Southern Life in Southern Literature/James Ryder Randall
PART II. POETRY OF THE CIVIL WAR
JAMES RYDER RANDALL
[James Ryder Randall was born in Baltimore, Maryland, in 1839. After being educated at Georgetown College he entered business in Baltimore, but finally drifted into teaching and became professor of literature at Poydras College in Louisiana. In his latter years he was connected with The Chronicle of Augusta, Georgia, where he died in 1908. During the war he wrote several excellent war poems, and after the war he continued to write verse in connection with his newspaper work.]
MY MARYLAND
The despot's heel is on thy shore,
Maryland!
His torch is at thy temple door,
Maryland!
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle-queen of yore,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Hark to an exiled son's appeal,
Maryland!
My Mother State, to thee I kneel,
Maryland!
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,
Maryland!
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
Maryland!
Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Come! 't is the red dawn of the day,
Maryland!
Come with thy panoplied array,
Maryland!
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 chain,
Maryland!
Virginia should not call in vain,
Maryland!
She meets her sisters on the plain,
"Sic semper!" 't is the proud refrain
That baffles minions back amain,
Maryland!
Arise in majesty again,
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
Stalking with Liberty along,
And chant thy dauntless slogan-song,
Maryland, my Maryland!
I see the blush upon thy cheek,
Maryland!
For thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland!
But lo! there surges forth a shriek,
From hill to hill, from creek to creek,
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,
Maryland!
Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Maryland!
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,
Maryland!
The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum,
Maryland!
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb;
Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!
She breathes! She burns! She'll come! She'll come!
Maryland, my Maryland!
JOHN PELHAM
Just as the spring came laughing through the strife,
With all its gorgeous cheer,
In the bright April of historic life
Fell the great cannoneer.
The wondrous lulling of a hero's breath
His bleeding country weeps;
Hushed, in the alabaster arms of Death,
Our young Marcellus sleeps.
Nobler and grander than the child of Rome,
Curbing his chariot steeds,
The knightly scion of a Southern home
Dazzled the land with deeds.
Gentlest and bravest in the battle-brunt—
The Champion of the Truth—
He bore his banner to the very front
Of our immortal youth.
A clang of sabers mid Virginian snow,
The fiery pang of shells,—
And there's a wail of immemorial woe
In Alabama dells:
The pennon droops, that led the sacred band
Along the crimson field;
The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand,
Over the spotless shield.
We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face,
While, round the lips and eyes,
Couched in their marble slumber, flashed the grace
Of a divine surprise.
O mother of a blessed soul on high,
Thy tears may soon be shed!
Think of thy boy, with princes of the sky,
Among the Southern dead.
How must he smile on this dull world beneath,
Fevered with swift renown,—
He, with the martyr's amaranthine wreath,
Twining the victor's crown!