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MY MARYLAND.

259

One word more—for signal token
Whistle

up

the marchin' tune, With your pike upon your

shoulder, By the risin' of the moon.” Out from many a mud-wall cabin

Eyes were watching through that night; Many a manly chest was throbbing

For the blessed warning light. Murmurs passed along the valleys,

Like the banshee's lonely croon, And a thousand blades were flashing,

At the rising of the moon.

There beside the singing river

That dark mass of men was seen; Far above the shining weapons

Hung their own beloved green. “Death to every foe and traitor!

Forward! strike the marchin' tune, And hurrah, my boys, for freedom !

'T is the risin' of the moon."

Well they fought for poor old Ireland,

And full bitter was their fate.
O, what glorious pride and sorrow

Fill the name of Ninety-Eight!
Yet, thank God! e’en still are beating

Hearts in manhood's burning noon,
Who would follow in their footsteps
At the risin' of the moon.

John K. CASEY.

My Maryland.

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 a wandering son's appeal,

Maryland! 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,

Maryland, My Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,

Maryland!
Thy beaming 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, 't is the red dawn of the day,

Maryland!
Come with thy panoplied array,

Maryland!
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,

Maryland! Virginia should not call in vain,

Maryland! She meets her sisters on the plain; “Sic semper!” 't is the proud refrain,

MY MARYLAND.

261

That baffles minions back amain,

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

Maryland!
Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong,

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

Maryland, My Maryland!

I see the blush upon thy cheek,

Maryland!
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, fi'e, 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.

Civil Tuar.

“RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot

Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot

That shines on his breast like an amulet!"

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“Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,

There 's music around when my barrel 's in tune!" Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,

And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.

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Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch

From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch

That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!”

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“Oh captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track,

When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,

That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.

“But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold;

An inch from the centre my lead broke its way, Scarce grazing the picture, fair to behold,

Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.”

“Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket !--'t is she,

My brother's young bride, -and the fallen dragoon Was her husband-Hush! soldier, 't was Heaven's decree,

We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!

“But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;

War is a virtue, weakness a sin;
There 's a lurking and loping around us to-night ;-
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!”

ANONYMOUS.

THE PICKET GUARD.

263

The Picket Guard.

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All quiet along the Potomac," they say,
“Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,

By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'T is nothing—a private or two, now and then,

Will not count in the news of the battle; Not an officer lost-only one of the men,

Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.”

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents in the rays of the clear autunin moon,

Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind

Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping ; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,

Keep guard—for the army is sleeping.

There 's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,

As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed

Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack-his face, dark and grim,

Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep-

For their mother-may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,

That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips—when low-murmured vow's

Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,

He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place

As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

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