Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/26

 By blue Patapsco’s billowy dash
 * The Tyrant’s war shout comes,

Along with the cymbal’s fitful clash
 * And the growl of his sullen drums;

We hear it—we heed it, with vengeful thrills,
 * And we shall not forgive or forget—

There’s faith in the streams, there’s hope in the hills,
 * There’s Life in the Old Land yet!

Minions! we sleep, but we are not dead,
 * We are crushed—we are scourged—we are scarred—

We crouch—’tis to welcome the triumph-tread
 * Of the peerless Beauregard.

Then woe to your vile, polluting horde
 * When the Southern braves are met—

There’s faith in the victor’s stainless sword—
 * There’s Life in the Old Land yet!