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John Greenleaf WhittierA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
“Barbara Frietchie” is a narrative poem, or ballad, written by 19th-century American poet John Greenleaf Whittier. It was published in the Atlantic Monthly in October 1863. Whittier was a renowned poet in his day and this patriotic poem, written during the Civil War, quickly became popular and was reprinted many times in the North. It was even set to music as a song. The poem is set in Frederick, Maryland, on the day in September 1862 when Confederate troops entered the town. It is based on what Whittier believed was a real incident that took place that day, although to this day it has proved impossible to verify the details. Whittier was a lifelong advocate for the abolition of slavery, and “Barbara Frietchie” reflects his enthusiastic belief in the Union cause.
Poet Biography
John Greenleaf Whittier was born on December 17, 1807, near Haverhill, Massachusetts. He came from a family of farmers and Quakers. He had little formal education early in his life but read poetry, especially the Scottish poet Robert Burns. His first poem was published in 1826 in a local newspaper. The following year, Whittier attended Haverhill Academy for two terms. By this time, he was a committed abolitionist.
His father died in 1830, and in 1836, along with his mother and sisters, Whittier moved to Amesbury, Massachusetts, where he bought the house he would live in for the rest of his life. He became a newspaper editor and was elected for a term to the Massachusetts legislature in 1835. In 1839, he helped to found the Liberty party, which was antislavery. He had already published the abolitionist manifesto, “Justice and Expediency” in 1833. His antislavery position, as well as the fact that he was a Quaker, made him unpopular, and in 1835 he was attacked by a mob. Later, in 1838, his office was attacked by a crowd and his papers were burned.
Whittier wrote Legends of New England (1831), which included stories in prose and poetry. Lays of My Home (1843) was his first book of poetry. He became renowned as a chronicler of American rural life, best known for Snow-Bound (1866), which brought him financial security, and the “Prelude” to Among the Hills (1868). In 1857, he founded the Atlantic Monthly, in which he published many of his own poems and prose pieces, including “Barbara Frietchie.” By the last quarter-century of his life, Whittier was recognized as an outstanding American poet, on par with some of the great names of the period, such as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, William Cullen Bryant, and James Russell Lowell. He died on September 7, 1892, at the age of 85.
Poem Text
Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple- and peach-tree fruited deep,
Fair as a garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,—
Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.
“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 gray 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 gray 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 tost
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 Frietchie’s work is o’er,
And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.
Honor 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!
Whittier, John Greenleaf. “Barbara Frietchie.” 1863. Poetry Foundation.
Summary
This narrative poem or ballad consists of 30 rhyming couplets. It is set in the town of Frederick, Maryland, on a September day in 1862 during the Civil War. A Confederate army is marching into the town. The men of the town hastily take down the forty Union flags that were flying. However, a 90-year-old woman named Barbara Frietchie takes one of the flags and displays it from her attic window to show her loyalty to the Union. The rebel troops arrive, led by Stonewall Jackson. He orders them to shoot at the flag. The torn flag falls from the broken staff, but Barbara snatches it up and waves it herself and utters some defiant words. Jackson is moved by her actions and issues instructions to his men that if anyone harms her he will be shot. The rebels march through Frederick all day until sunset as the Union flag waves above them. Barbara Frietchie’s work is done, and the speaker praises and honors her. He directly addresses the flag, telling it to fly over her grave. The flag will always be a symbol of peace and law, he says, and the stars will always look down upon it from above.
By John Greenleaf Whittier