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And gloried in the deed,
That first of all they met the foe,
And made rebellion bleed.
But not without a saddening word
Is told the glorious tale;
For three of Massachusetts' sons
Amid the struggle fell.
The message flew as on the wind
To every freeman's door;
“The blood of Massachusetts stains
The streets of Baltimore!”
Then came again the cry, “To arms!
The capital must yield,
Unless ten thousand valiant men
Shall quickly take the field.”
At once ten times ten thousand rose,
Who had not armed before;
A million men were ready, then,
To march through Baltimore.
E'en those who once had striven in vain
To palliate the wrong,
And sought a poor, precarious peace,
Took up the battle-song.
One heart, one hand, the North-men stand,
And swear they will be free;
They battle for their native land,
For life and liberty.
Look, England, who art wont to sneer!
And Europe, now behold!
See here the patriotic zeal
That fired the men of old.
The blood that coursed the father's veins
Is still as warm and pure;
Now call our Government a dream,
Our freedom insecure!
That taunted lack of loyalty!
Look, Europe, what a sight!
When twenty millions rise in strength,
To vindicate the right.
Was ever such a loyalty
Bestowed on any throne?
Can such a country ever fall,
Where such a love is shown?
Ah, no! America shall rise
Above the dismal cloud;
This is her resurrection morn!
She casts aside the shroud!
Harp of Columbia! there is still
A theme to waken thee;
Thou canst again the bosom thrill
As when, of old, from hill to hill
Thy echoes roused the yeoman's will,
And taught him to be free!
Hast thou forgot the songs of yore
Amid the scenes of peace?
And shall thy music nevermore
Awake the land from shore to shore,
As when, from tyrant's hateful power,
Our fathers sought release?
Who calls America a land
Degenerate and base?
'Tis false! 'tis false! that noble band
Who sought their freedom, sword in hand,
Shall see their sons forever stand
A free, a loyal race.
How base the heart that could forget
The blood the fathers spilt!
How heartless he who leaves his debt
Of gratitude to go unmet,
And he, how tenfold baser yet,
Who glories in the guilt!
Ah, yes! Columbia is true,
Her sons are firm and brave;
Let traitors come with fierce ado,
We'll break their columns through and through,
A traitor's death we'll give them, too,
And each a traitor's grave.
Then sweep, ye winds, across the plain!
Ye rivers, to the sea!
Proclaim the word o'er earth and main,
The blood of yore is young again,
Its loyalty without a stain,--
Columbia still is free!
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