POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL
The pulse of nature throbs anew
Impassioned of the sun;
The violet, with eyes of blue,
Is modest as a nun.
The roses reek not of the strife
That crashes up the North;
Alas! the mockery of life
When Death is striding forth.
An alien in this lonely land,
I sound an alien strain,
Until my own fair State shall stand
Inviolate again;
The long-lost Pleiad of our sky
Is glimmering still afar,
And nations yet shall see on high
That bright and blessed star.
The church bells toll their solemn chime,
From out the minster eaves,
Knelling some old religious rhyme,
Half stifled by the leaves.
A thousand miles away, I hear
Those grand Cathedral notes,
Which made my youth a fairy sphere
With cymbal-clashing throats.
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