The Northern Abolition vandals,
Who have come to free the slave,
Will meet their doom in “Old Virginny;”
Where they all will get a grave.
They started for Manassas Junction,
With an army full of fight,
But they caught a Southern tartar,
And they took a bully flight.
“Old Fuss and Feathers” could not save them,
All their boasting was in vain,
Before the Southern steel they cowered,
And their bodies strewed the plain.
The “Maryland Line” was there as ever,
With their battle shout and blade,
They shed new lustre on their mother,
When that final charge they made.
Old Abe may make another effort,
For to take his onward way,
But his legions then as ever,
Will be forced to run away.
Brave Jeff. and glorious Beauregard,
With dashing Johnston, noble, true,
Will meet their hireling hosts again,
And scatter them like morning dew.
When the Hessian horde is driven,
O’er Potomac’s classic flood,
The pulses of a new born freedom,
Then will stir old Maryland’s blood.
From the lofy Alleganies,
To old Worcester’s sea washed shore,
Her sons will come to greet the victors,
There in good old Baltimore.
Then with voices light and gladsome,
We will swell the choral strain,
Telling that our dear old mother,
Glorious Maryland’s free again.
Then we’ll crown our warrior chieftians,
Who have led us in the fight,
And have brought the South in triumph,
Through dread danger’s troubled night.
And the brave who nobly perished,
Struggling in the bloody fray,
We’ll weave a wreath of fadeless laurel,
For their glorious memory.
O’er their graves the Southern maidens,
From sea shore to mountain grot,
Will plant the smiling rose of beauty,
And the sweet forget-me-not.