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,         
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,   
   
Fair as a garden of the Lord   
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,   

to be continued . . .