The foe himself recoiled aghast,
When, striking where he strongest lay, We swooped his flanking batteries past, And braving full their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Monterey. 20
Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play; Where orange-boughs above their grave, Keep green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey.
We are not many, we who pressed Beside the brave who fell that day; But who of us has not confessed He'd rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterey?
DARK as the clouds of even, Ranked in the western heaven, Waiting the breath that lifts All the dead mass, and drifts Tempest and falling brand Over a ruined land;-
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee, Waiting the great event, Stands the black regiment.
Down the long dusky line Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; And the bright bayonet,
Bristling and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand, Long ere the sharp command Of the fierce rolling drum Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent For the black regiment.
"Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
́Though death and hell betide,
Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be
Free in this land; or bound Down, like the whining hound- Bound with red stripes of pain In our cold chains again!" Oh! what a shout there went From the black regiment!
"Charge!" Trump and drum awoke,
Onward the bondmen broke;
Bayonet and sabre-stroke
Vainly opposed their rush,
Through the wild battle's crush, With but one thought aflush, Driving their lords like chaff, In the guns' mouths they laugh; Or at the slippery brands Leaping with open hands, Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course; Trampling with bloody heel Over the crashing steel, All their eyes forward bent, Rushed the black regiment.
"Freedom!" their battle-cry,— "Freedom! or leave to die!"
Ah! and they meant the word, Not as with us 't is heard, Not a mere party shout: They gave their spirits out; Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod
Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death. Praying-alas! in vain!- That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty!
This was what "freedom" lent To the black regiment.
Hundreds on hundreds fell; But they are resting well; Scourges and shackles strong Never shall do them wrong. Oh, to the living few, Soldiers, be just and true! Hail them as comrades tried; Fight with them side by side; Never, in field or tent,
Scorn the black regiment!
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,
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; 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 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.
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