The Ballad of Ishmael Day
By Elizabeth Akers Allen (1832-1911)
Published Feb 1865, Harpers Magazine
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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.
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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
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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.
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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 it farthest verge,
   Bare as the track of the locust-scourge.
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Proudly, steadily, up it flew,
Gorgeous with crimson, and 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.
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"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.
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"Halt!" They had seen the hated sign
Floating free from old Ishmael's line
   "Lower that rag!" was this wrathful cry.
   "Never!" rung Ishmael Day's reply;
   "Fire, if it please you - I can but die!" |
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,
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One, with a load defiant laugh,
Left his comrades, and neared the staff.
   "Down!" - came the fearless patriot's cry
   "Dare to lower that flag, and die!
   One must bleed for it - you or I!" |
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!"
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But caring not for the stern command,
He drew the halliards with daring hand;
   Ping! went the rifle-ball - down he came
   Under the flag he had tried to shame
   Old Ishmael Day took careful aim! |
Could traitors trust a traitor! No!
Little they favored friend or foe,
   But gathered the cattle the farms across,
   Flinging back, with scornful toss
   "If ye are friends, ye can bear the loss!"
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Seventy winters and three had shed
Their snowy glories on Ishmael's head;
   But though cheeks may wither, and locks grow gray,
   His fame shall be fresh, and young alway
   Honor be to old Ishmael Day! |
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