[First printed in the _Richmond Examiner_. Written while the author was in prison.] By the blue Patapsco’s billowy dash The tyrant’s war-shout comes, Along with 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--’t is 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’s 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 Merriman, Thomas, and Kane; And we, though we smile not, are not thralls,-- 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 poniard 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,-- ’T is 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_! [Southern.] [Illustration] NEVER OR NOW. BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Listen, young heroes! your country is calling! Time strikes the hour for the brave and the true! Now, while the foremost are fighting and falling, Fill up the ranks that have opened for you! You whom the fathers made free and defended, Stain not the scroll that emblazons their fame! You whose fair heritage spotless descended, Leave not your children a birthright of shame! Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping! Wait not till Honor lies wrapped in his pall! Brief the lips’ meeting be, swift the hands clasping: “Off for the wars!” is enough for them all. Break from the arms that would fondly caress you! Hark! ’t is the bugle-blast, sabres are drawn! Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you, Maidens shall weep for you when you are gone! Never or now! cries the blood of a nation, Poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom; Now is the day and the hour of salvation,-- Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom!