To life, at that woman’s deed and word.
“Who touches a hair on 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 the 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