Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,
    And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

    Honour 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!

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

PART III.

 The Day’s at the Morn

 LOCHINVAR.

“Lochinvar” and “Lord Ullin’s Daughter,” the first by Scott (1771-1832) and the second by Campbell (1777-1844), are companions in sentiment and equally popular with boys who love to win anything desirable by heroic effort.

    Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west. 
    Through all the wide Border his steed was the best,
    And save his good broadsword he weapons had none;
    He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
    So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
    There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

    He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
    He swam the Eske River where ford there was none;
    But ere he alighted at Netherby gate
    The bride had consented, the gallant came late: 
    For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war
    Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

    So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
    Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all: 
    Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword
    (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),
   “Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
    Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”

   “I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied;—­
    Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide—­
    And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
    To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
    There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
    That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”

    The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up;
    He quaffed of the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
    She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
    With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 
    He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar,—­
   “Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.

    So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
    That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
    While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
    And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
    And the bridemaidens whispered, “’Twere better by far
    To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”