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“Shoot, if you must, this old gray 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 stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word :

“Who touches a hair of yon gray 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 tost
Over the heads of the rebel host.

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

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THE BATTLE OF IVRY. Thomas Babington Macaulay. “Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was opposed by a large part of his subjects, under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance of Spain and Savoy. In March, 1590, he gained a decisive victory over that party at Ivry. Before the battle, he addressed his troops, ‘My children, if you lose sight of your colors, rally to my white plume - you will always find it in the path to honor and glory. His conduct was answerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his impetuous valor, and the leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying, 'Save the Frenc!!' and his clemency added a number of the enemies to his army.”

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre !

Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny rines, oh pleasant land

of France! And thou Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war; Hurrah! Hurrah! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre!

Oh! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears ! There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand; And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine’s empurpled flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name and Henry of Navarre.

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest: He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, in deafening shout, “God save our lord, the

King!” “And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may – For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody frayPress where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre,

Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath arned his

rein, D'Aumale hath cried for quarter

The Flemish Count is slain; Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail; And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, “Remember St. Bartholomew !” was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry then, — “No Frenchman is my foe; Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.” Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre !

Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return; Ho! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls; Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright! Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night! For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave. Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre!


Theodore T'ilton.



Toll! Roland, toll!
In old St. Bavon's Tower,
At midnight hour,
The great Bell Roland spoke,
And all who slept in Ghent awoke.
What meant the thunder-stroke?
Why trembled wife and maid ?
Why caught each man his blade?
Why echoed every street
With tramp of thronging feet -

All flying to the city's wall?
It was the warning call

* The famous Bell Roland, of Ghent, was an object of great affection to the people, because it rang to arm them when Liberty was in danger.

That Freedom stood in peril of a foe!

And timid hearts grew bold
Whenever Roland tolled,

And every hand a sword could hold,
And every arm could bend a bow!

So acted men

Like patriots then Three hundred years ago!


Toll! Roland, toll!
Bell never yet was hung,
Between whose lips there swung
So grand a tongue!

If men be patriots still,
At thy first sound,
True hearts will bound,

Great souls will thrill!
Then toll, and let thy test
Try each man's breast
Till true and false shall stand confest!


Toll! Roland, toll! Not now in old St. Bavon's tower Not now at midnight hour Not now from River Scheldt to Zuyder Zee, But here - this side the sea ! Toll here, in broad, bright day!

For not by night awaits

A foe without the gates,
But perjured friends within betray,

And do the deed at noon!

Toll! Roland, toll!

Thy sound is not too soon!
To arms! Ring out the Leader's call !

Toll! Roland, toll!
Till cottager from cottage-wall
Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun,
The heritage of sire to son
Erc half of Freedom's work was done.

Toll! Roland, toll!

Till swords from scabbards leap !

Toll! Roland, toll!
What tears can widows weep
Less bitter than when brave men fall!

Toll! Roland, toll!
In shadowed hut and hall

Shall lie the soldier's pall, And hearts shall break while graves are filled; Amen! so God hath willed !

And may his grace anoint us all!


Toll! Roland, toll! The Dragon on thy tower Stands sentry to this hour;

And Freedom so is safe in Ghent ! And merrier bells now ring,

And in the land's content
Men shout “God save the King !”
Until the skies are rent!

So let it be!
A kingly King is he
Who keeps his people free!

Toll! Roland, toll!
Ring out across the sea !
No longer They but We
Have now such need of thee!

Toll! Roland, toll!
Nor ever let thy throat
Keep dumb its warning note
Till Freedom's perils he outbraved !

Toll! Roland, toll!
Till Freedom's flag, wherever waved,
Shall shadow not a man enslaved !

Toll! Roland, toll !
From Northern lake to Southern strand !

Toll! Roland, toll!
Till friend and foe, at thy command,
Shall clasp again each other's hand,
And shout one-voiced, “God save the land ! "
And love the land that God hath saved!

Toll! Roland, toļl!

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