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!