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Come! to thine 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 minions 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!

The Star-Spangled Banner was written during the war of 1812 by Francis Key of Maryland.

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For dear the bondman holds his gifts
Of music and of song:
The gold that kindly Nature sifts
Among his sands of wrong;

The power to make his toiling days
And poor home-comforts please;
The quaint relief of mirth that plays
With sorrow's minor keys.

Another glow than sunset's fire

Has filled the West with light, Where field and garner, barn, and byre Are blazing through the night.

The land is wild with fear and hate,
The rout runs mad and fast;
From hand to hand, from gate to
gate,

The flaming brand is passed.

The lurid glow falls strong across Dark faces broad with smiles: Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss That fire yon blazing piles.

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I put some thoughts thet bothered me in rhyme:

I hain't hed time to fairly try 'em on, But here they be—it's

JONATHAN TO JOHN.

IT don't seem hardly right, John,
When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight, John,
Your cousin, tu, John Bull!
Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
We know it now," sez he,
"The lion's paw is all the law,
Accordin' to J. B.,

Thet's fit for you an' me!"

Blood ain't so cool as ink, John;
It's likely you'd ha' wrote,
An' stopped a spell to think, John,
Arter they'd eut your throat?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
He'd skurce ha' stopped, "sez he,
"To mind his p's an' q's ef thet
weasan'

He'd b'longed to ole J. B.,
Instid o' you an' me!"

Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
On your front-parlor stairs,
Would it jest meet your views, John,
To wait an' sue their heirs?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,
I only guess," sez he,

"Thet, ef Vattell on his toes
fell,

"Twould kind o' rile J. B.,
Ez wal ez you and me!"

Who made the law thet hurts, John,
Heads I win — ditto, tails?
"J. B." was on his shirts, John,
Onless my memory fails.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,
(I'm good at thet,") sez he,
"Thet sauce for goose ain't jest
the juice

For ganders with J. B.,
No more than you or me!"

When your rights was our wrong, John,

You didn't stop for fuss,
Britanny's trident-prongs, John,
Was good 'nough law for us.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,
Though physic's good," sez he,

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