Carolina

I

The despot treads thy sacred sands,

Thy pines give shelter to his bands,

Thy sons stand by with idle hands,


 * Carolina!

He breathes at ease thy airs of balm,

He scorns the lances of thy palm;

Oh! who shall break thy craven calm,


 * Carolina!

Thy ancient fame is growing dim,

A spot is on thy garment's rim;

Give to the winds thy battle hymn,


 * Carolina!

II

Call on thy children of the hill,

Wake swamp and river, coast and rill,

Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill,


 * Carolina!

Cite wealth and science, trade and art,

Touch with thy fire the cautious mart,

And pour thee through the people's heart,


 * Carolina!

Till even the coward spurns his fears,

And all thy fields and fens and meres

Shall bristle like thy palm with spears,


 * Carolina!

III

Hold up the glories of thy dead;

Say how thy elder children bled,

And point to Eutaw's battle-bed,


 * Carolina!

Tell how the patriot's soul was tried,

And what his dauntless breast defied;

How Rutledge ruled and Laurens died,


 * Carolina!

Cry! till thy summons, heard at last,

Shall fall like Marion's bugle-blast

Re-echoed from the haunted Past,


 * Carolina!

IV

I hear a murmur as of waves

That grope their way through sunless caves,

Like bodies struggling in their graves,


 * Carolina!

And now it deepens; slow and grand

It swells, as, rolling to the land,

An ocean broke upon thy strand,


 * Carolina!

Shout! let it reach the startled Huns!

And roar with all thy festal guns!

It is the answer of thy sons,


 * Carolina!

V

They will not wait to hear thee call;

From Sachem's Head to Sumter's wall

Resounds the voice of hut and hall,


 * Carolina!

No! thou hast not a stain, they say,

Or none save what the battle-day

Shall wash in seas of blood away,


 * Carolina!

Thy skirts indeed the foe may part,

Thy robe be pierced with sword and dart,

They shall not touch thy noble heart,


 * Carolina!

VI

Ere thou shalt own the tyrant's thrall

Ten times ten thousand men must fall;

Thy corpse may hearken to his call,


 * Carolina!

When, by thy bier, in mournful throngs

The women chant thy mortal wrongs,

'T will be their own funereal songs,


 * Carolina!

From thy dead breast by ruffians trod

No helpless child shall look to God;

All shall be safe beneath thy sod,


 * Carolina!

VII

Girt with such wills to do and bear,

Assured in right, and mailed in prayer,

Thou wilt not bow thee to despair,


 * Carolina!

Throw thy bold banner to the breeze!

Front with thy ranks the threatening seas

Like thine own proud armorial trees,


 * Carolina!

Fling down thy gauntlet to the Huns,

And roar the challenge from thy guns;

Then leave the future to thy sons,


 * Carolina!