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[1861]
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! | |
| |
| Hark to thy wandering 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! | |
| |
| 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, My Maryland! | 40 |
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| Come, for thy shield is bright and strong, | |
| Maryland! | |
| Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong, | |
| Maryland! | |
| Come to thine own heroic throng, | 45 |
| That stalks with liberty along, | |
| And give a new key to thy song, | |
| Maryland, My Maryland! | |
| |
| I see the blush upon thy cheek, | |
| Maryland! | 50 |
| 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, | 55 |
| Maryland, My Maryland! | |
| |
| Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, | |
| Maryland! | |
| Thou wilt not crook to his control, | |
| Maryland! | 60 |
| 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, | 65 |
| Maryland! | |
| The Old Line’s bugle, fife, and drum, | |
| Maryland! | |
| She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb— | |
| Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum; | 70 |
| She breathes, she burns—she ’ll come! she ’ll come! | |
| Maryland, My Maryland! | |
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