Maryland, My Maryland, and Other Poems

Maryland, My Maryland, and Other Poems

by James Ryder Randall
     
 

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Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally… See more details below

Overview

Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781290255134
Publisher:
HardPress Publishing
Publication date:
01/10/2012
Pages:
194
Product dimensions:
6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.41(d)

Read an Excerpt


Brothers! The midnight of our Cause Is shrouded in our fate— The demon Goths pollute our halls With fire and lust and hate! Be strong, be valiant, be assured— Strike home for Heaven and Right! The soul of Jackson stalks abroad And guards the camp tonight. AT FORT PILLOW You shudder as you think upon The carnage of the grim report, The desolation when we won The inner trenches of the fort. But there are deeds you may not know That scourge the pulses into strife; Dark memories of deathless woe Pointing the bayonet and knife. AT FOET PILLOW The house is ashes where I dwelt Beyond the mighty inland sea, The tombstones shattered where I knelt By that old church upon the lee. The prowling fiends who came with fire Camped on the consecrated sod, And trampled in the dust and mire The holy tenement of God! The spot where darling mother sleeps, Beneath the glimpse of yon sad moon, Is crushed, with splintered marble heaps, To stall the horse of some dragoon. And when I ponder that black day, It makes my frantic spirit wince; I marched—with Longstreet—far away, But have beheld the ravage since. The tears are hot upon my face, When thinking what bleak fate befell The only sister of our race— A thing too horrible to tell. They say that ere her senses fled, She rescued, of her brothers cried, Then feebly bowed her stricken head, Too good to live thus—so she died. Two of those brothers heard no plea, With their proud hearts for ever still— Guy, shrouded by the Tennessee, And Bertram at the Malvern Hill. But I have heard it everywhere, Vibrating like a mystic knell; 'Tis as perpetual as the air And solemn as a funeral bell. By scorched lagoon and murky swamp, Mywrath was never in the lurch; I've...

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