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Fresh from the South, where the hungry pine,
They ate like Pharaoh's starving kine;
They swept the land like devouring surge,
And left their path, to its furthest verge,
Bare as the track of the locust-scourge.
“The rebels are coming!” far and near
Rang the tidings of dread and fear;
Some paled, and cowered, and sought to hide-
Some stood erect in their fearless pride-
And women shuddered and children cried.
But others-vipers in human form,
Stinging the bosom that kept them warm-
Welcomed with triumph the thievish band,
Hurried to offer the friendly hand,
As the rebels rode into Maryland:
Made them merry with food and wine,
Clad them in garments rich and fine,
For rags and hunger to make amends;
Flattered them, praised them, with selfish ends;
“Leave us scathless, for we are friends!”
Could traitors trust to a traitor? No!
Little they favored friend or foe,
But gathered the cattle the farms across,
Flinging back, with a scornful toss-
“If ye are friends ye can bear the loss!”
Flushed with triumph, and wine, and prey,
They neared the dwelling of Ishmael Day;
A sturdy veteran, gray and old,
With heart of a patriot, firm and bold,
Strong and steadfast-unbribed, unsold.
And Ishmael Day, his brave head bare,
His white locks tossed by the morning air,
Fearless of danger, or death, or scare,
Went out to raise, by the farm yard bars,
The dear old flag of the Stripes and Stars
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