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. Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatch'd the silken scarf; She lean'd far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will. "Shoot, if you must, this old grey head, But spare your country's flag!" she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came; The nobler nature within him stirr'd To life at that woman's deed and word: "Who touches a hair of yon grey head, Dies like a dog! March on!" he said. All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet: All day long that free flag toss'd Over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that lov'd 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! LXXVII. CONTENTMENT. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.--1809- _"Man wants but little here below."_ Little I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone, (A _very plain_ brown stone will do,) That I may call my own;-- And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten;-- If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen! I always thought cold victual nice;-- My _choice_ would be vanilla-ice. I care not much for gold or land;-- Give me a mortgage here and there,-- Some good bank-stock,--some note of hand, Or trifling railroad share,-- I only ask that Fortune send A _little_ more than I shall spend. Honors are silly toys, I know, And titles are but empty names; I would, _perhaps_, be Plenipo,-- But only near St. James; I'm very sure I should not care To fill our Gubernator's chair.