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The Brave at Home.

THE maid who binds her warrior's sash,
And smiling, all her pain dissembles-
The while, beneath her drooping lash,
One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles-
Though Heaven alone records the tear,
And Fame shall never know her story,

Her heart has shed a drop as dear
As ever dewed the field of glory!

The wife who girds her husband's sword,
'Mid little ones who weep and wonder;
And bravely speaks the cheering word,
What though her heart be rent asunder-
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear
The bolts of war around him rattle,
Has shed as sacred blood as e'er

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!


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,
And be the battle-queen of yore,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Hark to wand'ring son's appeal,

My mother State! to thee I kneel,

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,


Thy beaming sword shall never rust,


Remember Carroll's sacred trust;
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
And all thy Slumberers with the Just,
Maryland! My Maryland!

Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,

Come! with thy panoplied array,

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,

Virginia should not call in vain,

SHE meets her sisters on the plain, "Sic Semper"-'tis the proud refrain, 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 ring thy dauntless slogan song,

Maryland! My Maryland!

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 creck-
Potomac 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,

Better the shot-the blade-the bowl

Than crucifixion of the soul,

Maryland! My Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder hum,

The Old Line bugle, fife and drum,

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