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Better the fire upon thee roll,
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,
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!
JAMES R. RANDALL. POINTE COUPÉE,
April 26, 1861.
AT PORT ROYAL.
TIIe tent-lights glimmer on the land,
The ship-lights on the sea;
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:
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
Maryland! My Maryland !
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;
The lurid glow falls strong across
Dark faces broad with smiles: Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss
That fire yon blazing piles.
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
NOW OR NEVER.
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
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
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
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
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
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!
O. W. IIOLMES.
MASON AND SLIDELL: A YAN
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
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
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 –
JONATHAN TO JOHN.
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
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
Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
On your front-parlor stairs,
Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,
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
Who made the law thet hurts, John,
Ileads I win-iitto, tails?
Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,
When your rights was our wrong,
Ole Uncle S. sez le, "I guess,