The Brave at Home. THE maid who binds her warrior's sash, And Fame shall never know her story, As ever dewed the field of glory! The wife who girds her husband's sword, The bolts of war around him rattle, Was poured upon the field of battle! The mother who conceals her grief, While to her heart her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood, as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor! Maryland. THE despot's heel is on thy shore, His torch is at thy temple door, Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, Hark to wand'ring son's appeal, My mother State! to thee I kneel, For life and death, for woe and weal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland! Remember Carroll's sacred trust; Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day, Come with thy panoplied array, With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, Dear mother, burst the Tyrant's chain, Virginia should not call in vain, SHE meets her sisters on the plain, Come! for thy shield is bright and strong, Maryland! Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland! Come to thine own heroic throng, I see the blush upon thy cheek, For thou wast ever bravely meek, But lo! there surges forth a shriek From hill to hill, from creek to creckPotomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland! My Maryland! Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, Thou wilt not crook to his control, Better the fire upon thee roll, Maryland! My Maryland! I hear the distant thunder hum, The Old Line bugle, fife and drum, |
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