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222 GENERAL LEE'S WOOING. |
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My Maryland ! My Maryland !
Sweet land upon the shore, Bring out thy stalwart yeomanry !
Make clean the threshing-floor ; My ready wains lie stretching far
Across the fertile plain, And I among the reapers stand
To gather in the grain.
My Maryland ! My Maryland!
I fondly wait to see Thy banner flaunting in the breeze
Beneath the trysting tree ; While all my gallant company
Of gentlemen, with spurs, Come tramping, tramping o'er the hills,
And tramping through the furze.
My Maryland ! My Maryland !
I feel the leaden rain ! I see the winded messenger
Come hurling to my brain ! I feathered with thy golden hair,
'T is feathered not in vain ; I spurn the hand that loosed the shaft,
And curse thee in my pain. |
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