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merits of Mr. Randall's fine poem. From his editcrial desk in Augusta, Georgia, he has seni a corrected version of My Maryland,with these interesting particulars of its history :' In 1860-61 he who pens these lines was, though very young, a professor at Poydras College, upon the Fausse Riviere of Louisiana. There, a stripling, just from college in Maryland, full of poetry and romance, he dreamed dreams, and was only awakened by the guns of Sumter. At an old wooden desk, in a second-story room of Poydras College, one sleepless April night in 1861, the poem of 'My Maryland' was written. And now the desk is ashes, and the building too !The poem first appeared in the New Orleans Delta.]

THE despot's heel is on thy shore,

Maryland !
His torch is at thy temple door,

Maryland !
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle queen of yore,

Maryland, my Maryland !

Hark to an exiled son's appeal,

Maryland !
My Mother State, to thee I kneel,

Maryland !
For life or death, for woe or weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,

Maryland, my Maryland !

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,

Maryland !
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,

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,

Come with thy panoplied array,

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

Maryland, my Maryland !
Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain,

Virginia should not call in vain,

Maryland !
She meets her sisters on the plain,
Sic semper ! 'tis the proud refrain
That baffles minions back amain,

Arise in majesty again,

Maryland, my Maryland ! Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,

Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,

Come to thine own heroic throng
Stalking with Liberty along,
And chant thy dauntless slogan-song,

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

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, 1861.]
Is the groaning earth stabbed to its core?

Are the seas oozing blood in their bed ?
Have all troubles of ages before
Grown quick in those homes of the dead?

The red plagues of yore-
Must they to our season be wed?
We thought the volcano of War

Would belch out its flames in the East;
We knew where the winds were ajar
With the quarrel of soldier and priest;

We shuddered—though far-
To think how the vultures might feast.
We said, “We have Liberty's smile :

Go to ! we are safe in the West !"

But the plague-spot was on us the while,
And the serpent was warm in our breast :

We can no more revile-
The ox is for sacrifice dressed.
Do ye hear, O ye Dead, in your tombs-

Ye Dead, whose bold blows made us free--
Do ye hear the réveille of drums ?
Can ye say what the issue shall be?

Past the midnight that comes,
Is the noon rising up from the sea ?
Who whispered ? Is life underneath

Astir in the dust of the brave?
For there steals to my ear such a breath
As can only steal out of the grave :

“Ye must go down to death : Ye have drunk of the blood of the slave." We have sinned, we have sinned, O ye Dead !

Our fields with the out-crying blood öf Abel, our brother, are fed : Must we therefore be drowned in the flood ?

Waits no Ararat's head? Is no ark guided there by our God ? * Ye must go down to death : have


heard The tale of the writings of yoreHow One in the sepulchre stirred, And cast off the grave-clothes he wore?

In the flesh dwelt the Word Inheriting life evermore. “When the foes of the nation have pressed

To its lips the sponge reeking in gall;
When the spear has gone into its breast,
And the skies have been rent by its call ;

It shall rise from its rest :
It shall rise and shall rule over all."



BORN free, thus we resolve to live :

By Heaven, we will be free! By all the stars which burn on highBy the green earth—the mighty seaBy God's unshaken majesty, We will be free or die ! Then let the drums all roll! Let all the trumpets blow !

Mind, heart, and soul,

We spurn control
Attempted by a foe!

Born free, thus we resolve to live:

By Heaven, we will be free! And, vainly now the Northmen try To beat us down-in arms we stand To strike for this our native land ! We will be free or die !

Then let the drums all roll!

Born free, we thus resolve to live:

By Heaven, we will be free! Our wives and children look on high, Pray God to smile upon the right ! And bid us in the deadly fight As freemen live or die !

Then let the drums all roll !

Born free, thus we resolve to live:

By Heaven, we will be free! And ere we cease this battle-cry, Be all our blood, our kindred's spilt, On bayonet or sabre hilt! We will be free or die !

Then let the drums all roll !

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