| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 737. My Maryland |
| | | By James Ryder Randall |
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| THE DESPOT’S heel is on thy shore, | |
| Maryland! | |
| His torch is at thy temple door, | |
| Maryland! | |
| Avenge the patriotic gore | 5 |
| That flecked the streets of Baltimore, | |
| And be the battle-queen of yore, | |
| Maryland, my Maryland! | |
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| Hark to an exiled son’s appeal, | |
| Maryland! | 10 |
| My Mother State, to thee I kneel, | |
| Maryland! | |
| For life and death, for woe and weal, | |
| Thy peerless chivalry reveal, | |
| And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, | 15 |
| Maryland, my Maryland! | |
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| Thou wilt not cower in the dust, | |
| Maryland! | |
| Thy beaming sword shall never rust, | |
| Maryland! | 20 |
| Remember Carroll’s sacred trust, | |
| Remember Howard’s warlike thrust, | |
| And all thy slumberers with the just, | |
| Maryland, my Maryland! | |
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| Come! ’t is the red dawn of the day, | 25 |
| Maryland! | |
| Come with thy panoplied array, | |
| Maryland! | |
| With Ringgold’s spirit for the fray, | |
| With Watson’s blood at Monterey, | 30 |
| With fearless Lowe and dashing May, | |
| Maryland, my Maryland! | |
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| Dear Mother, burst the tyrant’s chain, | |
| Maryland! | |
| Virginia should not call in vain, | 35 |
| Maryland! | |
| She meets her sisters on the plain,— | |
| “Sic semper!” ’t is the proud refrain | |
| That baffles minions back amain, | |
| Maryland! | 40 |
| Arise in majesty again, | |
| Maryland, my Maryland! | |
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| Come! for thy shield is bright and strong, | |
| Maryland! | |
| Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, | 45 |
| Maryland! | |
| Come to thine own heroic throng | |
| Stalking with Liberty along, | |
| And chant thy dauntless slogan-song, | |
| Maryland, my Maryland! | 50 |
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| I see the blush upon thy cheek, | |
| Maryland! | |
| For thou wast ever bravely meek, | |
| Maryland! | |
| But lo! there surges forth a shriek, | 55 |
| From hill to hill, from creek to creek, | |
| Potomac calls to Chesapeake, | |
| Maryland, my Maryland! | |
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| Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, | |
| Maryland! | 60 |
| 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, | 65 |
| Maryland, my Maryland! | |
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| I hear the distant thunder hum, | |
| Maryland! | |
| The Old Line’s bugle, fife, and drum, | |
| Maryland! | 70 |
| 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! | |
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