There's Life In The Old Land Yet!
by Jas. R. Randall
- BY blue Patapsco's billowy dash,
- The tyrant's war-shout comes,
- Along with the cymbal's fitful clash,
- And the growl of his sullen drums,
- We hear it! we heed it, with vengeful thrills,
- And we shall not forgive or forget;
- There's faith in the streams, there's hope in the hills,
- There's life in the old land yet!
-
- Minions ! we sleep, but we are not dead;
- We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred;
- We crouch — 'tis to welcome the triumph tread
- Of the peerless
Beauregard.
- Then woe to your vile, polluting horde
- When the Southern braves are met,
- There's faith in the victor's stainless sword,
- There is life in the old land yet!
-
- Bigots! ye quell not the valiant mind,
- With the clank of an iron chain,
- The spirit of freedom sings in the wind,
- O'er Merryman, Thomas, and Kane;
- And we, though we smite not, and are not thralls,
- We are piling a gory debt;
- While down by McHenry's dungeon-walls,
- There's life in the old land
yet!
-
- Our women have hung their harps away,
- And they scowl on your brutal bands,
- While the nimble poignard dares the day,
- In their dear defiant hands.
- They will strip their tresses to string our bows,
- Ere the Northern sun is set;
- There's faith in their unrelenting woes,
- There's life in the old land yet!
-
- There's life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,
- 'Tis vocal without noise,
- It gushed o'er Manassas' solemn plains,
- From the blood of the
Maryland Boys!
- That blood shall cry aloud, and rise
- With an everlasting threat, —
- By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies,
- There's life in the old land
yet!