Hark to the wand’ring 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 duet,
          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! ’tis 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!

Comet for thy shield is bright and strong,
          Maryland! 
Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
          Maryland! 
Come! to thins own heroic throng,
That stalks with Liberty along,
And give a new Key to thy song,
Maryland!  My Maryland!

Dear Mother! burst the tyrant’s chain,
          Maryland! 
Virginia should not call in vain,
          Maryland! 
She meets her sisters on the plain—­
‘Sic semper’ ’tis the proud refrain,
That baffles millions back amain,
          Maryland! 
Arise, in majesty again,
Maryland!  My Maryland!

I see the blush upon thy cheek,
          Maryland! 
But 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 blade, the shot, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland!  My Maryland!

I hear the distant Thunder hem,
          Maryland! 
The Old Line’s bugle, fife, and drum. 
          Maryland! 
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb—­
Hnzza! she spurns the Northern scum! 
She breathes—­she burns! she’ll come! she’ll come! 
Maryland!  My Maryland!

“Stonewall Jackson Crossing into Maryland,” was another travesty, of about the same literary merit, or rather demerit, as “The Bonnie Blue Flag.”  Its air was that of the well-known and popular negro minstrel song,” Billy Patterson.”  For all that, it sounded very martial and stirring when played by a brass band.

We heard these songs with tiresome iteration, daily and nightly, during our stay in the Southern Confederacy.  Some one of the guards seemed to be perpetually beguiling the weariness of his watch by singing in all keys, in every sort of a voice, and with the wildest latitude as to air and time.  They became so terribly irritating to us, that to this day the remembrance of those soul-lacerating lyrics abides with me as one of the chief of the minor torments of our situation.  They were, in fact, nearly as bad as the lice.