Posts Tagged ‘Stonewall Jackson’


The Southerners had Jackson
And Jeb-led cavalry,
And none who was as crafty
As gray fox Robert Lee.

The North looked for a hammer,
And Lincoln fired the soft,
Until Grant, made of metal,
Would lose, but battled oft.

The rebels had the leaders;
The Union had the men.
The war was thus attrition:
It was not which, but when.


© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.


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Who knew one fallen leaf upon the grass
Could trip, at once, a hundred thousand men? –
One white canary singing with some sass,
Betraying him who wrote it with his pen. 

To trap the Union army was Lee’s plan.
Three generals, a pitchfork with three tines,
And fat would fry in Harpers Ferry’s pan.
There was no flaw but man in Lee’s designs. 

A copy of his orders for each chief
And Stonewall Jackson made one for his kin.
A copy came; an aide would keep that sheaf –
A souvenir he lost for Union men. 

The wrapper of cigars, a paper small,
Fell to the ground; caused many men to fall.




© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.


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           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 the orchards sweep,
Apple and peach-tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a 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; 

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
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; 

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
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. 

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. 

“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 stirred
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 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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