POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL
Two of those brothers heard no plea,
With their proud hearts for ever still—
Guy, shrouded by the Tennessee,
And Bertram at the Malvern Hill.
But I have heard it everywhere,
Vibrating like a mystic knell;
’Tis as perpetual as the air
And solemn as a funeral bell.
By scorched lagoon and murky swamp,
My wrath was never in the lurch;
I’ve killed the picket in his camp,
And many a pilot on his perch.
With steady rifle, sharpened brand,
A week ago, upon my steed,
With Forrest and his warrior band,
I made the hell-hounds writhe and bleed.
You should have seen our leader go
Upon the battle’s burning marge,
Swooping, like falcon, on the foe,
Heading the gray line’s iron charge.
All outcasts from our ruined marts,
We heard th’ undying serpent hiss,
And, in the desert of our hearts,
The fatal spell of Nemesis.
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