So the Laird of Ury said, Turning slow his horse's head Towards the Tolbooth[326] prison, Where, through iron gates, he heard 100 Poor disciples of the Word Preach of Christ arisen! Not in vain, Confessor old, Unto us the tale is told Of thy day of trial; 105 Every age on him who strays From its broad and beaten ways Pours its seven-fold vial. Happy he whose inward ear, Angel comfortings can hear, 110 O'er the rabble's laughter; And while Hatred's fagots burn, Glimpses through the smoke discern Of the good hereafter. Knowing this, that never yet 115 Share of Truth was vainly set In the world's wide fallow[327]; After hands shall sow the seed, After hands from hill and mead Reap the harvests yellow. 120 Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, Must the moral pioneer From the Future borrow; Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And, on midnight's sky of rain, 125 Paint the golden morrow! BARBARA FRIETCHIE 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, 5 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; 10 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 15 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; 20 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 25 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. 30 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.