Come to thine own heroic throng,
That stalks with liberty along,
And give a new KEY to thy song,

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!

In view of the preceding Southern song-by Randall-but few will fail to appreciate the following, which was published just after the precipitate and inglorious retreat of Lee's "liberating army."

MARYLAND, MY MARYLAND.

BY FINLEY JOHNSON.

THE "liberating army" came,
Maryland, my Maryland,
Polluting thy soil in Freedom's name,
Maryland, my Maryland;

They came with "proclamations" loud,
They came with dirty, ragged crowd,
To wrap thee in Secession's shroud,
Maryland, my Maryland.

They marched along in bold array,
Maryland, my Maryland,
Expecting on thy soil to stay,

Maryland, my Maryland;

They came with bugle and with drum,
They came from Hades, the very scum,
To strike the sons of Freedom dumb,
Maryland, my Maryland.

But, oh! thank God thy sons were true,

Maryland, my Maryland,

They scared and cursed the traitors' crew, Maryland, my Maryland;

Well they remember Carroll's name,

And thy "Old Line" well known to fame, As yet unstained by breath of shame, Maryland, my Maryland.

Cursed be the traitors on thy soil,

Maryland, my Maryland,

May their base acts on them recoil,
Maryland, my Maryland.

Strike for thy children and thy sires

Light on each hill the Union fires,
Until each dastard foe expires,
Maryland, my Maryland.

Thy sons are standing firm, erect,
Maryland, my Maryland,

To traitors they'll not bow their neck,

Maryland, my Maryland.

They swear the rebels to remove,
They swear it by their God above,

They swear it by the land they love,
Maryland, my Maryland.

We hear the marching Union song,
Maryland, my Maryland;

We see them coming thousands strong,
Maryland, my Maryland.

We hear the bugle and the drum,
We're chasing off the dirty scum,
Thank God the Union forces come,
Maryland, my Maryland!

SONG OF THE SOLDIERS.

BY PRIVATE MILES O'RIELLY.

AIR-Jamie's on the Stormy Sea.

COMRADES known in marches many,
Comrades, tried in dangers many,
Comrades, bound by memories many.

Brothers ever let us be.

Wounds or sickness may divide us,

Marching orders may divide us,
But, whatever fate betide us,

Brothers of the heart are we.

Comrades, know by faith the clearest,
Tried when death was near and nearest,
Bound we are by ties the dearest,

Brothers evermore to be.

And, if spared, and growing older,
Shoulder still in line with shoulder,
And with hearts no thrill the colder,

Brothers ever we shall be.

By communion of the banner,

Crimson, white, and starry banner,—

By the baptism of the banner,

Children of one Church are we.

Creed nor faction can divide us,
Race nor language can divide us,
Still, whatever fate betide us,

Children of the Flag are we!

THE SNOW AT FREDERICKSBURG.

ANONYMOUS.

DRIFT Over the slopes of the sunrise land,
Oh wonderful, wonderful snow!
Oh! pure as the breast of a virgin saint,
Drift tenderly, soft; and slow!

Over the slopes of the sunrise land,

And into the haunted dells

Of the forests of pine, where the robbing winds Are tuning their memory bells.

Into the forests of sighing pines,

And over those yellow slopes,

That seem but the work of the cleaving plough,
That cover so many hopes!

They are many indeed, and straightly made,
Not shapen with loving care;

But the souls let out and the broken blades

May never be counted there!

Fall over those lonely hero graves,

Oh delicate, dropping snow!

Like the blessing of God's unfaltering love

On the warrior heads below!

Like the tender sigh of a mother's soul,

As she waiteth and watcheth for One

Who will never come back from the sunrise land When this terrible war is done.