Avenge the patriotic gore

That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle queen of yore,
Maryland, My Maryland!

Hark to a wandering 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 Mary.and.

Dear mother, burst the tyrant's 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, 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,
That stalks with liberty along,
And give a new key to thy song,
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 shot, the blade, the bowl,

Than crucifixion of the soul,

Maryland, My Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder hum,

Maryland!

The Old Line's 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!

JAMES R. RANDALL.

Civil War.

"RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot

Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot

That shines on his breast like an amulet!

“Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,

There's music around when my barrel 's in tune!" Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,

And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.

"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch

That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!"

"Oh captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track,

When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.

"But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold;
An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."

"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—'t is she,

My brother's young bride,—and the fallen dragoon Was her husband-Hush! soldier, 't was Heaven's decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!

"But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;
War is a virtue, weakness a sin;

There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;-
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"

CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY (?)

The Picket Euatu.

"ALL quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except now and then a stray picket

Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'T is nothing—a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost-only one of the men,
Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle."

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moor. Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard-for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack-his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,

As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep—
For their mother-may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips-when low-murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.

Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,

And gathers his gun closer up to its place
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree-
The footstep is lagging and weary;

Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?

It looked like a rifle "Ah! Mary, good-bye!"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
No sound save the rush of the river;

While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead

The picket 's off duty forever.

ETHEL LYNN BEERS

The Countersign.

ALAS! the weary hours pass slow,
The night is very dark and still,

And in the marshes far below

I hear the bearded whippoorwill.

I scarce can see a yard ahead;

My ears are strained to catch each sound;

I hear the leaves about me shed,

And the spring's bubbling through the ground.

Along the beaten path I pace,

Where white rags mark my sentry's track;

In formless shrubs I seem to trace

The foeman's form, with bending back;
I think I see him crouching low-
I stop and list—I stoop and peer,
Until the neighboring hillocks grow
To groups of soldiers far and near.

With ready piece I wait and watch,
Until my eyes, familiar grown,