WHEN, marshalled on the nightly plain, the glittering host bestud the sky,
One star alone, of all the train, can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark!-to God the chorus breaks, from every host, from every gem ;
But one alone the Saviour speaks-it is the Star of Bethlehem!
Once on the raging ceas I rode; the storm was loud-the night was dark-
The ocean yawned--and rudely blowed the wind, that tossed my foundering bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze ;-death-struck I ceased the tide to stem,
When, suddenly, a Star arose !-it was the Star of Bethlehem!
It was my guide-my light-my all! it bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm, and danger's thrall, it led me to the port of peace.
Now, safely moored, my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
For ever, and for evermore, the Star-the Star of Bethlehem.!
"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 tossed
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 Fritchie's work is o'er,
And the rebel rides on his raids no more