And shook it forth with a royal will.
“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 35
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; 40
“Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.
All day long through Frederick street