Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79.

Introductory to Southern States

My Maryland

By James R. Randall (1839–1908)

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 thy 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!

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!

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,

That baffles minions back amain,

Maryland!

Arise in majesty again,

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 blade, the shot, 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!