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Page 44
The great good counsels, the examples brave,
Won from the past, not buried in its grave,
Still warm your soul with courage--still impar
Wisdom to virtue, valor to the heart!
Still first to check th' encroachment--to declare
"Thus far! no further, shall the assailant dare;"
Thou keep'st thy ermine white, thy State secure,
Thy fortunes prosperous, and thy freedom sure;
No glozing art deceives thee to thy bane;
The tempter and the usurper strive in vain!
Thy spear's first touch unfolds the fiendish form,
And first, with fearless breast, thou meet'st the storm;
Though hosts assail thee, thou thyself a host,
Prepar'st to meet the invader on the coast:
Thy generous sons contending which shall be
First in the phalanx, gathering by the sea;
No dastard fear appals them, as they teach
How best to hurl the bolt, or man the breach!
Great Soul in little frame!--the hope of man
Exults, when such as thou art in the van!
Unshaken, unbeguiled, unslaved, unbought,
Thy fame shall brighten with each battle fought;
True to the examples of the past, thou'lt be,
For the long future, best security.
Charleston Mercury.
Gossypium.
Carolina.
By Henry Timrod.
I.
The despot treads thy sacred sands,
Thy pines give shelter to his bands,
Thy sons stand by with idle hands,
Carolina!
He breathes at ease thy airs of balm,
He scorns the lances of thy palm;
Oh I who shall break thy craven calm,
Carolina!
Thy ancient fame is growing dim,
A spot is on thy garment's rim;
Give to the winds thy battle hymn,
Carolina!
II.
Call on thy children of the hill,
Wake swamp and river, coast and rill,
Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill,
Carolina!
Cite wealth and science, trade and art,
Touch with thy fire the cautious mart,
And pour thee through the people's heart,
Carolina!
Till even the coward spurns his fears,
And all thy fields, and fens, and meres,
Shall bristle like thy palm, with spears,
Carolina!
III.
Hold up the glories of thy dead;
Say how thy elder children bled,
Arid point to Eutaw's battle-bed,
Carolina!
Tell how the patriot's soul was tried,
And what his dauntless breast defied;
How Rutledge ruled, and Laurens died,
Carolina!
Cry! till thy summons, heard at last,
Shall fall, like Marion's bugle-blast,
Re-echoed from the haunted past,
Carolina!
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