Come on with your "chattels," all worn, from the soil They die unlamented by people and laws, Who have blocked up the track of Humanity's car; The streams may forget how they mingled our gore, Columbia may rise from her trial of fire, More pure than she came from the hand of her sire; "MY MARYLAND." 11# [WORDS ALTERED.] BY J. F. WEISHAMPEL, JR. AIR-"My Normandy." The traitor's foot is on thy shore, His touch is on thy Senate door, Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, Maryland, my Maryland! Hark to the nation's loud appeal, For life and death, for woe and weal, Maryland, my Maryland! Thou shouldst not cower in the dust, Maryland, my Maryland! Some months ago, a Secession song, set to a fine piece of music, and entitled "My Maryland," appeared in Southern papers, and was played and sung with great pleasure by the Secession ladies. The song had a line of real nerve running through it which rendered it very popular; but the sentiment was so false, and founded upon such gross misrepresentations, that it was offensive to any one not absorbed in the prevailing madness. The song was remodelled-its fire was turned against the enemy-and here we have it, the true utterance of a patriotism that still lives among the people of Maryland as time will show. See page 93, Poetry and Incidents, vol. 1. Hark, how the bells of Freedom toll, Maryland, my Maryland! I hear the distant thunder hum, Maryland, my Maryland ! They menace thee with ball and bomb! Maryland, my Maryland! Drum out thy phalanx brave and strong, Drum forth to balance Right and Wrong, Dear State! Beware the tyrant's chain, Behold Virginia's throes of pain, Maryland, my Maryland! While rapine stalks her wide domain, Our God will make all right again! October, 1861. EIGHTY-FIVE YEARS AGO. A BALLAD FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. BY A. J. H. DUGANNE. Oh, how the past comes over me- With the drums of the Old Time beating, Out of the streets of Lexington And, back from the lines of Bunker, And pray, with their iron musketry, And, reddening all the greensward, Hearken to Stark, of Hampshire: "Ho, comrades all!" quoth he— "King George's Hessian hirelings On yonder plains ye see! We'll beat them, boys! or Mary Stark He broke upon the foe, And he won the battle of BenningtonEighty-five years ago! Down from the wild Green Mountains Our fearless eagle swooped; Bold Ethan Allen stooped, He gained without a blow, "In the name of the Great Jehovah!" Eighty-five years ago! Out from the resonant belfry Of Independence Hall, Sounded the tongue of a brazen bell, To give the oppressed their freedom, And the voice of brave John Hancock, And out from Sullivan's Island, And the rifle-shots again; Snatched from the ditch below, So, the Old Days come over me- When the land we love lies bleeding, And we hear her heart's wild throe, Let us think of the Old, Old Union,Eighty-five years ago! -N. Y. Leader. THE NINETEEN HUNDRED. I. Crossed the deep river, II. Behind, the Potomac Gloomily rushed along; Forests to right of them, Forests to left of them, Forests in front of them, Filled with the rebel host- Hung the fell marksmen, Here, in the field of death III. Bravely they fought, and well, IV. Threefold outnumbered, Pelted by leaden hail, Fierce and unsparing, Making their passage good, Many bold swimmers; Oh, the wild dash they made Ne'er shall their glory fade; Sons of St. Tammany! Joined here your glorious bands Far in the distant years, Old men, with gushing tears, How from their blood there sprang Till the Stars and Stripes on high, As a lawyer bold Convinced you'll not yield; You are just the man for the place. Be true to your trust, The rebels, where'er they are found; They've mistaken the men, If they think the North is not sound. VI. Honor the living and dead, Who dashed o'er the river; Ne'er can their names be sundered,— Honor the Nineteen Hundred; By the blood that was shed, By the souls of the dead, TO GENERAL BUTLER. BY "BAY STATE." Ben. Butler, my boy, Of your brave words and acts to hear; A MONARCH DETHRONED. BY MRS. E. VALE SMITH. "Old Cotton, the King, boys-aha !— With his locks so fleecy and white," Descends, like a falling star, To the sceptre he had no right,- To the sceptre he had no right. Old Cotton, the King, was so bold, With injustice to prop up his throne, That now he's left out in the coldThe nations all leave him alone,— Boys, alone! The nations all leave him alone. Old Cotton, the King, built his throne On the slaves' forced toil and tears, And each bale was bound with a groan; So he's dead of his guilty fears,Boys, his fears! So he's dead of his guilty fears. Old Cotton no more holds the reins; Old Cotton, the once potent King, Is struck from his impotent throne; Each continent now claims a limb; His heart, cold and chill it has grown. Old Cotton will once more arise, But not all in his native land; His right arm, under Afric's skies, Will stretch to the Indies a hand,— Boys, a hand! Will stretch to the Indies a hand. Old King Cotton's white feet will spring A line from the central zone, Of him who once ruled alone. .-N. Y. Evening Post, July 18. GOD PRESERVE THE UNION. BY JOHN SAVAGE. "There is no safety for European monarchical Governments, if the progressive spirit of the Democracy of the United States is allowed to succeed. Elect Lincoln, and the first blow to the separation of the United States is effected."-London Morning Chronicle. "I hold, further, that there is no evil in this country for which the Constitution and laws will not furnish a remedy. Then we must maintain our rights inside of the Union in conformity with the Constitution, and not break up the Union."-Douglas at Memphis, October, 1860. Brothers, there are times when nations So, friends, fill up The brimming cup And GOD PRESERVE THE UNION! There are factions passion-goaded, The Jove-like people's might. In brotherly communion, Cry "North and South," And GOD PRESERVE the UNION! While the young Republic's bosom Of the speech within it born: Where its white slaves may unbend them, So, friends, let's all, 'Gainst the kingly crowd, And GOD PRESERVE THE UNION! Immortal as our heroic sage Is every law he made; The earth, the heavens, may fade from age, But his laws cannot fade. CHORUS-TO arms! to arms! &c. We're born to die-then let us die Where glory weaves death's wreath; The bayonet thirsts for traitors' gore; A banner o'er our heads we raise, But that broad flag we raise on high CHORUS-TO arms! to arms! &c. THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY THE OCCASION, On the Night of Thursday, July 4, 1861. Night has enveloped in her robes the earth, Which thrilled of yore each patriot with delight, And bade him hope that in this favored clime Freedom would bloom perennial through all time. Standing upon Potomac's verdant shore, I gaze upon these tributes to the day, I ponder sadly on events which bring Far more magnificent than all the show Which man conceited in his art would try, Behold the comet with mysterious glow Spreads its vast tail athwart the star-gemmed sky.* How peaceful is the spot where now I stand; This "heavenly messenger" by some astronomers is supposed to be the return of that known as "the Emperor Charles the Fifth," but this is doubted and denied by others, and it seems to have come unbidden and taken the world by surprise. t Of this meteor an Alexandria correspondent of the Evening Star writes:-" Last evening, (4th,) while a grand pyrotechnic display was taking place throughout the loyal States, a still grander and more beautiful one took place in the heavens. Some eight or ten minutes past 8 o'clock, whilst it was yet early twilight, a magnificent meteor was observed at this place. Its direction was from northeast to southward. Although at the time of its appearance it was hardly dark, yet it was of such intense brightness that it cast a shadow as deep almost as that cast by the sun. Its track could be plainly traced for five or ten minutes after its appearance by the bright streak of light which it left. Its scintillations were beautiful and gorgeous beyond de scription." Here, the sweet products of kind Nature's hand; To make comparison between now and then? Since our brave fathers independence won, That such unprofitable, deep disgrace Thus brands the country of a Washington, And makes each patriot through the world lament, Lest man's incapable of self-government? In Freedom's name, behold Americans In hostile ranks glare one upon the other, And, urged by madness, meditate their plans, Each to pour out the life-blood of his brother; And all to wreck the only earthly prize Beyond all measure in the patriot's eyes! And must it be, that man should strive to mar, Deface the beauty of such scenes as these, Can nothing check this fratricidal strife,— And must the Ship of State in storms go down? Must brothers madly seek each other's life? Ruin and murder wither with their frown? O God of mercy, spare thy people! spare, And keep us freemen, as our fathers were! GISBORO, OPPOSITE WASHINGTON. OH, SAY NOT IT IS BORNE TO EARTH! BY REV. EDWARD G. JONES. Oh, say not it is borne to earth, Our Banner pure and bright; Amid the din of clanking steel And kindle languid eyes; Stout hearts upon the wing Upborne upon the swelling surge, Still in the van, though hardly pressed, The cherub daughter of the West, |