One summer morning a daring band
Of Rebels rode into Maryland,
Over the prosperous, peaceful farms,
Sending terror and strange alarms,
The clatter of hoofs and the clang of arms.
Fresh from the South, where the hungry pine
They ate like Pharaoh's starving kine;
They swept the land like devouring surge,
And left their path, to the farthest verge,
Bare as the track of the locust scourge.
"The Rebels are coming!" far and near
Rang the tidings of dread and fear;
Some paled and cowered and sought to hide;
Some stood erect in their fearless pride;
And women shuddered and children cried.
But others—vipers in human form
Stinging the bosom that kept them warm—
Welcomed with triumph the thievish band,
Hurried to offer the friendly hand,
As the Rebels rode into Maryland.
Made them merry with food and wine,
Clad them in garments, rich and fine,
For rags and hunger to make amends,
Flattered them, praised them with selfish ends;
"Leave us scathless, for we are friends."
Could traitors trust a traitor? No!
Little they favor friend or foe,
But gathered the cattle the farms across,
Flinging back, with a scornful toss,
"If ye are friends ye can bear the loss!"
Flushed with triumph, and wine, and prey,
They neared the dwelling of Ishmael Day,
A sturdy veteran, gray and old,
With heart of a patriot, firm and bold,
Strong and steadfast—unbribed, unsold.
And Ishmael Day, his brave head bare,
His white locks tossed by the morning air,
Fearless of danger, or death, or scars,
Went out to raise by the farm-yard bars
The dear old flag of the stripes and stars.
Proudly, steadily, up it flew,
Gorgeous with crimson, white and blue,
His withered hand as he shook it freer,
May have trembled, but not with fear,
While shouting the rebels drew more near.
"Halt!" They had seen the hated sign
Floating free from old Ishmael's line—
"Lower that rag!" was their wrathful cry;
"Never!" rung Ishmael Day's reply,
"Fire if it please you—I can but die."