple- and peach-trees fruited deep. Fair as the garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famish’d rebel horde, On that pleasant morn of the early fall, When Lee march’d 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, Flapp’d in the morning wind: the sun Of noon look’d down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bow’d with her fourscore years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men haul’d 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 slouch’d 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 shiver’d the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.