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Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the blade, the shot, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,

Maryland! My Maryland !

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,

Maryland! Thy beaining sword shall never rust,

Maryland! Remember Carroll's sacred trust; Remember Howard's warlike thrust; And all thy slumberers with the just,

Maryland! My Maryland ! Come!'tis the red dawn of the day,

Maryland !
Come! with thy panoplied array,

With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood, at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe, and dashing

Maryland! My Maryland !

I hear the distant thunder hum,

Maryland! The old Line's bugle, fife and drum,

Maryland! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb: Huzza! she spurns the Northern

scum! She breathes she burns! she'll

come! she'll come! Maryland! My Maryland!


April 26, 1861.


TIIe tent-lights glimmer on the land,

The ship-lights on the sea;
The night-wind smooths with drift-

ing sand
Our track on lone Tybee.

At last our grating keels outslide,

Our good boats forward swing; And while we ride the land-locked

tide, Our negroes row and sing.

For dear the bondman holds his gifts

Of music and of song:
The gold that kindly Nature sifts

Among his sands of wrong;

Come! for thy shield is bright and


Maryland ! Come! for thy dalliance does thee


Maryland! Come! to thine own heroic throng, That stalks with Liberty along, And give a new key to thy song, *

Maryland! My Maryland ! Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's


Virginia should not call in vain,

She meets her sisters on the plain:
"* Sic semper'tis the proud refrain,
That ballles minions back amain,

Maryland !
Arise in majesty again,

Maryland! My Maryland !
I see the blush upon thy cheek,

But thou wast ever bravely meek,

Maryland !
But lo! there surges forth a shriek
From hill to hill, from creek to creek:
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,

Maryland! My Maryland! Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,

Maryland ! Thou wilt not crook to his control,

Maryland! * The Star-Spangled Banner was written during the war of 1812 by Francis Key of Maryland.

The power to make his toiling days

And poor home-comforts please; The quaint relief of mirth that plays

Withi sorrow's minor keys.

Another glow than sunset's fire

Has filled the West with light, Where field and garner, barn, and byre

Are blazing through the night. The land is wild with fear and late,

The rout runs mad and fast;
From liand to hand, from gate to

The flaming brand is passed.

The lurid glow falls strong across

Dark faces broad with smiles: Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss

That fire yon blazing piles.

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Better the fairest flower of all our

culture Should cram the black maw of the

Southern vulture, Than Cain act o'er the murder of his

brother Unum on our side - pluribus on the

other! Each of us owes the rest his best

endeavor; Take these few lines, we call them

What says


Listen, young heroes! your country

is calling! Time strikes the hour for the brave

and the true! Now, while the foremost are fighting

and falling, Fill up the ranks that have opened

for you!


Old books from yonder shelves are

whispering, “ Peace! This is the realm of letters, not of

strife." Old graves in yonder field are say

ing, “ Cease! Hic jacet ends the noisiest mortal's

life." - Shut your old books!

the telegraplı? We want an Extra, not an epitaph. Old Classmates, (Time's unconscious

almanacs, Counting the years we leave behind

our back, And wearing them in wrinkles on

the brow Of friendship with his kind “How

are yoll now?'') Take us by the hand, and speak of

tiines that were. Then comes moment's pause:

* Prav tell me where Your boy is now! Wounded, as I

am told. 6. Twenty??? “ What - bless me!

twenty-one years old!” “Yes, - time moves fast.” “ That's SO,

Old classmate, say, Do you remember our Commence

ment Day? Were we such boys as these at

twenty?” Nav, God called them to a nobler task

that ouu's, And gave them holier thoughts and

manlier powers, This is the day of fruits and not of

flowers! These “boys we talk about like

ancient safes Are the sane men we read of in old

pares, The bronze recast of dead heroic

ages! We grudge them not, our dearest,

bravest, best, Let but the quarrel's issue stand

confest: 'Tis Earth's old slave-God battling

for his crown, And Freedom fighting with her visor


You whom the fathers made free

and defended, Stain not the scroll that emblazons

their fame! You whose fair heritage spotless de

scended, Leave not your children a birth

right of shame!

Stay not for questions while Freedom

stands gasping! Wait not till Honor lies wrapped

in his pall! Brief the lips' meeting be, swift the

bands' clasping. “Off for the wars” is enough for

them all!

Break from the arms that would

fonally caress you! Hark! 'tis the bugle blast! sabres

are drawn! Mothers shall pray for you, fathers

shall bless you, Maidens shall weep for you when

you are gone!

Better the jagged shells their fesh

should mangle, Better their bones from Rahab-necks

should dangle,

Never or now! cries the blood of a

nation Poured on the turf where the red

rose should bloom; Now is the day and the hour of sal

vation; Never or now! peals the trumpet

of doom!

Never or now! roars the hoarse

throated cannon Through the black canopy blotting

the skies; Never or now! flaps the shell-blasted

pemnon O'er the deep ooze where the Cum

berland lies!

Each torn flag wavin' chellenge ez it

went, An' each dumb gun a brave man's

moniment, Than seek sech peace ez only cowards

crave: Give me the peace of dead men or of



From the foul dens where our

brothers are dying, Aliens and foes in the land of their

birth, From the rank swamps where our

martyrs are lying Pleading in vain for a handful of


From the hot plains where they

perish outnumbered, Furrowed and ridged by the bat

tle-field's plough. Comes the loud summons; too long

you have slumbered, Hear the last Angel-trump- Never or Now!




I say, ole boy, it ain't the Glorious

Fourth: You'd oughto larned 'fore this wut

talk wuz worth. It ain't our nose thet gits put out o

jint; It's England thet gives up her dear

est pint. We've gut, I tell ye now, enough to

du In our own fem ly fight, afore we're

thru. I hoped, las' spring, jest arter Sum

ter's shame, When every ilagstaff flapped its

tethered lame, An'all the people, startled from their

doubt, Come must'rin' to the flag with sech

a shout, I hope to see things settled 'fore

this fall, The Rebbles licked, Jeff Davis

hanged, an' all; Then come Bull Ru, an' sence then

I've ben waitin? Like boys in Jemnooary thaw for

shatin', Nothin' to du but watch my shad

der's trace Swing, like a ship at anchor, roun'

my base, With daylight's flood an' ebb: it's

gitting slow, An' I'most think we'd better let 'ein

go. I tell ye wut, this war's agoin to


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An' I tell you it wun't be money

Jost; We wun't give up afore the ship goes

down: It's a stiff gale, but Providence wun't


less ooze,

I put some thoughts thet bothered

me in rhyme: I hain't hed time to fairly try'em on, But here they be - it's –


An' God wun't leave us yit to sink

or swim, Ef we don't fail to du wut's right by

him. This land o' ourn, I tell ye, 's gut to

be A better country than man ever

see. I feel any sperit swellin' with a cry Thet seems to say, “Break forth an'

prophesy! O strange New World, thet yit wast

never young, Whose youth from thee by gripin'

need was wrung, Brown foundlin' o'the woods, whose

baby-bed Was prowled roun' by the Injuns'

cracklin' tread, An' who grew'st strong thru shifts

an' wants an' pains, Nussel by stern men with empires

in their brains, Who saw in vision their young Ish

mel strain With each hard hand a vassal ocean's

It don't seem hardly right, John,

When both my hands was full, To stump me to a tight, John, Your cousin, tu, John Bull!

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess
We know it now," sez he,
“ The lion's paw is all the law,
Accordin' to J. B.,
Thet's fit for you an’ me!”

Blood ain't so cool as ink, John;

It's likely you'd ha' wrote, An' stopped a spell to think, Jolin, Arter they'd cut your throat?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
He'd skurce ha' stopped,”sez he,
“ To mind his p's an' q's ef thet

He'd b’longed to ole J. B.,
Instid o' you an' me!”


Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,

On your front-parlor stairs,
Would it jest meet your views, Jolin,
To wait an' sue their heirs ?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,
I on'y guess,'' sez he,
“ Thet, ef Vattell on his toes

'Twould kind o rile J. B.,
Ez wal ez you and me!”

Thou, skilled by Freedom an' by gret

events To pitch new States ez Old-World

men pitch tents, Thou, taught by Fate to know Jeho

vah's plan, Thet man's devices can't unmake a

mani, An' whose free latch-string never

was drawed in Against the poorest chill of Adam's

kin, The grave's not dug where traitor

hands shall lay In fearful haste thy murdered corse

away! I see — Jest here some dogs begun to

bark, So thet I lost old Concord's last re

mark: I listened long; but all I seemed to

hear Was dead leaves goss'pin' on some

birch-trees near; But ez they hedn't no gret things to

say, An' sed 'em often, I come right

away, An', walkin' home'ards, jest to pass

the time,

Who made the law thet hurts, John,

Ileads I win-iitto, tails?
"J. B.was on his shirts, John,
Onless my memory fails.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,
(I'm good at thet,”') sez he,
• Thet sauce for goose ain't jest

the juice
For ganders with J. B.,
No more than you or me!"

When your rights was our wrong,

You didn't stop for fuss,
Britanny's trident-prongs, John,
Was good 'nough law for us.

Ole Uncle S. sez le, "I guess,
Though physic's good,” sez lie,

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