........Saturday’s ceremony was to honor faculty member James Ryder Randall, a Maryland native who composed “Maryland, My Maryland” there in the aftermath of the Baltimore Riots on 19 April 1861. Appropriately, the ceremony commenced with flagbearers bringing forward with the colors of the United States, Louisiana, and Maryland.
Years later, Randall recalled how he came to write the verses:
“About midnight, I arose, lit a candle and went to my desk. Some powerful spirit appeared to possess me and almost involuntarily I proceeded to write the song ‘My Maryland.’ The idea appeared to take shape as music in the brain. The poem was not composed in cold blood but under what may be called a conflagration of the senses, if not an inspiration of the intellect. No one was more surprised than I, however, at the widespread and instantaneous popularity of the words I had been so strangely stimulated to write.”
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“Maryland, My Maryland”
Maryland, My Maryland
I
The despot's heel is on thy shore,
His torch is at thy temple door,
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle queen of yore,
II
Hark to an exiled son's appeal,
My Mother State! to thee I kneel,
For life or death, for woe or weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
III
Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,-
And all thy slumberers with the just,
IV
Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,
Come with thy panoplied array,
With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
V
Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,
Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Come to thine own anointed throng,
Stalking with Liberty along,
And sing thy dauntless slogan song,
VI
Dear Mother! burst the tyrant's chain,
Virginia should not call in vain,
She meets her sisters on the plain-
Sic semper! 'tis the proud refrain
That baffles minions back amain,
Arise in majesty again,
VII
I see the blush upon thy cheek,
For thou wast ever bravely meek,
But lo! there surges forth a shriek,
From hill to hill, from creek to creek,
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
VIII
Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,
Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the Soul,
IX
I hear the distant thunder-hum,
The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum,
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb-
Huzza! She spurns the Northern scum!
She breathes! She burns! She'll come! She'll come!
by James Ryder Randall
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